The Third Section (66 page)

‘You know what, Lyosha? I don’t believe you. And do you know why not? Because I choose not to. If I’m right, and you do know, then eventually you’ll crack and you’ll tell me. If I’m wrong, then you’ll die. Either way I’m happy.’

He reached out his hand and grabbed Aleksei by the hair, standing to get better leverage. This time, rather than pushing Aleksei back into the water, he pulled him forward, dragging him
by
the hair. Then he pushed down, forcing the old man’s head between his knees and under the water. Aleksei tried to resist for a moment, but had no strength for it.

‘Let him go!’ Tamara’s voice, cold and firm, filled the room. It had its desired effect. Yudin released Aleksei, who pulled himself back into a sitting position, breathing heavily, his sodden clothes clinging to him. He seemed oblivious to Tamara. He would not have heard her beneath the surface, and she doubted whether he could see clearly while his eyes were filled with hair and water. Yudin, on the other hand, turned to face her.

‘My dear, how wonderful to see you,’ he said, quickly recovering from his surprise. ‘I’d forgotten how interested you were in talking to Lyosha. But I did find him first. You’ll have to wait your turn.’

‘I think not,’ she said, taking a step forward to make sure he could see the two weapons that she carried. ‘You know what I can do with these.’

Yudin considered, and then stood up. Aleksei sat still, his head looking down into the water, his breath harsh and gasping. Tamara gestured to Yudin with the gun, and he moved further away. Then she took a step towards Aleksei.

‘Colonel Danilov?’ she said. The urge to say ‘Papa’ consumed her, but this was not the moment for reunion – not in front of a creature such as Yudin.

Aleksei looked around, peering towards her. His wet hair hung down over his eyes. He wiped it to one side, but still his squint revealed that he could not see clearly.

‘Who are you?’ he said.

How she would have loved to tell him; but the time would soon come. ‘I’m going to get you out of here,’ she said. ‘Can you walk?’

Aleksei began trying to pull himself out of the water. Yudin continued to eye the gun and the cane in Tamara’s hands, but he did not attempt to move.

‘I’m not alone down here,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Tamara replied.

‘You won’t escape two of us.’

‘He let me in, didn’t he?’ For the sake of her father, Tamara was careful not to mention Dmitry’s name, but she saw in Yudin’s
face
a twinge of doubt over the loyalty of that newest member of his species.

She was distracted by the sound of a splash, accompanied by a gasp. Aleksei had slipped. He hung over the edge of the tub, his legs still in the water. It was a heart-rending sight; the image of one who in her mind – and, in younger days, in reality – had been so strong, now struggling and needy, unable to perform the simplest of tasks. And yet there was a joy to it too: her father was in need, and she could help.

She rushed over to him, tucking the cane under her right arm but still pointing the revolver at Yudin. It was a preposterously dangerous way to face such a creature, but she had no option. She put her left arm around her father and tried to heave him out of the water. He braced himself against her shoulder and she hauled him upright, providing the strength which his aged legs could not. He was heavy. Tamara recalled how light the load had been when she carried her mother. Aleksei wore his old age better.

At last he swung his legs over the side and was out of the water. But it had been a strain for both of them. Tamara lowered his body to the floor, so that he could lean against the side of the bath. She hugged his sodden body to her.

Yudin didn’t bother to intervene, knowing that he could wait until both Aleksei and Tamara were exhausted by their struggle for freedom. But still she had to try. She began to heave again, pulling Aleksei across the stone floor. He reached across her and his fingers pressed hard into her shoulder, but then slipped away to scrabble at her chest. He fell back. They had moved just a few inches. Yudin emitted a sneering laugh.

Aleksei still hugged himself to her, his feet paddling at the ground, failing to find any purchase. He moved his hand back across to her shoulder and his thumb became entwined in the thin silver chain of her icon.

Tamara glared up at Yudin. She raised the revolver and aimed it at him.

‘Do you still not realize what I am?’ he asked.

‘You’re the same as Raisa – and I dealt with her.’

