06 - The Man Who Walked Like a Bear by Stuart M. Kaminsky

Author:Stuart M. Kaminsky [Kaminsky, Stuart M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: onlib, _rt_yes, Crime, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Political, International Mystery & Crime, Police Procedural, USSR, __NB_fixed
ISBN: 9781453273494
Google: LjqqOtXyWYYC
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-10-16T04:00:00+00:00

TEN

EMIL KARPO SAT ON the hard wooden chair in the darkened bedroom, considering what he would do if he resigned his position. He could think of nothing. He had spent his life till now serving the State. He existed to serve the State. He had no interests but the service of the State. His task was to locate those responsible for crimes and turn the criminals in for trial. Criminals were parasites draining the energy of communism. Emil Karpo was, at that moment, in need of a metaphor, but none came to mind. In fact, the “parasite” image was not his own but Karl Marx’s. Karpo did not imagine a crawling or flying or slithering creature attacking a determined and noble bear named Russia. Emil Karpo had no imagination. He considered this his principal strength.

The person on the bed in front of Karpo stirred but did not awaken. Karpo watched unblinking, unmoving. Karpo had to be on a street corner more than two miles away in less than twenty minutes. If the figure in the bed did not awaken soon, Karpo would have to awaken him.

Because he had no imagination or had used it so little, Emil Karpo could not put words to his present feelings, though he knew his dilemma. His responsibility was to catch Yuri Vostoyavek and the girl in the act of conspiring to kill Andrei Morchov or to stop them as they were about to perform the act. Never before had Karpo’s duty been so clear. Morchov was a key member of the Politburo.

Karpo did not want to admit to himself that he had disliked Morchov. That was not relevant. Should not be. Karpo did not want to admit that he could see the anguish, desperation on the faces of the girl and Yuri Vostoyavek. But Karpo was not easy on himself. He acknowledged these realizations and considered them threats to his effectiveness.

The penalty for conspiring to assassinate a member of the government was death.

“Huh,” the figure in the bed grunted in the darkness, perhaps sensing another person in the room. He sat up, eyes blinking.

“Mother? What are you … ?” and then Yuri Vostoyavek knew that the outlined, straight-backed figure in the chair next to his bed was not his mother. It didn’t even seem to be human.

“Who are …” Yuri began and then whirled and reached for a weapon, any weapon. His hand closed on the metal alarm clock on the table next to his bed. He jumped out of bed naked and breathing heavily as Karpo rose and caught the descending hand holding the clock. Yuri tried to punch at the skeleton face before him with his free hand, but that, too, was stopped by Karpo.

The boy did not scream. He was afraid. Karpo could feel that, had felt it many times before. Karpo could smell his fear, and the boy could smell a dry cleanliness on the night figure, a smell he immediately equated with death.

“He found out. He sent you,” Yuri said, trying to control his breathing.

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