EF06 - The State Counsellor (28 page)

Pozharsky screwed up his black eyes. 'Rational. But hard to achieve. His Majesty has firm ideas concerning the good of the Empire and the social order. The sovereign believes that a tsar is a father to his subjects, a general is a father to his soldiers and an employer is a father to his workers. It is not permissible to interfere in the relationship between a father and his sons.'

Zubtsov's voice became soft and cautious - he was evidently approaching the most important point.

'Then, Your Excellency, we ought to demonstrate to the supreme power that the workers are no sons of their employer, but all of them, the factory owners and the factory hands, are equally His Majesty's children. It would be good to seize the initiative without waiting for the revolutionaries finally to organise the artisans into a herd that we cannot control. To intercede for the workers with their masters and occasionally put pressure on the factory owners. Let simple people start getting used to the idea that the state machine protects the workers, not the money bags. We could even help promote the establishment of trade unions, only direct their activities into law-abiding economic channels instead of subversion. And this is the time to do it, Your Excellency, or it will too late.'

'Don't call me "Your Excellency",' Pozharsky said with a smile. 'To my competent subordinates I am Gleb Georgievich, and if we become close, simply Gleb will do. You'll go a long way, Zubtsov. In this country people who can think like true statesmen are worth their weight in gold.'

Sergei Vitalievich flushed, and his pink spots were drowned in a flood of pink.

Looking at him closely, Fandorin asked: 'Did you really come here, to the Office of Gendarmes, in order to share your views on the workers' movement with Gleb Georgievich? - today of all days, with everything that's going on?'

Zubtsov became embarrassed, evidently taken aback by this question.

'Naturally Sergei Vitalievich did not come here to theorise,' said Pozharsky, looking calmly at the young idealist. 'Or at least, not only to theorise. As I understand it, Mr Zubtsov, you have some important information for me, but first you decided to sound out whether I share your general political idea. I do -wholly and completely. I shall be unstinting in offering you every possible support. As I said, in our administration intelligent people are worth their weight in gold. And now let me hear what you have for me.'

The titular counsellor swallowed and started speaking, but not in the same smooth, easy manner as before. He was very nervous now, and he gestured with his hand to support his points.

'I ... I, gentlemen, I would not like you to consider me a double-dealer and... an informer. But this isn't really informing at all ... Very well, then, an unprincipled careerist... It's only out of concern for the good of the cause

'Erast Petrovich and I have no doubt at all about that,' the prince interrupted impatiently. 'That's enough of the preamble, Zubtsov; get to the point. Is it some intrigue by Burlyaev or Mylnikov?'

'Burlyaev. And not an intrigue. He has planned an operation

'What operation?' Pozharsky exclaimed loudly, and Fandorin frowned in concern.

'To capture the Combat Group. Wait, I'll start at the beginning. You know that all of Mylnikov's agents were thrown into trailing the revolutionary groups that might provide leads to the CG. My recent reference to the factory owner Lobastov was no accident. According to information received from agents, Timofei Grigorievich flirts with the revolutionaries and sometimes gives them money. A prudent man, backing both sides just in case. Well then. Mylnikov placed him under surveillance along with all the others. This morning the agent Sapryko saw a certain artisan go to Lobastov's office, and for some reason he was shown straight in to see the boss. Timofei Griogorievich treated his visitor with great consideration. He spoke with him about something for a long time, then they both went away somewhere for an entire hour. The mysterious worker bore a very strong resemblance to the terrorist who goes by the alias of Emelya, as described by the agent Gvidon, but Sapryko is an experienced sleuth and he didn't go off half-cocked, he waited for the man at the control post and followed him cautiously. The target checked several times to see if he was being followed, but he didn't spot his tail. He took a cab to the Vindava Station, dodged about between the railway lines there for a little while and eventually disappeared into a lineman's hut. Sapryko remained under cover, summoned the nearest police constable with his whistle, and sent a note to the Department of Security. An hour later our men had the little house completely surrounded. It has been ascertained that the lineman is called Matvei Zhukov and he lives alone, with no family. Emelya did not come out of the hut again, but before reinforcements arrived, Sapryko saw a young man emerge whose appearance matched the description of the terrorist Bullfinch.'

