The People's Will (33 page)

‘There are no coincidences. I helped her because I had sympathy for her. I’d help anyone who was up against the Ohrana.’

‘Helped her because she’s a pretty girl, too, I expect,’ said Sofia.

Lukin seemed to shrug, though it was hard to tell without seeing his face. The chairman scowled at her; the comment was a distraction. ‘That doesn’t explain Luka,’ he said.

‘I tried to ingratiate myself with one revolutionary on the train to Moscow. In Petersburg I tried again with another. The two knew each other. Is that a coincidence?’

‘What do you think of the tsar?’ asked Sofia.

‘He’s a tyrant.’

‘What about his reforms?’

‘He enacted his will – that still makes him a tyrant.’

‘You’d prefer if there were still serfs?’ asked the chairman.

‘I’d prefer to be a slave of the people than the servant of a king.’

There was silence. It was a powerfully simple statement, though that didn’t mean it was spoken with any sincerity. The chairman glanced at Kibalchich, who took up the questioning.

‘You’re a sapper,’ he said.

Lukin nodded.

‘You understand explosives?’

Again a nod.

‘Why is nitroglycerin a better explosive than gunpowder?’

‘With nitroglycerin the ignition front travels faster than sound. It explodes. Gunpowder just burns.’

Kibalchich looked at the chairman and nodded, with a hint of excitement in his eye.

‘So what’s the problem with nitroglycerin?’ he continued.

‘It’s unstable. It’s as likely to blow you up as … as whatever you’re using it for.’

‘What’s the solution?’

‘Mix it with something; sawdust, clay. I’ve used ground-up seashells. Nobel uses kieselgur, which is much the same. They mine it in Simbirsk.’

Again Kibalchich seemed satisfied, but he had more questions.

‘How much did you use at Geok Tepe?’

‘Just over 2,000 kilograms; that’s around 5,000 pounds.’

‘Let’s move on to tunnelling. At what separation should you place your props?’

Lukin laughed. ‘That depends on a dozen factors. The width and height of the shaft; the nature of the earth.’

‘And what’s the earth like in Geok Tepe?’

‘Sand, sandstone.’

‘And here in Petersburg?’

Lukin laughed again. ‘In a word – mud.’

‘That’s hardly specific.’

‘Enough!’ The chairman’s interruption cut through the room.
‘I’m confident the lieutenant knows his job. The question is where his loyalties lie.’

‘How can we know?’ asked Sofia. ‘It’s not worth the risk. If we take him in we’ll all be arrested within days.’

‘So what?’ asked Kibalchich. ‘If we kill him we’ll all be arrested in weeks anyway. This organization is on the brink of collapse. The question is what we do in that time.’

‘What can we do?’

‘If we can get that tunnel completed, the tsar could be dead before the month is out. I think this man could get it done.’

‘He’s army,’ said Zhelyabov. ‘He should be with the Fighting Services Section, not with us. He’ll be more use
after
the tsar is dead, when we need to take control.’

‘We’re too short of people to worry about that,’ pressed Kibalchich. ‘Since they got Goldenberg to talk the arrests haven’t stopped. There’s more of us in the Peter and Paul than out.’

‘It’s still a question of trust,’ said Sofia.

‘It’s a question of whether he’ll do it,’ said Bogdanovich, speaking for the first time. It was a good point.

‘So let’s ask him,’ said the chairman, bored with the prevarication.

‘Wait,’ said Sofia. ‘I want to see his face when he speaks.’

The chairman considered. It would not only allow Lukin to be seen, but to see. Did it matter? Did it really matter whether he lived or died? Did it matter if the tunnel was ever completed? None of it was relevant.

‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘Take off the hood.’

He leaned forward so that his face was just inches from Lukin’s. Lukin knelt, his hands tied behind his back. Zhelyabov held him by the shoulders as Sofia began to loosen the cord around his neck. Moments later, Lukin’s face was revealed. He blinked, becoming used to the lamp-lit room after a day in darkness. He turned his head, exercising his stiff neck. As his eyes adjusted he began to take in his surroundings. He glanced from face to face, trying to link individuals to voices, until his gaze settled on the one that was directly in front of him. His eyes met the chairman’s and he blinked again. His face showed surprise.

