EF06 - The State Counsellor (35 page)

He sat there like that for an hour and ten minutes. Four thousand, two hundred and seventeen beats of his heart.

After what had happened, Needle couldn't be allowed to go home, and so Green had brought her to the secret apartment. She hadn't said a word all evening, hadn't joined in the conversations, just smiled a gentle smile he had never seen before. Before that day he had never seen her smile at all.

Then they had started getting ready for bed. The lads had settled down on the floor in the drawing room, giving up the bedroom to the woman. Green had said he was going to finish preparing the explosive mixture.

He went in to see Needle. She took hold of his hand and lay there, looking at him, for a long time. They didn't say anything.

When she did speak it was brief, something unexpected again: 'We're like a pair of giraffes.' And she laughed quietly.

'Why giraffes?' he asked, frowning because he didn't understand.

'When I was little I saw a picture in a book: two giraffes; gangling and clumsy; standing there with their necks twined together, the ungainly creatures, looking as if they didn't know what to do next.'

Needle closed her eyes and fell asleep, and Green thought about what she had said. When her fingers finally trembled and released their grip, he cautiously got to his feet and walked out of the bedroom. He really did have to finish making the explosive jelly.

As he stepped out into the corridor, he happened to glance in the direction of the hallway and froze on the spot.

Another white rectangle. Lying below the slit in the door. A letter:

You botched it. You let them both get away. But you have a chance to redeem your error. Pozharsky and Fandorin are having another secret meeting tomorrow. In Briusov Square, at nine in the morning.

TG

Green caught himself smiling. Even more astonishing was the thought that had just come to him.

God did exist after all. His name was TG, he was an ally of the revolution and he had a Remington No. 5 typewriter.

Wasn't that what they called a 'joke'?

Something was changing, in him and in the world around him. For the better or for the worse - he couldn't tell.

CHAPTER 13

in which something appropriately unlucky happens

When he came round and saw a white open space with a bright yellow sphere at its centre, Erast Petrovich did not immediately realise that he was looking at a ceiling and the globe of an electric light. He turned his head a little (it transpired that his head was lying on a pillow, and he himself was lying in a bed) and his gaze encountered a gentleman who was sitting beside him and observing him very keenly. The man seemed vaguely familiar, but the State Counsellor could not immediately recall where he had seen him, especially since the man's appearance was entirely uninteresting: small facial features, a neat parting, an unpretentious grey jacket.

I
ought to ask where I am, why I'm lying down and what the time is,
Erast Petrovich thought; but before he could say anything the man in the grey jacket got up and walked out quickly through the door.

He would have to try to find the answers himself. He started with the most important question: why was he in bed?

Was he wounded? Ill?

Erast Petrovich moved his arms and legs, paying close attention to his body's reaction, but failed to discover anything alarming, except for a certain reluctance in his joints, such as there might be after heavy physical work or a concussion.

Immediately he remembered: the baths, the jump from the roof, the police constable.

Obviously, his conscious mind had spontaneously switched off and he had been plunged into the deep sleep that his spirit and its corporeal shell required in order to recover from the shock.

The swoon could hardly have lasted more than a few hours. The electric light and the drawn curtains indicated that the night was not yet over. But he still had to determine precisely where they had brought the naked man who had fainted in that chilly side street.

To all appearances, this was a bedroom, only not in a private home but in an expensive hotel. Fandorin was led to this conclusion by the monogram adorning the carafe, glass and ashtray standing on the elegant bedside table.

Erast Petrovich picked up the glass to take a closer look at the monogram: the letter 'L' under a crown. The symbol of the Loskutnaya Hotel.

That finally made everything clear: this was Pozharsky's room.

It also revealed the identity of the unremarkable gentleman: he was one of the 'guardian angels' who had been striding along behind Gleb Georgievich during their recent conversation.

The questions now answered were replaced by a new one: what had happened to the prince? Was he alive?

The answer came immediately - the door swung open and the deputy director of police himself rushed into the room, not only alive, but apparently quite unharmed.

'Well, at last!' he exclaimed in sincere delight. 'The doctor assured me that there was nothing broken and your faint was the result of nervous shock. He promised that you would soon recover consciousness, but you stubbornly refused to come round - it was quite impossible to rouse you. I'd begun to think you were going to turn into a genuine sleeping beauty and ruin my entire plan. You have been reclining at your leisure for a whole day and night! I never thought you had such delicate nerves.'

So this was the next night. Following the Flight of the Hawk Erast Petrovich's spirit and corporeal shell had required more than twenty-four hours of rest.

'I have some questions,' the State Counsellor hissed inaudibly.

He cleared his throat and said it again, in a voice that was hoarse but intelligible. 'I have some questions. Before we were interrupted, you said that you had picked up the Combat Group's trail. How did you manage that? That is one. What measures have you taken while I was sleeping? That is two. What is this plan of which you speak? That is three. How did you manage to escape? That is four.'

'I escaped in an original manner, which I omitted to describe in my report to our supreme ruler. By the way' - Pozharsky raised one finger significantly - 'there has been a fundamental change in our status. Following yesterday's attempt on our lives, we are now obliged to inform His Imperial Highness's chancellery directly of the progress of the investigation. Ah, look who I'm telling! A man like you, so far removed -
as yet
- from the exalted empyrean of St Petersburg, is quite incapable of appreciating the significance of this event.'

'I take your word for it. Then what was this manner? You were undressed and unarmed, as I was. You ran to the right, in the direction of the main entrance, but you wouldn't have had time to reach it; the terrorists would have filled your back full of holes.'

