EF06 - The State Counsellor (19 page)

'You ... Carry out your instructions,' Green mumbled into the mouthpiece and hung up.

Turning round, he saw a hot pink glow, and suddenly there was a fine crack in his secure steel shell. The crack spread rapidly, widening to release a torrent of something long ago locked away deep inside and forgotten, something that paralysed his mind and will.

The briefing began at half past two.

The barrister who owned the apartment where they gathered was presently in Warsaw, conducting the defence of a hussar who had shot an empty-headed actress out of scorned love. They were a large group - eleven men and one woman. One man spoke and the others listened - so attentively that the famous professor of history, Klyuchevsky himself, would have envied the orator.

The listeners were seated around him on chairs arranged along three walls of the barrister's study. Pinned to the fourth wall was a sheet of heavy paper, on which the instructor was drawing squares, circles and arrows in charcoal.

Green was already aware of the plan of action - Ace had told him about it on the way from the hotel - and so he was watching the listeners rather than the diagram. The arrangements were sensible and simple, but whether they would work depended entirely on those carrying them into effect, most of whom had never taken part in an ex and never even heard the whistle of bullets.

He could rely on Emelya, Rahmet and Ace himself. Bullfinch would do his best, but he was a greenhorn who had never smelled gunpowder. Green had no idea at all what sort of stuff the six lads from the Moscow combat squad were made of.

Green had seen two of them in the tea rooms on Maroseika Street: Nail, a worker from the Guzhonov plant, and Marat, a medical student. All they had managed to do there was give themselves away by staring too hard at Rahmet in their eagerness. The other four - Arsenii, Beaver, Schwartz and Nobel (the last two, both chemistry students, had chosen their aliases in honour of the inventors of gunpowder and dynamite) - looked scarcely more than boys. But they would be up against experienced guards. He hoped the guards wouldn't mow down the entire junior school.

Julie was sitting in the corner, with her eyebrows knitted in studious concentration. There was no reason at all for her to be there. As he looked at her, Green felt himself blushing, something that hadn't happened to him for more than ten years. With an effort of will, he drove the scorching memories of what had happened that day deeper, for analysis at some later time. His self-esteem and the strength of his protective shell had suffered substantial damage, but he was sure it could all be restored. He just had to think of a way. Not now. Later.

He cast a glance at Ace - not of guilt, but of appraisal. How would the specialist react if he knew? Obviously, the operation would be wrecked, since in the terms of criminal morality Ace had suffered a deadly insult. That was the main danger, Green told himself; but, glancing at Julie again, he suddenly had doubts: was it really? No, the main danger, of course, lay in her.

She had broken his steely will and iron discipline with ease. She was life itself, and everyone knew that life was stronger than any rules or dogmas. Grass grew through asphalt, water wore holes in rocks, a woman could soften the hardest of hearts. Especially a woman like that.

It had been a mistake to let Julie into the revolutionary movement. Mirthful pink playmates like that, who held out the promise of joyful oblivion, were not for the crusaders of the revolution. The travelling companions for them were steely-grey Amazons. Like Needle.

She was the one who ought to be sitting there, not Julie, who only distracted the men from the job with her bright plumage. But Needle had taken offence. She had brought the men to the apartment and left without waiting for Green. It was his fault again - he had spoken clumsily to her on the telephone.

'Well, why have you all pleated up your foreheads like accordions?' Ace laughed, wiping his dirty fingers on his black trousers of expensive English wool. 'Don't get the sulks, revolution! A hold-up needs gumption, not sour faces. You have to go at it cheerily, with your spirits up. And if anyone swallows a lead pellet, it means his time was up. Dying young is as sweet as honey. When you're old and sick it's frightening, but for one of us it's just like downing a glass of vodka on a frosty day: it stings, but not for long. You gulls don't even have to do much; Green and me will see to all the important stuff. And then it goes like this ...' - he turned to speak directly to Green. 'We sling the loot into the sleigh and scram, we go to the India Inn, where Julietta will be waiting for us. It's a trading place, a market; nobody will be surprised to see sacks there. While I'm driving the horse, you have to cover the official seals with plain sackcloth, no one will ever twig it's not bay leaves we're carrying, but six hundred grand. Once we're inside, we divvy up. Like we agreed: two for me, four for you. And then adieu, until we meet again, but not too soon. Ace will be on the spree for a long time with that kind of loot.' He winked at Julie. 'We'll go to Warsaw, then on to Paris and from there - anywhere you like.'

