Bovada?
Impossible.
But no one else knows.
The old contacts had been broken off, new ones had not yet been struck up.
There could only be one explanation: that damned Reuters Agency. One of the generals he had interviewed had decided to correct something or add something, phoned the Reuters Moscow office and discovered there was no Sten assigned there. He had taken fright, informed the Okhrana … But even if that was it – how had they found him?
And here again there was only one probable answer: by chance.
Some particularly lucky agent had recognised him in the street from a verbal description (ah, he should at least have changed his wardrobe!), and now was trailing him.
But if it was a chance occurrence, things could be set right, Vasilii told himself, and immediately felt calmer.
He estimated the distance to the carriage: sixteen – no, seventeen – steps.
His thoughts grew even shorter, even more rapid.
Start with the passenger, he’s a professional … A heart attack … I live here, help me carry him in, old mate … Beatrice would be annoyed. Never mind, she was in this up to her neck. What about the cab? In the evening, that could be done in the evening.
He finished thinking it all out on the move. He walked unhurriedly out on to the steps, yawned and stretched. His hand casually flourished a long cigarette holder – empty, with no papirosa in it. Rybnikov also extracted a small, flat pillbox from his pocket and took out of it something that he put in his mouth.
As he walked past the cabby, he noticed the man squinting sideways at him.
Vasilii Alexandrovich paid no attention to the driver. He gripped the cigarette holder in his teeth, quickly jerked back the flap of the cab – and froze.
Lidina was sitting in the carriage.
Suddenly deathly pale, Rybnikov jerked the cigarette holder out of his mouth, coughed and spat into his handkerchief.
Not looking even slightly embarrassed, she said with a cunning smile:
‘So this is where you live, Mr Conspirator! Your auntie has a lovely house.’
‘You followed me?’ said Vasilii Alexandrovich, forcing out the words with a struggle, thinking: One more second, a split second, and …
‘Cunning, isn’t it?’ Glyceria Romanovna laughed. ‘I switched cabs, ordered the driver to drive at walking pace, at a distance. I said you were my husband and I suspected you of being unfaithful.’
‘But … what for?’
She turned serious.
‘You gave me such a look when I said “until tomorrow” … I suddenly felt that you wouldn’t come tomorrow. And you wouldn’t come again at all. And I don’t even know where to look for you … I can see that our meetings are a burden on your conscience. You think you’re putting me in danger. Do you know what I’ve thought of?’ Lidina exclaimed brightly. ‘Introduce me to your aunt. She’s your relative, I’m your friend. You have no idea of the power of two women who join forces!’
‘No!’ said Rybnikov, staggering back. ‘Absolutely not!’
‘Then I shall go in myself,’ Lidina declared, and her face took on the same expression it had worn in the corridor of the train.
‘All right, if you want to so badly … But I have to warn my aunt. She has a bad heart, and she’s not very fond of surprises in general,’ said Vasilii Alexandrovich, spouting nonsense in his panic. ‘My aunt runs a boarding house for girls from noble families. It has certain rules. Let’s do it tomorrow … Yes, yes, tomorrow. In the early eve—’
‘Ten minutes,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll wait ten minutes, then I’ll go in myself.’
And she emphatically raised the small diamond watch hanging round her neck.
Countess Bovada was an exceptionally resourceful individual, Rybnikov already knew that. She understood his meaning from a mere hint, didn’t waste a single second on questions and went into action immediately.
Probably no other woman would have been capable of transforming a bordello into a boarding house for
Impossible.
But no one else knows.
The old contacts had been broken off, new ones had not yet been struck up.
There could only be one explanation: that damned Reuters Agency. One of the generals he had interviewed had decided to correct something or add something, phoned the Reuters Moscow office and discovered there was no Sten assigned there. He had taken fright, informed the Okhrana … But even if that was it – how had they found him?
And here again there was only one probable answer: by chance.
Some particularly lucky agent had recognised him in the street from a verbal description (ah, he should at least have changed his wardrobe!), and now was trailing him.
But if it was a chance occurrence, things could be set right, Vasilii told himself, and immediately felt calmer.
He estimated the distance to the carriage: sixteen – no, seventeen – steps.
His thoughts grew even shorter, even more rapid.
Start with the passenger, he’s a professional … A heart attack … I live here, help me carry him in, old mate … Beatrice would be annoyed. Never mind, she was in this up to her neck. What about the cab? In the evening, that could be done in the evening.
He finished thinking it all out on the move. He walked unhurriedly out on to the steps, yawned and stretched. His hand casually flourished a long cigarette holder – empty, with no papirosa in it. Rybnikov also extracted a small, flat pillbox from his pocket and took out of it something that he put in his mouth.
As he walked past the cabby, he noticed the man squinting sideways at him.
Vasilii Alexandrovich paid no attention to the driver. He gripped the cigarette holder in his teeth, quickly jerked back the flap of the cab – and froze.
Lidina was sitting in the carriage.
Suddenly deathly pale, Rybnikov jerked the cigarette holder out of his mouth, coughed and spat into his handkerchief.
Not looking even slightly embarrassed, she said with a cunning smile:
‘So this is where you live, Mr Conspirator! Your auntie has a lovely house.’
‘You followed me?’ said Vasilii Alexandrovich, forcing out the words with a struggle, thinking: One more second, a split second, and …
‘Cunning, isn’t it?’ Glyceria Romanovna laughed. ‘I switched cabs, ordered the driver to drive at walking pace, at a distance. I said you were my husband and I suspected you of being unfaithful.’
‘But … what for?’
She turned serious.
‘You gave me such a look when I said “until tomorrow” … I suddenly felt that you wouldn’t come tomorrow. And you wouldn’t come again at all. And I don’t even know where to look for you … I can see that our meetings are a burden on your conscience. You think you’re putting me in danger. Do you know what I’ve thought of?’ Lidina exclaimed brightly. ‘Introduce me to your aunt. She’s your relative, I’m your friend. You have no idea of the power of two women who join forces!’
‘No!’ said Rybnikov, staggering back. ‘Absolutely not!’
‘Then I shall go in myself,’ Lidina declared, and her face took on the same expression it had worn in the corridor of the train.
‘All right, if you want to so badly … But I have to warn my aunt. She has a bad heart, and she’s not very fond of surprises in general,’ said Vasilii Alexandrovich, spouting nonsense in his panic. ‘My aunt runs a boarding house for girls from noble families. It has certain rules. Let’s do it tomorrow … Yes, yes, tomorrow. In the early eve—’
‘Ten minutes,’ she snapped. ‘I’ll wait ten minutes, then I’ll go in myself.’
And she emphatically raised the small diamond watch hanging round her neck.
Countess Bovada was an exceptionally resourceful individual, Rybnikov already knew that. She understood his meaning from a mere hint, didn’t waste a single second on questions and went into action immediately.
Probably no other woman would have been capable of transforming a bordello into a boarding house for
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