Surprise and, just as the chairman had expected, recognition.

IT WAS DARK
and cold and damp and mihail’s head throbbed. But he was alive. Twenty-four hours before, that had not seemed like a probable outcome. Better than that, he had now been accepted – albeit tentatively – into the People’s Will. And he had discovered something that he had never expected: the identity of the chairman of their Executive Committee.

It was Dmitry.

Conversely, Dmitry had recognized him, but that – so Mihail hoped – mattered little. To Dmitry he was simply Lieutenant Lukin, the man who had so ably assisted his cause at Geok Tepe. There was no reason why Dmitry should have discovered his true identity. On the other hand, to Mihail Dmitry was in fact Colonel Otrepyev of the Ohrana, but clearly Dmitry did not fear being denounced. Why should any of them believe him? And why should Dmitry really care? Mihail doubted whether the assassination of the tsar was his primary concern.

The important thing was that for Mihail the trail was hot again.

He sat up and put his hand to his head. They had knocked him out a second time and he’d found himself here in the street. The last he had heard they were going to discuss him, but evidently the decision had now been made; otherwise he’d be dead.

Dmitry’s had not been the only face he recognized. There was the man who had greeted him at Luka’s flat, with the pince-nez and the battered top hat, and also the big man who had been keeping an eye on Dusya on the train. And then there had been the woman with the large forehead who had been watching Konstantin’s coach, who today had a strange semicircular wound
to the side of her hand. How many more of the souls that Mihail had walked past on the city’s streets might also be connected with the People’s Will? Aleksandr should be afraid.

Mihail looked around and tried to work out where they had dumped him. It was a quiet back street; it could be almost anywhere in Petersburg. He pulled himself to his feet, his head still throbbing, and began to walk. The road sloped a little and he chose the downhill path; the key to navigating this city was to find a river or a canal. It wouldn’t be long before he came to one.

His senses gradually returned to him as he walked, and it was only a few minutes before he realized that he wasn’t alone. Someone was shadowing him, travelling on the other side of the street, always hanging a little way behind. He thought about breaking into a run, or doubling back around a block of buildings, but none of it appealed to him. If he was being tracked by an
ohranik
, then what did he care? If they arrested him he could simply appeal to his father for help. If he was being followed by the People’s Will, they would still learn nothing. And why should they bother? They’d only just let him go.

He continued along the road and then turned left, where the way sloped more steeply. Soon he hit a river that he could only guess was the Fontanka. He was south of it, so he followed its curve round to the right. Eventually he found himself on familiar territory, and headed north towards his hotel. Still his pursuer shadowed him and still he didn’t care. By now he felt confident as to who the diminutive figure was.

In twenty minutes he was back at the door of his hotel, but he didn’t go in. Instead he turned and marched swiftly towards where the tail stood watching him. He covered the distance between them in seconds, but there was no attempt to evade him. When he was close, he saw what he had suspected. It was Dusya. He hadn’t heard her voice during his interrogation, but when the hood had been removed he’d caught a glimpse of her, at the back of the room, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyebrows pinched.

‘Why don’t you come in?’ he asked.

She lowered her hood so that he could see her face more clearly, but shook her head.

‘So you’re just going to stand out here all night?’

‘I just wanted to see you safely home,’ she said.

‘They’re dangerous stairs. I might still not make it.’

She smiled. ‘I’d better make sure then.’

They walked back across the street side by side and went in. Mihail spoke briefly to the porter to ask him to send up some refreshments, then he and Dusya went up to his room. It was not the kind of establishment that asked questions concerning its residents’ guests. It would have been a quite different matter at the Hôtel d’Europe. Mihail still had the key to one of their rooms. Would Dusya be impressed by such splendour, he wondered.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said as soon as they were alone.

‘I’m not,’ he replied. This was no time to drop his guard. He was still being interrogated, simply in a more charming manner.

‘What do you mean?’ Dusya was removing her coat. She was an attractive girl, but tonight she looked something special. It took Mihail a moment to realize; she was wearing make-up. He’d never seen that before. It fitted his concept of why she was here.