'What about Green?' Pozharsky asked avidly.

'That's the problem: there's no sign of Green. It looks as though he isn't in the hut. That's precisely why Pyotr Ivanovich gave the order to wait. But if Green doesn't show up the operation will start at midnight. The Lieutenant Colonel wanted it to be earlier but Evstratii Pavlovich persuaded him to wait a while, in case some big fish swam in.'

'This is abominable!' the prince exclaimed. 'Stupid! Agent Sapryko is to be congratulated, but your Burlyaev is an idiot! We need to keep them under observation, shadow them! What if they're keeping the money somewhere else? What if Green doesn't show up there at all? The operation can't go ahead -under no circumstances!'

Zubtsov picked up his theme, speaking rapidly: 'Your Excellency, Gleb Georgievich, that's exactly what I told him! That's why I overcame my natural scruples and came here! Pyotr Ivanovich is a man of great determination, but he's too bull-headed, he likes to flail at things with an axe. But this isn't something you can just take a wild swing at, this has to be handled with kid gloves. He's afraid that you'll take all the credit, he wants to distinguish himself in the eyes of St Petersburg, and that's understandable, but he can't be allowed to put everything in jeopardy for the sake of his own ambition! You are my only hope.'

'Smolyaninov, get Gnezdikovsky Lane on the telephone!'

Pozharsky ordered, getting to his feet. 'No, don't. The telephone's no good for this. Erast Petrovich, Sergei Vitalievich. Let's go!'

The official sleigh tore away from the entrance in a shower of powdered snow. Glancing back, Fandorin noticed another, simpler sleigh pull away from the opposite pavement to follow them. There were two men in identical fur caps sitting in it.

'Don't worry, Erast Petrovich.' The prince laughed. 'They're not terrorists - quite the contrary. They're my guardian angels. Take no notice of them, I'm well used to their company. My chief attached them to me after the gentlemen of the Combat Group almost filled me full of holes on Aptekarsky Island.'

Pushing open the door of Burlyaev's office, the deputy director of police declared from the threshold: 'Lieutenant Colonel, I am removing you from command of the Department of Security pending special instructions from the Minister and temporarily placing Titular Counsellor Zubtsov in charge.'

The sudden intrusion caught Burlyaev and Mylnikov sitting at the desk, studying some kind of plan that was laid out on it.

They reacted differently to Pozharsky's forceful declaration: Evstratii Pavlovich took a few soft, cat-like steps backwards and retreated to the wall, but Pyotr Ivanovich simply stood his ground and lowered his head like a bull.

‘I’m afraid you can't do that, Mr Colonel,' he growled. 'I believe you have been appointed acting head of the Office of Gendarmes? Well then, act in that capacity, but I am not subordinated to the Office of Gendarmes.'

'You are subordinate to me as deputy director of the Police Department,' the prince reminded him in an ominously low voice.

The Lieutenant Colonel's glaring eyes glinted. 'I see my department has bred a traitor.' He jabbed a finger at Zubtsov, who was standing in the doorway, pale-faced. 'But you won't build a career on my bones, my dear friend Sergei Vitalievich. You've backed the wrong horse this time. Look!' He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it triumphantly through the air. 'It came forty minutes ago. A telegram from the Minister himself. I outlined the situation and requested permission to carry out the operation I had planned to detain the Combat Group. Read what His Excellency writes: "To Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev of the Special Corps of Gendarmes. Act at your own discretion. Take the blackguards dead or alive. God speed. Khitrovo." So I'm sorry, Your Excellency, this time we shall get by without you. You have already covered yourself in glory for throwing Rahmet away with such outstanding psychological acuity'

'Pyotr Ivanovich, if we do go head-on, then we will take them dead, not alive,' said Mylnikov, suddenly breaking his silence for the first time. 'These are desperate folk, they'll keep shooting to the last man. But it would be good to take them alive. And I feel sorry for our lads, we'll lose more than one of them too. It's open space all around the hut, wasteland. You can't approach under cover. Perhaps we ought to wait until they come out by themselves?'