As she spoke Aleksei’s fingers found the icon on the end of the chain and pulled it close, towards his weak, failing eyes. It was
only
then that Tamara realized its significance – both to him and to her. She was four years old, lying in her bed. Her father was leaning over her. Her mother stood a few paces away, looking on. He lifted the icon and its chain from around his own neck and placed it over her head, pulling her red curls up through it so that it finally lay cold around her neck. She had never removed it since – hardly ever.

Today, Aleksei held the icon in his hand again, peering at it. He glanced up at Tamara and then down again. His face became an entanglement of surprise and sorrow, of elation and regret.

‘Toma?’ His voice was still a whisper, but if ever so soft a sound could have expressed joy, then it did now. ‘Toma?’ he said again, looking up into her face, running his hand through her auburn locks, holding them close so he could see them clearly. ‘It is you. It must be you.’

Tamara gazed into her father’s eyes. She had for so long imagined this moment, but had never foreseen that it would be like this, and yet the expression of love that she saw in his face, the feeling that welled in her gut and spread throughout her entire being, were all she had ever imagined and more. Whatever the circumstances, she could not now deny him the truth.

‘Yes, Papa,’ she whispered. ‘Yes, it’s me.’ She felt Aleksei’s arms tighten against her. He tried to speak, but could not, nor did he need to. She understood everything that he wanted to say.

Yudin’s laughter broke into the moment. This time there was no snideness to it. It was broad and hearty and – to all appearances – genuine. ‘Oh, this is why I love you so, Lyosha,’ he said merrily. ‘You’re always so full of surprises. Where did this one spring from?’

‘My mother was Domnikiia Semyonovna,’ said Tamara with pride, the gun still levelled at Yudin. Beside her she felt Aleksei begin to rise to his feet, filled with a new-found strength that she well understood. With only a little help from her, he was upright.

‘Ah, the lovely Dominique,’ Yudin replied. ‘It’s so preposterously obvious. And all this time, ever since you first came to work for me, you’ve been plotting revenge on your father’s behalf.’

Tamara chose to say nothing. It would keep him wary if he
believed
that there was any plan at all to this. She continued to edge towards the door, leading her father to freedom.

‘It’s another reason for you to tell me, Lyosha,’ continued Yudin. ‘If not for your sake, then for your daughter’s. Just think of what I might do to her.’

Yudin fell silent. There was little to read in Aleksei’s face, but Tamara could guess how his imagination was following the trail along which Yudin’s words had pointed it. There was nothing she could say – no chance that he would ignore her pleas not to worry about her. But then she sensed that Yudin had let the idea hang in the air for too long. He had lost Aleksei’s attention and indeed Yudin’s own eyes were fixed now on neither the father nor the daughter.

And suddenly Tamara realized they were no longer alone. From the doorway came another voice.

‘And whatever Actual State Councillor Yudin might achieve is as nothing compared with what we have planned.’

Even before Tamara looked, she recognized it. Yet the words made no sense.

In the doorway stood Tyeplov, stooping to fit in the enclosed space. But it was not he who had spoken. Beside him stood a familiar figure, small and unassuming, and yet possessing a new-found swagger that Tamara had not seen in him before.

It was Gribov.

‘Tell us, Aleksei Ivanovich,’ he said. ‘It’s what we’re all yearning to hear.’

Yudin gazed at Gribov with consternation. In return, Gribov’s expression was smug.

‘Why should you want to know that?’ asked Yudin.

‘For myself,’ replied Gribov, ‘I don’t. But I think you can guess who does.’

‘Zmyeevich?’ hissed Yudin.

‘Zmyeevich,’ Gribov confirmed. The name meant nothing to Tamara. ‘I am his representative here in Moscow; his human representative. You might like to think of me as the new you.’

‘For how long?’

‘Since long before we met.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you were the most likely person to discover the whereabouts of Aleksandr Pavlovich – but the least likely to share that discovery with your former master.’

‘What about him?’ Yudin nodded towards Tyeplov.

‘Yuri Vladimirovich has always been the creature of Zmyeevich, though perhaps not a constant one. Now he has seen the error of his ways.’

‘So Zmyeevich can hear us, through him?’ asked Yudin.