‘Your freedom, your lives depend on you making sure that you can trust the people you work alongside. And if I join you, then my life depends on it too. So it’s nice to know just how seriously you take security.’ He too began to take off his overcoat. ‘That sort of peace of mind is worth a few bruises.’ He winced as he spoke, perhaps a little theatrically, but it hardly mattered.

‘Is it very bad?’

‘Nothing broken – I don’t think.’

She stood and went over to the washstand. ‘Take off your shirt,’ she instructed, dipping a flannel into the cold water.

He sat on the bed and complied.

‘And I’m sorry about last night – about tricking you,’ she said.

‘It was the smart thing to do. You couldn’t just invite me over for a chat; it would have given me time to work out my story.’ He glanced up at her and smiled. ‘If I’d needed to.’

‘I didn’t have to … you know. They told me it would distract you.’

‘It worked,’ he said with a laugh which he cut short, genuinely in pain.

She drew her breath over her teeth. ‘Those don’t look too pleasant.’

He turned and tried to see, lifting his arm. He could feel each point at which Zhelyabov had kicked him, more to his back than his side. He stretched to see further.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ she said, then began to dab at him with the flannel. He relaxed and let her get on with it. The cold water stung at first, but then began to ease the pain.

The People’s Will had been right to grab him and take him by surprise for just the reason he had said. But then they’d made the mistake of leaving him alone for twenty-four hours. The idea, he presumed, was to make him sweat, and he’d done that for the first two or three, until he’d realized just where he was and why he was there. Then he’d had plenty of time to think – to do exactly what he’d said and get his story straight. He guessed they were unsure of him, seeing him as a possible ally. He worked out what they might know of him. What he had said to Dusya; what he had said to Luka. If Luka had revealed all then Mihail was doomed, but he’d not had long between speaking to Mihail and his death – and it seemed more likely that he would have reported to Iuda rather than to the others. Mihail’s only fear was if they had any inkling as to what had happened within Fontanka 16. Konstantin had told him of one spy they had just uncovered there; there could be others, but Mihail’s continued survival indicated not.

‘So is it true what you said?’ she asked. ‘About why you spoke to me, and then Luka?’

‘You’re asking me if I just lied to the Executive Committee?’

‘No, but … I thought there might have been another reason.’

She was more likely to mean in regard to herself than Luka. ‘I was brought up to be a gentleman. You were a lady in distress.’

She went back to the bowl and rinsed the cloth. Mihail could see his blood mixing with the water. He thought about the bathroom in the Hôtel d’Europe, and the blood he had washed away. In his trunk was Zmyeevich’s blood, and more besides. Much as he wished she’d go, so that he could examine it, he sensed she was here to do more than wash his wounds.

‘So what happened to Luka?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I read about it, Dusya. I’m not stupid. I can guess who did it.’

‘He was a traitor. He paid the usual price.’ She began tending to his wounds again.

‘I got the impression that the two of you were close.’

‘At times we were. But we don’t hold to the view that a man and a woman should be exclusively faithful to one another.’

‘We?’ asked Mihail. ‘So Luka agreed with the idea?’

‘He did, but I meant “we” in a broader sense; our movement. Marriage is a vehicle for the state to control us, just like poverty. Sex belongs to us, the people, the same as the land does.’

She turned as she spoke, placing her hand on Mihail’s and squeezing it. There was passion in her eyes, but he suspected it was not the personal attraction of one human being for another. Her fervour was for the idea; to her he was not a man but an audience.

‘I’d have thought any affection would be a distraction from the ultimate goal,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to postpone it till afterwards?’ It was a question he had asked himself often, though the goal he was speaking of was quite different from hers. His conclusion was that it did no harm, as long as it became no more than a distraction.

‘That could be a long time to wait.’

‘Not from what I heard today. It sounds like the end is very close.’ Again, he hoped that it applied to his own quest.

‘I’m not supposed to talk to you about that,’ she said.

‘Ah! And what are you supposed to talk to me about?’

She grinned. ‘All done,’ she said, returning to rinse the cloth once again. ‘I hear you studied in Moscow.’