'Of course. And therefore I did not run towards the main entrance,' Gleb Georgievich said with a shrug. 'Naturally, I ducked into the ladies' section. I managed to skip through the changing room and the soaping room, although my indecent state provoked a great hullabaloo. But the fully clothed gentlemen who were chasing after me were less fortunate. The entire wrath of humanity's lovelier half was unleashed on their heads. I believe my pursuers were given a taste of boiling water, and sharp nails, and fierce jabs. In any case, there was no longer anyone pursuing me along the alley, although the promenading public did pay my modest person certain signs of attention. Fortunately, I did not have to run far to reach the police station, otherwise I should have been transformed into a snowman. The most difficult thing was persuading the officer in charge that I was the deputy director of police. But how did you manage to get out? - I've been racking my brains over that; I've combed every nook and cranny at Petrosov's, but I still can't understand it. The only place you can reach by the stairway that you ran up is the roof!'

'I was simply lucky,' Erast Petrovich replied evasively, and shuddered at the memory of that step into the empty void. He had to admit that the cunning Petersburgian had found a simpler and more ingenious way out of their difficulty.

Pozharsky opened the wardrobe and started throwing clothes on to the bed.

'Choose whatever fits you. And in the meantime, tell me this. Back there in room number six, you said that you were expecting the answer to the riddle very shortly. Does that mean you had anticipated the possibility of an attack? And was it supposed to tell you who the traitor is?'

Fandorin paused before he nodded.

And who exactly was it?'

The prince looked searchingly at the State Counsellor, who had suddenly gone very pale.

'You have still not answered all of my questions,' Fandorin said eventually.

'Very well, then.' Pozharsky sat down on a chair and crossed his legs. 'I'll start from the very beginning. Naturally, you were right about the double agent, I realised that immediately. And, like yourself, I had only one suspect: our mysterious Diana.'

'B-But then why—'

Pozharsky raised his hand to indicate that he had anticipated the question and was about to answer it.

'So that you would not be concerned about any rivalry from my side. I confess, Erast Petrovich, that I am something of a moral freethinker. But then, you've known that for a long time already. Did you really think that I would go chasing around like a little puppy-dog, asking all the police agents and cab drivers idiotic questions? No, I inconspicuously installed myself in your wake, and you led me to the modest little townhouse on Arbat Street where our Medusa has her lodging. And don't go raising your eyebrows so indignantly! Of course, what I did was improper, but you know, your behaviour was not exacdy comradely, was it? - telling me about Diana, but keeping the address secret? Is that what "working together" means?'

Fandorin decided it would be pointless to take offence. Firstly, this descendant of the Varangians had absolutely no concept of what conscience was. And secondly, it was his own fault - he ought to be more observant.

'I gave you the right of the first night,' the prince said with a mischievous smile. 'You, however, did not linger for long in the delightful rose's abode. But when you left the said abode you had such a satisfied look that I felt quite wickedly envious. Could Fandorin really have gutted her already, I wondered, as quickly as that? But no, from the way the enchantress behaved, I realised that you had come away with nothing.'

'You spoke with her?' asked the State Counsellor, astonished.

Pozharsky laughed, apparently deriving genuine pleasure from this conversation.

'Not only spoke - Good Lord, his eyebrows have shot up again! You have a reputation as Moscow's leading Don Juan, and yet you don't understand women at all. Our poor Diana had been orphaned; she suddenly felt abandoned and unwanted. She used to have such distinguished, influential suitors hovering around her, but now she was just an ordinary collaborator, except that she had taken her dangerous game too far. Did she not try to make you her new protector? There, I can see from your blush that she did. I am not so conceited as to imagine that she fell in love with me at first glance. But you spurned the poor woman, and I did not. For which I
was rewarded in full measure. Ladies, Erast Petrovich, are at the same time far more complicated and far simpler than we think.'

'Then Diana was the traitor?' Fandorin gasped. 'It's not possible!'

'She was, she was, my dear chap. In psychological terms it is very easy to explain, especially now, when all the circumstances have become clear. She imagined that she was Circe, the sovereign mistress of all men. It was exceedingly flattering to her vanity that she could toy just as she chose with the fate of such dread organisations, and the very Empire itself. I believe that gave Diana quite as much erotic pleasure as her amorous adventures did. Or, rather, they complemented each other.'

'But how did you manage to make her c-confess?' asked Erast Petrovich, still stunned.

'I told you: women are constituted far more simply than Messrs Turgenev and Dostoevsky would have us believe. Forgive my vulgar boasting, but in the hierarchy of love, I am not a mere aide-de-camp, but a field marshal at least. I know how to drive a woman insane, especially if she is greedy for sensual pleasure. At first I employed all my talents to transform Mademoiselle Diana into a melting ice cream, then I was suddenly transformed from syrup into steel. I adduced the facts in my possession and frightened her a little, but most effective of all was the sunlight. I drew back the curtains and her strength was drained completely, like a vampire's.'

'B-But why? Did you see her face? And who was she?'

'Oho, you'll find that very interesting,' said the prince, laughing at something or other. 'You'll realise straightaway what all the mystery was about. But we'll come back to that later. Well then, it turned out that Diana was getting secret information from Burlyaev and Sverchinsky and transmitting it to the terrorists in the Combat Group by means of notes. She signed her notes "TG", which means Terpsichore the Goddess, who, as you no doubt remember, lived with the other Muses on Mount Helicon. Quite an original touch of humour, don't you think?' Pozharsky sighed. 'It was only afterwards that I realised why she launched into her confessions so readily. She knew about our meeting at the baths and was certain that neither you nor I would emerge from it alive. She calculated that I would want to use her to catch the terrorists. And she was right. An artful creature, I grant her that. No doubt she had a good laugh at my air of triumph as well.'