White Fox by Owen Matthews

Author:Owen Matthews [Matthews, Owen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

2

The 62nd Leningrad Police Precinct headquarters occupied a scruffy prewar brick building stained with urban grime and still pockmarked by wartime shrapnel. It was located behind the sprawl of the Kirov steel works, which belched black smoke from a forest of chimneys.

Laar looked much older than Vasin remembered. His long, melancholic face had sagged into middle-aged jowls and his gray police uniform was tight around the midriff.

“Arvo! You’re looking great. It’s been what, five years?”

“I thought you secret policemen were supposed to be good at telling lies, Sasha.” Laar’s voice was as heavily accented as ever, a singsong Scandinavian lilt. “But…you are in Interior Ministry uniform, I see. One of us again, Sasha? Had enough of kontora work?”

“Ah, Arvo, I wish I could talk about it.”

“Above my pay grade?”

“Speaking of pay grades—are those lieutenant-colonel’s stars I see there?”

“You are correct. Very obser-vant as ever.” Laar’s voice carried a blast of nostalgia. He sounded so much like a cartoon Estonian that Vasin had to struggle to suppress a smile.

“Vice squad, I hear?”

“Old news. Now, I am in charge of Unsupervised Children.”

“You mean homeless?”

“There are no homeless children in the USSR, Sasha. And there is no unemployment. You know that.” Laar’s upper lip tightened a little, to signal he was trying to crack a dry joke.

“Of course. Listen, I want to sit down and have a proper catch-up. Next few days. But right now, we need your help.”

“We?”

“I am on kontora business and have a witness. Very sensitive. Internal KGB affair. We need somewhere to hole up for the next few nights. We…” Vasin hesitated before coming out with his request. Laar was so utterly inscrutable that Vasin had no idea how he would react. “We need somewhere to stay where the neighbors won’t ask too many questions about comings and goings. Or the local cops.”

Laar’s eyebrow crept up a fraction of an inch.

“Yes. I know a place. A Finnish comrade runs it. She is discreet. If you have money, of course, to compensate her.”

“Runs it? Like a private hotel?”

“Sasha, this place is a brothel.” This time Laar actually smiled. “Though of course there are no prostitutes in the Soviet Union, either. But if you promise me my friend will not get into trouble, I will telephone her.”

A brothel? Actually—not the worst place to hide. Secure. Under police protection. Bedding and catering provided, presumably. Vasin grabbed his old colleague in a rough bear hug, kissing him on the cheek for good measure.

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