Julie smiled tenderly and affectionately at him, then smiled at Green in exacdy the same way. It was incredible, but Green could not read even a hint of guilt or embarrassment in her eyes.

'Now leave,' he said, getting to his feet. 'First Ace and Julie.

Then Nail and Marat. Then Schwartz, Beaver and Nobel.'

He gave them his final instructions as he saw them off in the hallway, trying to speak clearly, without swallowing his words.

'Throw the beam across at ten minutes to, no sooner and no later. Or the yard-keepers might roll it away ... Fire without breaking cover. Stick one hand out and blaze away. You don't need to shoot them, just deafen them and keep them busy ... The most important thing is that none of you should catch a bullet. There'll be no time to carry away any wounded. And we can't leave anyone behind. Anyone who's wounded and can't walk has to shoot himself. Do as Rahmet and Emelya tell you.'

When the last three had left, Green locked the door and was about to go back into the study when he suddenly noticed the corner of something white sticking out of the pocket of his black coat that was hanging on the hallstand.

Immediately realising what it was, he froze on the spot and instructed his heart not to falter in its rhythm. He took out the sheet of paper, lifted it up very close to his eyes (it was dark in the hallway) and read:

The city is sealed off by gendarmes. You must not show yourself at the railway stations and turnpikes. The blockade is under the command of Colonel Sverchinsky. Tonight he will be at the Nikolaevsky Station, in the duty stationmaster's office. Try to exploit this and strike to create a diversion.

And most important of all: beware of Rahmet, he is a traitor.

TG

Noting in passing that this note was not typed on an Underwood, like the previous ones, but on a Remington, Green began rubbing his forehead to make his brain work faster.

'Green, what are you doing out there?' he heard Emelya's voice call. 'Come here!'

'One moment!' he shouted back. 'I'll just go to the lavatory'

In the water closet he leaned against the marble wall and began counting off the points to consider, starting with the least important.

Where had the letter come from? When had it arrived? When Green went to the station he was wearing Rahmet's short coat, not his own black one - he had taken a bomb with him just in case, and Rahmet's coat had handy pockets. The black coat had been hanging on the hallstand all day long. That narrowed the circle somewhat. Everyone who was in St Petersburg could be excluded. And so could the Moscow lads - provided, of course, that TG was a single person, and not two or more. Perhaps this 'G' stood for 'group' too? Terrorist Group? Meaningless. All right, he'd think about it later.

Sverchinsky. It was an excellent idea - if not for the ex. Kill a high-ranking gendarme officer and at the same time divide the police's attention. A diversionary strike was just what was required. After all, the important thing was not to escape from Moscow themselves, but to get the money through. Time was short. But would they have enough men for both operations? That would only be clear after the ex.

And then he came to the most difficult thing in the note: the part underlined in blue pencil.

Rahmet, a traitor? Was that possible?

Yes, Green told himself. It was.

That would explain the glint of challenge and triumph in Rahmet's eyes. He hadn't been broken by the gendarmes, he was working his way into a new role. Mephistopheles, Dick Turpin or whoever he imagined himself to be.

But what if TG's information was wrong? TG had never been wrong before, but this was a matter of a comrade's life.

Since the day before, Green had made sure that Rahmet didn't leave the apartment. Today he had ordered Emelya to keep a close eye on the former Uhlan to see if he started acting suspiciously after his nocturnal escapade.

