The Final Fabergé (25 page)

Out of a plastic bag Oxby took packages of cheese, biscuits, and cans of German beer. From another bag he emptied an assortment of fresh fruit and arranged it on the table. In that setting, with a soft light falling through the window, and the fruit on top of a faded brown towel, it resembled a still life by Cézanne. Vasily Karsalov watched, bemused. He was not wearing his officer's jacket, instead it was draped over the back of the chair he was sitting in. Yakov sat on the bed and Oxby pulled a straight-back chair close to Vasily, forming a tight-knit triangle.

Oxby sat comfortably, relaxed, his legs crossed, his always available notepad on his lap. “If I speak too quickly,” he said in English, “please raise your hand. And stop me if I use a word you don't understand.”

“It is a beautiful day,” Vasily said, pointing at the window.

“First rate. That's what we would say in London.”

“You are from England?”

Oxby nodded. “But I am visiting with Yakov Stepanovich, who is an old friend. He was in Petersburg during the war.”

Vasily shook his head. “It was called Leningrad. It should be Leningrad today.” Vasily drank some of his beer, savoring it. “Why are you talking to me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Oxby said. “We want to test your memory.”

“It will be hot again. Yesterday was very hot.”

“It is cooler if you go outside. We'll go for a walk. Would you like that?”

“I don't like to go there. They may not let me come back to my room.”

“Vasily, were you in the navy when you were a young man?”

His eyes widened. “I was in the navy. It was bad. They said I killed someone.” He took another sip of beer.

“I don't think so.”

“Yes. They said that. It's true, you know.”

“That's a reason we have come. To tell you that they were wrong. But do you remember the navy?”

Vasily nodded. “Maybe I remember.”

“Can you tell us some things you remember?”

Vasily stared blankly at Oxby. “Brandy. I want some brandy.”

Oxby thought a moment. “Later, Vasily. You can have another can of beer.”

Vasily handed the empty can to Oxby. “There is nothing to drink in this place.”

“It's a hospital,” Oxby said.

“I am not sick.”

“Tell us what you remember when you were in the navy.”

“I was married. Anna.”

“She was pretty?”

Vasily held up his hand. “What is pretty?”

“
Meelah
,” Yakov volunteered.

Vasily grinned, and nodded. “
Dah
.”

“Did you have children? A little girl or boy?”

“A boy. Mikhail Vasilyovich.”

“Where is your wife today? Where is Anna?”

Vasily slowly shook his head. He turned and gazed out the window.

“And Mikhail. Do you know where he is living?”

Vasily did not budge, nor did he speak.

The old soldiers filed slowly along the cream-colored corridor toward the dining room. Viktor peeled away from the procession and stopped at the window by the reception office. He rapped on the glass, then saw the button and pushed it. He pressed several times, impatiently. A door inside the office opened and Tonya hurried to the window and slid it aside.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“I am looking for a patient. Vasily Karsalov.”

Tonya could not conceal her surprise. She eyed him carefully. “Who wants to know?”

“A friend from Petersburg. I am visiting the city and said I would pay him a visit.”

“Suddenly, Karsalov has many friends,” Tonya said. “Two men came yesterday to find him.”

“They are here?” he asked, excitedly.

“You know them?”

He nodded. “I knew some other friends might be in Tashkent.” Viktor evaluated her reaction. “It is a coincidence we are here at the same time.”

Tonya agreed that was so. “You must go to the building next to this one for permission to visit Karsalov. It is the rule.”

She wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to him through the window. Viktor ignored the paper and wrapped a strong hand around her wrist. “I don't have time to be interviewed for a government pass.” He pulled her toward him. “I think you will tell me where to find Karsalov.”

She could feel his breath. “I can't.”

He turned her hand over and placed several twenty dollar bills in it. Then he said slowly, an unconcealed threat running through each of his words, “It is a gift for a favor you must do for me.” His grip tightened. “You understand?”

Fear spread across her face. Her eyes were unblinking and her mouth quivered when she was finally able to answer. “Yes. He is in 411.”

He closed her fingers over the money, then kissed the back of her hand.

Oxby said, “I want you to look at a picture and tell me if you recognize it.” From his shirt pocket he took two photographs and handed one to Vasily.

