The Twelfth Department by William Ryan

Author:William Ryan [Ryan, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Historical, Thriller
Amazon: B009LRWWF4
Goodreads: 16044949
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2013-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

When they stepped outside, the heat took Korolev by the throat and then did its best to push him down feet-first into the concrete sidewalk—a strange sensation and not at all pleasant. Up above, sitting on that eyrie of a roof terrace, they’d picked up whatever small breeze was whispering its way across Moscow and, slight as it had been, it had relieved some of the swelter from the day. Down here however the heat was a presence that surrounded you—and it seemed to have got even worse in the last hour or so.

“Were you trying to protect her?” Dubinkin asked with an amused smile.

“I’d finished questioning her,” Korolev said gruffly, hoping it would be enough to keep the fellow in check. “Are you coming with me to the institute?”

He pointed to the car Morozov had provided him with, noticing that the two goons were still parked not far behind it, although now they were leaning against the car, examining them at their leisure.

“You were trying to protect her, weren’t you? My dear Korolev, she wasn’t in any danger. She’s the daughter of an important French politician, one sympathetic to us.”

“Yes, I heard that. It would have been helpful if someone had mentioned it to me earlier.”

“Didn’t I?”

“You told me she was French,” Korolev said, his attention focused on the State Security men. “No more than that.”

Dubinkin chuckled.

“You’re a surprise in many ways, Korolev. I thought you’d be some aging bull, waiting his turn to be put out to pasture—but there’s more to you than that, isn’t there?”

Korolev wasn’t that interested in what Dubinkin thought of him. If the truth were told, which it seldom was these days, Korolev was beginning to get a little tired of Dubinkin toying with him. If he wanted to find a subject for study, he should go and look into the head of one of his Chekist friends in that car. He turned to Dubinkin.

“Those two likely looking fellows—leaning against the Emka? Recognize them?”

Dubinkin didn’t bother to look.

“I saw them on the way in. I believe they are comrades, yes—if that’s your question.”

“Comrades?” Korolev considered the word for a moment or two. “From this Twelfth Department?”

“I believe so. Would you like me to go and check?”

“No need,” Korolev said. “I’m sure you’re right. Not subtle when it comes to following a man, are they?”

“I think they want be seen, Korolev. I think they wouldn’t be following orders if they weren’t seen. They’re trying to distract you. To put pressure on you.”

Korolev thought back—it had been different once, hadn’t it? Back at the time of the Revolution there’d been people who’d pushed their weight around, but you could just push right back—and if your heart was in the right place, it all worked out. How had this mess come about? Here he was, an honest-enough policeman, doing his job, and being followed around Moscow by a couple of State Security bruisers for no good reason other than simply that—he was doing his job.

“Let’s just

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