A Game of Soldiers. Stephen Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ little Bulgarian cleared his throat, his eyes flicked down the pathway. ‘Yes, excellency, we do have the photographs, but they are barely useable. Blurred, you see…’

      ‘Blurred?’

      ‘Well, he was moving very quickly and there was insufficient light…I brought these…’ Smyrba reached into his jacket, extracted an envelope and handed it to Andrianov. ‘As you instructed, the negatives have been placed in a box for safekeeping.’ Smyrba smiled reassuringly.

      Andrianov tipped the envelope and extracted a sheaf of photographic prints. The paper was thick and textured, the kind of thing you would use if you were giving your mother a sentimental portrait.

      All of them were abstract shapes. He could make out the slash of a door, the spill of light from a window, the line of someone’s back and shoulder. He was drawn immediately to Smyrba’s own face, blurred yet recognizable, as he stood in the doorway, his hands on the shoulders of a child. Another photograph showed the hallway in the background, prostitutes running out of the rooms, what looked like a man’s raised arm.

      He shuffled through the photographs, but the only one that showed Gosling with clarity was a shot taken over his shoulder; the man’s white hair and side whiskers showed clearly. There was a wild expression on the face. Terror? Ecstasy?

      Smyrba fumbled in his jacket for his cigar case, offered Andrianov one. Together the two men lit up. ‘You see what I mean, Sergei. I’m sorry but I’m not sure they are any good, eh?’

      One by one Andrianov slid the photographs back into their envelope. ‘But still, Ivo, if we showed just one of these to him, let’s say this one where you can see his face…he wouldn’t know about the quality of the others, yes?’

      For a moment Smyrba looked up at him with confusion, then he understood. ‘Yes, of course. I see. No. And we could perhaps add something…perhaps there is a police photograph, something of the dead girl that might be added –’ Smyrba giggled and sucked on his cigar ‘– for spice.’

      ‘Yes, Ivo. That’s very good. Let’s look on the bright side. Gosling won’t put up a fight once he thinks we’ve got photographs of him strangling a child. You will approach him, and it’s simple, either he cooperates entirely, or that photograph is all over the press. And we have the police to threaten him with.’

      ‘Yes…’ Smyrba was smiling now. Relaxing.

      ‘Good. So, now we have to clean up the mess. Did anyone see him do it?’

      ‘No,’ Smyrba said quickly. Maybe too quickly. ‘No, excellency. No one.’

      ‘Fine. What’s his condition? Is he composed, is he falling apart? What?’

      ‘I saw him only yesterday. Naturally, he’s nervous. He tried to get away from me. It is as if he blames me for everything that happened, you know? I think he is sinning and sinning, and now it is time to repent, and I am the one reminding him of his sin.’

      ‘Well…we’ll perhaps send someone around to question him, or put a little scare into him, you know?’

      ‘A policeman?’

      ‘A policeman. I don’t know. Perhaps…just something so that he doesn’t think he is off the hook. Perhaps we can organize it so it happens just when you are passing by, or visiting…’

      ‘He may not wish to see me.’

      Andrianov smiled. ‘Oh, he’ll see you, Ivo. And when it’s all over a day or two later, you return and tell him not to worry, that he has friends, eh? Tell him that you’ll take care of him. Tell him that. Tell him that he’s in great danger but you know people who can help.’

      ‘I know someone who can help.’

      ‘That’s right, Ivo. If he plays along you can make it all go away. No one will ever know.’

      ‘Yes. Yes. Go away. Absolutely,’ Smyrba nodded.

      Andrianov pointed to the last photograph, the one where Gosling was shown in a sweating profile, used his finger to etch a box around Gosling’s face. ‘Have this one made larger.’ He smiled. ‘So he can get a good look at himself.’

      His last meeting was with Prince Evdaev and it took place at Evdaev’s mansion, an older building on Kronyerkskaya just above the Aquarium, not that distant from his own house. He was less anxious now, after seeing Gulka and Smyrba. It appeared that the crisis had been managed. They would continue with the Plan.

      ‘An event like this, Sergei, I don’t mind telling you, it makes you worry,’ Evdaev said quietly. At heart the man was a coward.

      ‘It’s been taken care of, Nestor.’

      ‘Yes, but…weren’t you saying that he, ah…Gosling, that he was the key? The key to the whole thing, yes?’

      ‘One of the keys, Nestor. One of the keys.’ They had been drinking. It was the only time to meet with Nestor. After the marches and inspections. After the parades and the endless war games were over. He wanted to leave and see Mina, but she would be asleep by now.

      ‘What about the detectives?’ Evdaev seemed nervous.

      ‘There were no detectives. She’s been delivered to the morgue.’

      ‘Suicide?’

      ‘Yes, Nestor. Not to worry.’

      ‘No witnesses, no names?’

      ‘You were there, did you see anything?’

      ‘I was downstairs. I stayed away.’ Evdaev was squirming in his seat. If he hadn’t been holding a glass of schnapps, he would have been wringing his hands.

      ‘Good. You did the right thing, and I didn’t want you anywhere near Gosling.’

      ‘Yes. I have no idea.’

      ‘That’s not your role. And you shouldn’t concern yourself further.’

      ‘Yes, thank you. I don’t mind telling you, this whole business…’ Evdaev sighed, wiped his hand across his brow.

      Andrianov smiled. The man was an utter coward, a baby. The whole day had been like that. All through his conversations he had become less and less impressed with his recruits into the scheme. Yes, they were all important men, necessary parts of the conspiracy; yes, they had all screwed up their courage to commit treason. Yes, they all had the necessary sentiments and ideological underpinnings to carry them through the storm, but underneath they were weak, ineffectual. They loved the romance of the code names, the secret rendezvous, and, of course, the payments. But for anything difficult, anything that might involve a little dirt or blood, all of them were play-actors. He even had his doubts about how Gulka would react in a crisis. Evdaev was fit to sit on a throne and take orders, fool enough to charge into battle, but for anything dangerous he had no will whatsoever. It was one more symptom of the dry rot that had disabled the whole of Russian society.

      ‘We have nothing to fear, Nestor. There are no names and no witnesses. Certainly no one reliable. It’s only a whorehouse, after all.’ Andrianov laughed and after a glance at him Evdaev did too, a little self-consciously. СКАЧАТЬ