Zugzwang (30 page)

Number 19 Kirochny Street was the address Berek Medem had given to Yastrebov in Moscow when he had recruited the ardent young idealist. As far as the conspirators were aware, they were still safe there. They did not know that Yastrebov had told Catherine about it and that through me it had come to the attention of Lychev.

Kavi was in the building opposite, in a second-floor apartment Lychev had rented. He was bored and frustrated, the more so for having heard something of the commotion in the city. A man of the street, a fighter, he bridled at the inactivity his role as monitor forced on him. He was further disconcerted when Lychev told him why we were there.

‘I won't cry if the tsar is killed.'

‘It won't just be the tsar who dies,' Lychev said tersely. ‘Gan and the Baltic Barons will use the assassination as an excuse to crack down on us. We'll be annihilated.'

Kavi scratched his chin. ‘I don't know, Mintimer,' he said. ‘If the Central Committee has decided to let it go ahead –'

‘They only decided because Petrov persuaded them. The double will be leaving for the theatre soon. If we're going to do this, it has to be now.'

‘There has to be discipline, Mintimer. Once an order is given it has to be carried out.'

‘You know in your heart, Kavi, that I'm right. You know that this will be a disaster for us.'

‘Not just for you,' I put in. ‘For everyone.'

Kavi scowled and Lychev examined the floor. I had nothing to say here.

‘I don't like to go against the Central Committee's orders,' Kavi said.

‘If we don't, there won't be a Central Committee. There won't be a Party. The Baltic Barons will be in control.'

Kavi paced the floor, grunting and gesturing. ‘We'll be in big trouble,' he said.

‘Bigger than hanging from a lamp-post?'

Kavi stopped, looked up at the ceiling and exhaled. ‘All right,' he said at last. ‘But you can do the explaining.'

‘I'll tell them I lied to you,' Lychev said, clapping him on the back. ‘I'll say I told you that the Central Committee changed its mind.'

Kavi took out his knife and tested its sharpness.

‘There's no need to kill him,' I said. ‘All you have to do is keep him from the recital.'

Kavi shot me a pitying look.

‘Wait for me here,' Lychev said to me. ‘When I come back we'll make our way to the Finland Station. It's not yet 5 p.m. Even if we have to walk all the way, we have plenty of time.'

Kavi broke open a large revolver in front of us and carefully loaded each chamber before snapping it together again.

‘Make yourself some tea,' Lychev said. ‘I'll be back soon.'

‘Wait a minute,' I said. ‘Was Yuratev's mother also in the house in Kazan the night the intruder broke in?'

‘No,' Lychev said. ‘According to the police reports she had died two years earlier.'

So Zinnurov had been telling the truth, about this at least. Anna must have conflated her passing with the brutal assault she witnessed as a thirteen-year-old girl.

‘How did she die?'

‘After a fall. The death was recorded as accidental.'

‘Was there some doubt?'

‘As a policeman reading between the lines, yes, a lot of doubt.'

Had Anna been right, after all? ‘Do you think Zinnurov killed her?'

‘Not according to the detective who investigated the case. He thought Zinnurov was protecting the real killer.'

‘Who was the real killer?'

‘Are you sure you want to know?'

I said nothing.

Lychev said, ‘Irina Yuratev was not some child's beloved babushka. She was a drunken, foul-mouthed, coarse old woman.'

It may or may not have been true. Who was I to know? But even had she been this and worse, it hardly excused murder.

Lychev and Kavi checked their weapons one last time. Lychev pulled back the slide of his automatic, slamming a bullet into the firing chamber.

‘Oh, Spethmann, I meant to ask,' Kavi said. ‘How did your game with Kopelzon go?'

It took me a moment to realise what he was talking about. ‘We never got to finish it,' I said.

‘You mean the move I gave you was all for nothing?'

‘I'm afraid so.'

He laughed as he pulled the door closed after him.

All for nothing.

I went to the window at the front of the apartment. A minute or two later, I saw Kavi and Lychev, hands stuffed in the pockets of their overcoats, start across the street for the house at number 19.

In a few hours all this would be over. The guests would arrive at the Mariinsky and make their way to the White Hall. Kopelzon would be more nervous than usual. He would scan
the faces, expecting at any moment to see Rozental's double turn up. And then everyone would rise and bow as the tsar and tsarina came to take their seats. Where was the double? Kopelzon would be sweating now. Where was the double?

I would be on a train to Paris with Anna.

Lychev and Kavi were approaching the door of number 19. They took a quick look around. Lychev nodded and took out his pistol. The huge Cossack kicked at the door, once, twice. The sound of the shattering frame carried all the way across the street. The top hinge broke and the door swung open.

Lychev and Kavi dashed inside.

I knew they would kill him but even so I flinched at the first shot. I was about to turn away when I saw someone stumble backwards through the broken door.

Kavi still had his gun in his hand but there was nothing he could do with it. He collapsed heavily on the pavement.

A moment later, Lychev emerged, hands above his head, surrounded by half a dozen men armed with pistols and carbines. They were followed by Colonel Gan, impeccable in his Household Cavalry uniform. With him was the man I had once briefly mistaken for Rozental. A motor carriage pulled up and the double got inside. As it drove away, Gan turned to Lychev and offered him a cigarette. Lychev shook his head.

It was only then that I noticed two of Gan's men hurrying across the street. They were coming to get me.

I was on the landing before I realised that if I tried to escape from the front of the house I would run into Gan's men. I ran back into the apartment, slamming the door behind me. There was a gun in my pocket but I knew I would never use it.

