Red Square - Martin Cruz Smith [171]
“Unlike Borya,” Max said. “Some people might call Borya indiscriminate. Bigamous, at the least.”
“So Rita brought him one,” Borya said. “Max painted it. He called it a ‘special effect,’ like in the movies.”
Max said, “Kim added his own incredibly crude bomb because Borya demanded that everything in the car burn up.”
Borya said, “Kim can do all kinds of things with blood.”
“Such a rich life Borya has had,” Max said. “Rita and Kim. In TransKom we had a venture that could have become a true multinational company if we’d just stayed away from gambling and whores. It’s the same with this Emergency Committee. They could have all been real millionaires, but they couldn’t tolerate even the least reform. It’s like having a partner who’s in the last stage of syphilis, when it attacks the brain. Now we’re just salvaging what we can.”
“I had a friend named Jaak, a detective. I found him here in a car. What happened?” Arkady asked.
“Bad timing,” Borya said. “He ran into Penyagin. The general was checking the communications in the other bunker, and your detective asked why there was a battalion of tanks and troops sitting in the field. He thought it was going to be like Estonia all over again, there was going to be a coup, and he was going to go back to Moscow to sound the alarm. It was lucky I was around. I was checking a shipment of VCRs in the shed, and I stopped him before he got to the car. But Penyagin was in a dither.”
Max said, “Borya doesn’t like grandstand critics.”
“Penyagin was supposed to be head of CID. You’d think he’d seen a body before,” Borya said.
“He was a desk man,” Arkady said.
“I guess so. Anyway, Minin was supposed to investigate, but you showed up first.” Borya stared at the lime pit. Like a man who can’t trust his good fortune, he said, “I can’t believe you came back.”
“Where is Irina?” Max asked.
“Munich,” Arkady said.
“Let me tell you where I’m afraid she is,” Max said. “I’m afraid she came back with you and went to the White House, where she’ll probably be gassed and shot. The Committee may be a collection of Party nobodies, but the troops know their job.”
“When is the attack?” Arkady asked.
“At three A.M., the middle of the night. They’ll use tanks. It will be fast but messy, and they won’t be able to spare reporters even if they wanted to. Do you know what would really be ironic? If this time I saved Irina.” Max let a moment pass. “Irina’s here. Don’t deny it. You still have a little glow. She wouldn’t let you come back without her.”
Strangely, Arkady couldn’t deny it, though a lie would have served. As if a word could make her disappear.
“Now do you know what you wanted to know?” Borya asked Max, who nodded. “Let’s see the painting.” He snatched the bag away and opened it while Max played the flashlight through the plastic wrap. “Just like Rita told us.”
Max lifted the painting out. “It’s heavy.”
Borya protested, “It’s the painting.”
Max unwound the wrap. “It’s wood, not canvas, and it’s the wrong color.”
“It’s red,” Borya pointed out.
“Red is all it is,” Max said.
Arkady thought it looked like one of Polina’s better efforts—vibrant crimson instead of dark maroon, with more consistent brush strokes.
“I think it’s a fake, but what’s your opinion?” Max turned the flashlight directly into Arkady’s eyes.
Borya kicked Arkady’s legs out from under him, then, with no loss of momentum, moved in and planted a second kick in his chest. Arkady rolled into the dark. On his side, he freed the Nagant from the back of his belt. Faster, Borya produced a pistol and fired into the floor, spraying Arkady with cement.
Arkady shot. Max had been standing in the black behind the flashlight. Now he held a shield of phosphorescent white brilliant enough to light the entire butchering house. Polina’s canvas had ignited as the slug passed through and Borya squinted, stupefied by the blaze. When he understood what was happening, he turned back to Arkady and fired wildly four more times.
Arkady shot and Borya