‘I can,’ said Tyeplov. ‘And I’m intrigued.’ The voice, as far as Tamara could recall it, was Tyeplov’s, but the tone was different; deeper, more confident, as though an older and more terrible man were impersonating Tyeplov, but speaking his own words.

‘Totally under his control?’ asked Yudin.

‘Totally.’

‘And what do you want?’

‘The name and whereabouts of the Romanov, Aleksandr Pavlovich,’ said Tyeplov. ‘Great-great-grandson of the traitor Pyotr.’

‘And if I tell you?’

‘You know nothing.’

‘I was about to make him talk when you arrived,’ said Yudin.

‘Then thank you for making our task so much easier,’ replied Gribov. He stepped forward and peered closely at the bedraggled Aleksei. ‘This is the man?’ he said, turning back to Tyeplov. ‘The man who twice defeated you?’

Tyeplov walked forward. ‘He did not defeat me, he defeated Iuda, my unprofitable servant.’ As they spoke, Tamara noticed that Yudin was hardly listening. His eyes flicked around the room as he desperately tried to formulate a plan. After a moment’s consideration, it seemed he didn’t judge his chances favourably. He began to edge towards the door.

Tyeplov gazed closely into Aleksei’s face. ‘Do you remember me, Danilov?’ he asked.

Aleksei’s voice was hoarse. ‘I remember you chained to the wall of a cave, the sun burning through your body. I gave you your freedom.’

Tyeplov shook his head. ‘Look beyond the body, Danilov. We met not far from here, almost half a century ago. I came to save your country, and you laughed at me.’

‘You had no plans to save Russia, but yes, we laughed. Aleksandr Pavlovich is still laughing, wherever he may be.’

Tyeplov’s eyes flared in anger, but then he calmed. ‘You will tell me where that is.’

‘Never.’

Tyeplov’s hand smashed down on Tamara’s, sending the cane and the revolver sliding across the floor and knocking her away from her father. In a second she was on her feet, her knife drawn from her boot and in her hand. She knew how little help it would be against a creature like Tyeplov, yet it was all she had. She backed towards the far corner of the cell, taking a few swipes at the
voordalak
in the futile hope it would persuade him to keep his distance. His solution was simply to grab the blade. Tamara pulled it back rapidly and saw blood oozing from between his fingers, but it was no deterrent whatsoever.

All she could do now was retreat. Behind Tyeplov she could see the rest of the cell. Gribov had retrieved the revolver and was aiming it at Aleksei, who leaned against the wall, still weak. Yudin continued to attempt his slow journey towards freedom, edging step by step closer to the door. It had not escaped Tyeplov. As Yudin passed closest to him, he lashed out with his fist, scarcely looking at what he did. His knuckles connected with Yudin’s nose, cracking the back of his head against the wall. Blood began to spill from both points of impact, and Yudin slumped to the floor. Tyeplov still loomed over Tamara, ever advancing, his teeth bared.

She heard Gribov’s voice. ‘Do you really love your daughter so little, Aleksei Ivanovich? You’d let her die like this, just to keep your paltry secret?’

‘No,’ said Aleksei quietly.

‘Then you’re prepared to tell us?’

The prospect of discovering what he had come for did not seem to distract Tyeplov from his current intent. His fangs descended upon Tamara’s throat, but she felt no pain – merely the warmth of his breath and the odious moistness of his saliva on her skin. He was eking out his performance for Aleksei’s benefit. But his movement did allow Tamara to see what was going on.

Aleksei straightened himself and stood away from the wall. It
was
the first time she had seen him properly. He was nothing like as tall as Dmitry, but was strongly built, even in his old age, with solid broad shoulders. His square jaw was unmistakably her own. She was surprised that no one other than Dmitry had made the connection.

Aleksei shook his head wearily, his eyes fixed on the floor. ‘No,’ he repeated. When he finally moved, it was with a swiftness of which Tamara would not have thought him capable. In three strides he was halfway across the cell, towards where she and Tyeplov stood locked in their embrace. His arm was raised above him, clutched in it the sharpened cane which his son had devised and his daughter had brought to him. In another two paces he would be able to bring it down on Tyeplov’s back.