Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [160]
“How do you know what’s happening?” Arkady asked.
“People are calling us from Moscow,” Stas said.
Arkady was amazed. “The telephone lines are open?”
“That’s what I mean about idiocy.”
“Does Michael know you’re going?”
“He tried to stop me. He says it’s a security risk and an embarrassment to the station if we’re caught. He says Max called from Moscow to say that it’s business as usual and there’s nothing for me to be so excited about.”
“Does he know Irina’s going?”
“He asked. He doesn’t know.”
Though boarding had started, Arkady dove into a telephone booth. A recorded message on the phone repeated over and over that the international circuits were busy. The only way he could get through was to call continuously. As he was about to give up, he noticed a fax center.
Polina had said she would take Rudy’s fax machine. At the desk, he wrote her telephone number and the message, “Looking forward to seeing you. If you have a painting of Uncle Rudy’s, could you bring it with you? Drive very carefully.” He added his flight number and arrival time and signed the message, “Arkady.” Then he asked for a fax directory and wrote a second message to Federov: “Followed advice. Please inform City Prosecutor Rodionov of return today. Renko.”
The clerk’s eyes opened as wide as a doll’s. “You must be anxious to get home,” she said.
“I’m always anxious when I go home,” Arkady said.
Irina waved him to the gate, where Stas and Peter Schiller were regarding each other like examples of different species.
Peter grabbed Arkady and pulled him aside. “You can’t leave me with this.”
“I trust you.”
“My short experience with you suggests that’s a curse. What am I going to do with it?”
“Hang it someplace with a constant temperature. Be an anonymous donor. Just don’t give it to your grandfather. You know, the story about Malevich wasn’t a lie. He did bring his paintings to Berlin to keep them safe. For the time being, do what he did.”
“It seems to me that Malevich’s mistake was going back. What if Rita calls Moscow and says you took the painting? If Albov and Gubenko know you’re coming, they’ll be waiting for you.”
“I hope so. I wouldn’t be able to find them, so they have to find me.”
“Maybe I should go with you.”
“Peter, you’re too good. You’d scare them away.”
Peter shifted reluctantly.
Arkady said, “Life can’t all be fast cars and automatic weapons. You finally have a task worthy of you.”
“They’ll kill you at the airport or on the way in. Revolutions are for settling scores. What’s an extra body? At least here I can throw you in jail.”
“That sounds inviting.”
“We can keep you alive and extradite Albov and Gubenko.”
“No one has ever successfully extradited anyone from the Soviet Union. And who knows what government will be in place tomorrow? Max might be Minister of Finance and Gubenko might be Minister of Sport. Besides, if there’s a decent investigation into Ali and his friends, I think you’ll be glad I’m far away.”
A soft gong announced the last boarding call. Peter said, “Germany goes straight downhill every time Russians show up.”
“And vice versa,” Arkady said.
“Remember, there’s always a cell waiting for you in Munich.”
“Danke.”
“Be careful.”
Peter scanned the boarding line as Arkady joined Stas and Irina. From halfway down the ramp, Arkady could see Peter’s head over the crowd, still carrying out the duty of a rear guard. At last glimpse, Peter took a firm grip on the shawl and slipped away.
The Canvas Bag fit in the overhead compartment. Arkady sat on the aisle, Stas by the window, Irina in between. When they lifted off, Stas’s face took on an even more ironic expression than usual. Irina held on to Arkady’s arm. She looked exhausted, blank, not unhappy. Arkady thought the three of them resembled refugees so confused that they were going the wrong way.
A number of passengers seemed to be journalists and photographers burdened with carry-on gear. No one wanted to spend two hours at a baggage claim while a revolution was going on.
Stas said, “The Emergency