I raced into a bedroom at the back and went to the window.
It would not open. I went to the bathroom where the window was already open. I looked out. Below was a garden. It was a long way down.

They were at the door.

I looked out again. There was a tree but I would never be able to reach its branches.

They were kicking in the door, just as Kavi had.

I climbed onto the ledge. There was a pergola with a thin, insubstantial plant growing over it. I heard the door shatter. I leaped into the air, pushing out as far as I could.

Two faces looked down at me. For a moment I was not sure where I was or why they were interested in me. One of the faces ducked inside, the other shouted at me to stay where I was.

I got to my feet, struggling out of the trailing branches of the plant and the broken wood of the pergola. A bewildered child in a sailor's suit was staring open-mouthed from a window on the ground floor. I turned and ran the length of the garden. My right hip hurt and by the time I reached the gate in the far wall I was already hobbling. Glancing back, I saw the man in the window take aim with his pistol. He fired three or four shots.

I ducked through the side streets. I ran through pain. I ran from fear. After ten minutes or so I could go no further. Had I turned then to find my pursuer, gun in hand, but a pace away, there would have been nothing I could have done. My breath had given out. My heart was pounding. I put my hands on my knees, bent over and retched. I wiped my mouth, gulped for air and went on.

Even with the most detailed map I would not now be able to reproduce the course of my flight. I don't remember crossing the Nevsky, I don't know how I got to Minsky Street. I don't remember that at any point in my flight I took a decision to go there, but of course I must have. It could not
have been by chance. I do remember seeing in the streets the pitiful detritus of the strikers' procession – the abandoned placards, umbrellas, boaters and shoes. From time to time I heard the dry crack of a rifle shot but for the most part there was silence. Shop windows had been smashed, but not many. Near the Yusupov Palace I passed what looked at first like a collection of rags lying on the pavement. It turned out to be a dead body, around which a small group of bored policemen had gathered.

Minsky Street.

I had arrived. I looked at my watch. It was 6.18 p.m. The recital was for 7.30 p.m. Kopelzon might well have left for the theatre already.

My appearance at his door took him by surprise. He tried to push it shut but I barged through to the small, over-furnished room. There were turkey-work cloths and cushions scattered over the furniture, photographs of himself in Paris and Moscow, posters for his concerts, a phonograph, sheet music, books and, on a little table in the centre of the room, a chessboard.

He was already in his dress suit. He looked lined, haggard and oppressed. He smelt musky and sour.

‘You look as though you didn't expect to see me,' I said, going to the chessboard.

‘I'm warning you, Otto,' he said, ‘I have a gun. I will use it if I have to.'

‘You won't have to,' I said. ‘I just want to finish our game.'

‘I don't have time for this,' he said, glancing anxiously in the direction of the bedroom.

‘Do you have company?' I said.

‘That's none of your business.'

‘Is it your friend Berek Medem?'

‘It's a woman, actually.'

‘I'm sure she won't mind. It'll only take a minute,' I said, setting up the position from our game. In spite of himself he was watching with interest. ‘I have the win. I have it all worked out.'

‘Nonsense,' he said dismissively. ‘It's a dead draw.'

‘No, Reuven,' I said. ‘It's a forced win.'

‘You're deluding yourself,' he said. ‘You're attacking my f-pawn with queen and king, I'm defending with equal forces. You can't win.'

Spethmann–Kopelzon
After 46 … Qc7. Spethmann claims to have found
a forced win. Is he right?

I put my hand out to the queen. This much Kopelzon expected. He also expected me to play it to g7. Instead I moved it to h6. He squinted at the board. I do not think he yet realised that the position was fatal, but I could see he was beginning to have doubts.

‘Who's in the bedroom?' I asked. ‘Anyone I know?'

‘Someone I happen to be deeply in love with,' he said, looking up from the board, ‘if you must know.'

‘Really?' I said. ‘That's new for you, isn't it?'

‘We're going to get married, actually,' he said sharply.

‘Congratulations. Is she coming to hear you tonight?'

He looked at me with suspicion. ‘You won't stop us, Otto,' he said. He opened the drawer of the table and brought out a revolver.

‘We're playing chess, Reuven,' I said. ‘There's no need for that.'

‘Are you alone?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Where's Lychev?'

‘He was arrested an hour ago,' I said, ‘by Colonel Gan.'

He searched my face and, satisfied I was telling the truth, he placed the gun on the table beside the taken pieces, though still within reach. I was no threat to him.

He played his queen to e7. ‘I'm still guarding the pawn with queen and king,' he said with a thin smile of satisfaction. ‘You won't get it.'

I played my queen to g7. Kopelzon narrowed his eyes. Now he apprehended something of the danger.

‘How did you ever come to meet Berek Medem?' I said.

‘You've heard of the recital I gave at the Paris Opera? Two years ago this August? Do you know, Otto, people boast of having been present. When they talk about it, it's with awe. They don't talk about me as a musician – no! That night they heard a messiah who touched their souls.'

He looked down at the chessboard.

‘You're running out of moves, Reuven,' I said.

He played his pawn to a6. I played mine to a3.

‘Berek was there that night. He heard me. He came backstage. There were the usual women, old and young, all of them begging to have the opportunity to entertain me privately. I would have obliged, the prettiest at least.' He smiled; his carnality had always been plain. ‘But I saw this man and for the first time in my life I sensed a power greater than my own.'

He moved his a-pawn another square forward. I did the same. He sat back, regarding the pieces almost as enemies.

‘You're in zugzwang, Reuven,' I said.