The plan had been to give Rahmet the riskiest job at the expropriation. What could be better than action for showing if a man was honest or not? But as things stood now, he couldn't take Rahmet to the ex.

Having reached his decision, Green pressed the copper knob of the flush mechanism, that latest innovation of sanitary technology, and walked out of the lavatory.

Rahmet, Emelya, Bullfinch and Arsenii, the son of the apartment's absent owner, were standing in front of the charcoal diagram.

Aha, at last,' said Bullfinch, his eyes aglow with excitement as he turned to Green. 'We're worried about whether you and Ace can manage. After all, there are only two of you, and there's an entire gang of us.'

'It's far too risky,' said Rahmet, supporting the boy. And then, aren't you trusting this Rocambole from a priest's family a bit too far? What if he does a flit with the money? Let me go with you, and Emelya can throw the bomb.'

'No, I'll throw the bomb!' Bullfinch exclaimed. 'Emelya has to give the lads their orders.'

Is it the danger he's afraid of, or something else?
Green thought, about Rahmet. In a dry voice that brooked no objections, he said: Ace and I will manage, just the two of us. Emelya will throw the bomb. Once it's thrown, run round the corner. Don't wait for it to explode. Just yell first, so everyone knows you've thrown it. Get down behind the wall and tell them when to shoot. And Rahmet's not going to the expropriation.'

'What do you mean by that?' Rahmet exclaimed furiously.

'You can't go,' Green explained. 'It's your own fault. They're looking for you. All the police agents have your description. You'll only get us killed. Stay here, by the telephone.'

They moved off at a quarter past four - a little earlier than they were supposed to.

Outside in the yard, Green looked back.

Rahmet was standing at the window. He saw Green looking and waved.

They walked out of the gateway into the lane. 'Damn,' said Green. 'Forgot my cleaning rod. Got to have it -what if a cartridge gets stuck?'

Crimson-faced with excitement, Bullfinch chirped up: 'Let me run and get it. Where did you leave it? On the locker, right?' And he turned to dash off; but Emelya grabbed hold of his collar.

'Stop, you little hothead! You can't go back. This is your first operation - it's a bad sign.'

'Wait in the sleigh, I'll just be a moment,' Green said and turned back.

He didn't walk straight out into the yard; first he glanced out cautiously from the gateway. There was no one standing at the window.

He ran quickly across the yard and up the stairs to the
piano nobile.
The door had been specially oiled and it didn't squeak.

Leaving his boots on the staircase, he walked into the apartment without making a sound. He crept stealthily past the dining room and heard Rahmet's voice from the study, where the telephone was.

'Yes, yes, twelve, seventy-four. And quickly, please, miss, this is an urgent matter ... Security? Is that the Department of Security? I need—'

Green cleared his throat.

Rahmet dropped the mouthpiece and spun round.

For a moment his face looked odd - without any expression at all. Green realised Rahmet didn't know if the fatal words had been overheard and didn't know what part he ought to play -comrade or traitor. So that was what Rahmet's real face looked like. Blank. Like a classroom blackboard that has been cleaned with a dry rag, leaving dusty white smears.

But the face was only blank for a second. Rahmet realised that he had been found out, the corners of his mouth extended into a mocking leer and his eyes narrowed contemptuously.

'What is it, Greeny - don't trust your comrade-in-arms then? Well, well, I never expected that from an old softy like you. Why are you standing to attention like a little tin soldier?'

Green stood there stock-still with his arms at his sides and didn't even move a muscle when the cornflower-blue man snatched a Bulldog revolver out of his pocket.

'What are you doing here on your own?' Rahmet lisped, '- without Emelya or little Bullfinch? Or did you come to prick my conscience? The trouble is, Greeny old boy, I don't have a conscience. You know that. A pity, but now I'll have to eliminate you. Handing you in alive would have been far more impressive. What are you gawping at? I hate you, you blockhead.'