Rattled by this blow from the rear, Burlyaev swung round sharply towards his deputy.

'Evstratii Pavlovich, I am not going to change my decision. We'll take everyone who's there. And you don't need to explain to me about the open space, I've been making arrests for years. That's why we're waiting until midnight. Here, on Mariinsky Passage, they put the street lights out at eleven; it will be completely dark then. We'll file out of the goods sheds and approach the house from all sides. I'll go first myself. I'll take Filippov, Guskov and Shiryaev with me, and that - what's his name? - the great beefy fellow, with the sideburns ... Sonkin. They'll break down the door straight away and go in, and I'll follow them, then another four that you'll choose, only with strong nerves, so they won't get the wind up and shoot us in the back. The others will stay here, around the edge of the yard. And those little darlings won't stand a chance. I'll have them before they know what's hit them.'

Pozharsky maintained a bewildered silence, obviously still stunned by the Minister's treachery, and so it was Erast Petrovich who made the final attempt to get the high-handed lieutenant colonel to see sense.

'You are making a mistake, Pyotr Ivanovich. Listen to Mr Mylnikov. Arrest them when they come out.'

'There are already thirty agents sitting in the warehouses around that piece of waste ground,' said Burlyaev. 'If they try to leave while it's still light, so much the better - they'll fall straight into my hands. But if they stay the night there, I'll come for them myself on the stroke of midnight. And that's my final word.

CHAPTER 10

A letter for Green

The sun crept slowly across the sky, never rising far above the flat roofs, even at its highest point. Green sat at the window, perfectly still, watching as the lamp of heaven followed its foreshortened winter route. The punctilious disc of light had only a very short distance left to travel to the final point - the dark, monolithic mass of a grain elevator - when a squat figure appeared on the deserted path that led from the railway lines to Mariinsky Passage.

It wasn't such a bad place, even if it was cramped and there were bedbugs, thought Green. This was the first passer-by since midday, he hadn't seen another soul - just the small shunting locomotive darting backwards and forwards, shuffling the wagons about.

The sun was shining from behind the walker, and Green could only see who it was when the man turned towards the hut. Matvei, his host.

What was he doing here? He'd said he had a shift until eight, but it was only five.

Matvei came in and nodded to Green instead of saying hello. His expression was sullen and preoccupied.

'Here, looks like this is for you

Green took the crumpled envelope from him. He read the name written on it in block capitals, with purple ink: 'MR GREEN. URGENT'.

He glanced briefly at Matvei. 'Where from?'

'Devil only knows,' said the other man, turning even more gloomy. 'I don't understand it. It turned up in the pocket of my coat. I was at the depot, and they called me into the office. There were lots of folk hanging about; anyone could have stuck it in. What I
think is, you need to leave. Where's your third one - the young lad?'

Green tore open the envelope, already knowing what he would see: lines of typewritten words. There they were:

The house is besieged on all sides. The police are not sure that you are inside, and so they are waiting. At exactly midnight the house will be stormed. If you manage to break out, there is a convenient apartment No. 4
,
Vorontsovo Place.

TG

First he struck a match and set fire to the note and the envelope. As he watched the flame, he counted his pulse.

When his circulation had recovered its normal rhythm, he said: 'Walk slowly, as if you're going back to the depot. Don't look back. The police are all around. If they try to arrest you, let them. Tell them I'm not here, I'll be back before nightfall. They're not likely to arrest you. More likely they'll let you through and put a tail on you. We have to disengage and move out. Tell the comrades I said to move you to illegal work'

His host really was strong. He stood there for a moment, without asking any questions. Then he opened a trunk and took out a small bundle, thrust it under his sheepskin coat and set off at a stroll back along the path towards Mariinsky Passage.