Vasily glanced at it briefly. “An egg?”

“What kind of an egg?”

“Easter egg?”

“When you were a little boy, did you have an egg like that in your family?”

Vasily looked at the photograph again. “Yes. Everyone did.”

“Painted many colors. With flowers or the picture of a saint?”

“The flowers. But no saints. They were not allowed.”

Yakov joined in. “But we had them from the old days. I think all the families in Petersburg had eggs with pictures of saints and angels. My mother kept them.”

“My mother died in the siege,” Vasily said. He turned to Oxby. “You know about the siege?”

He nodded. “I have read about it. Do you know what this is?” He gave Vasily the second photograph.

“Another Easter egg?”

“Yes, but anything else?”

“The top of the egg is open.”

“Do you know why?”

Vasily shook his head.

“That is a picture of an Imperial egg. It is called the
Orange Tree Egg,
and was made in Petersburg by a famous man. His name was Peter Fabergé. Do you remember that name?”

Vasily crossed his arms over his chest and began to rock back and forth. He rocked ever so slightly at first, then faster and faster still. Abruptly the rocking stopped and again he stared out the window.

Oxby said, “Fabergé made special Easter eggs for the Czars. Each one had a secret hiding place. Did you ever see an egg like that?”

Vasily tilted his head and squinted, trying to pull old memories out of a brain that wasn't functioning properly.

“They were called Imperial eggs,” Oxby repeated.

Vasily looked at the empty can in his hand. “More beer?”

“Not now. Eat some cheese and a biscuit.”

Yakov spread cheese over biscuits and gave them to Vasily. He ate them avidly and asked for another can of beer. Oxby opened another can, urging that he drink it slowly.

Oxby got to his feet and stood next to Vasily's chair. He leaned down and put his face barely a foot away from Vasily's.

“Listen to what I say, Vasily. And try to remember.” He pronounced each word slowly: “Fabergé Imperial egg. Rasputin.”

Vasily's eyes were closed. He shook his head, then he nodded. He repeated the motions, searching for words, for memories, all the while mumbling incoherently.

“What's he saying?” Oxby looked at Yakov.

“He's not making sense. I think something about Anna. And Tallinn.”

Then suddenly, “Rasputin!” Vasily shouted. “Grigori Rasputin.”

Viktor made a quick inventory of the first floor; the dining room and the patients' game and social room. He found no guards or even the most rudimentary security devices. There was one elevator and one flight of stairs close to the front of the building that went to the top floor and to the basement. He found two exits in addition to the main entrance. The elevator was slow; the stairs faster. There was a fire alarm system that, in keeping with other maintenance, was probably 50 percent operable. At the end of the corridors, farthest from the stairs, was a fire escape accessible through a window.

He determined by inspection on the second and third floors that rooms 211 and 311 were approximately at the midpoint of each floor, and made the assumption that 411 would be directly above the other two rooms. His escape would be by the stairs and he would leave through the exit nearest to the adjacent building. From there he could work his way to the city streets.

It was two o'clock. Viktor began to climb the stairs. There was a landing between each floor and a window. All were sealed closed by old paint. The stairwell was like a chimney, stifling hot and hotter still when he reached the fourth floor. Slowly he started for room 411, hugging the walls to avoid making a noise on the old floorboard.

He had been sent to kill Vasily Karsalov. But there were three men in room 411. How much had Karsalov told Ilyushin and the damned Englishman? Had Karsalov remembered, and told all? If he had, what then?

He was at the door. Voices came from the other side, but he could not understand what was being said. Noiselessly he turned the doorknob. He pushed against the door. Slowly, just a thin crack.

“You remember Rasputin?” Oxby said excitedly. “Was there a connection between Rasputin and an Imperial egg? Is that something you remember?”

“My father gave it to me. It was beautiful, but—”

“Yes, go on,” Oxby said. Yakov was on his feet now, pleading for Vasily to remember, to say more about the egg.

“I lost it,” Vasily said with finality. He stared blankly at Oxby.

“How did you lose it?”

“There was a celebration.” His eyes widened as if he had made a great discovery. “It was when Kennedy was killed. In Texas. Is that right?”