From his back, Arkady looked along the sheds and saw Osborne’s legs at least six sheds away. It was the scope. Osborne could look through a whole line of sheds and pinpoint his targets. He could do so a lot more easily to a target under the sheds, Arkady supposed. He rolled under one more shed, closer to Osborne, and got to his feet.
Arkady approached around two more sheds, passing George in the puddle of sable food. At the next shed, as Osborne appeared and raised his rifle, Arkady ducked into the wooden aisle between the cages. Some of the sables hid in the coops inside their cages; others followed Arkady, darting from one end to the other, jumping against the mesh. Each cage, he noticed, had its own chart, food slot and padlock. As long as he and the sables kept moving he had a chance. If he could get close he had five or six shots in the revolver against a bolt-action rifle. He beat his hand against the cages as he ran, stirring up the sables. He could feel the rifle scope, frustrated, attempting to sight on him without hitting the animals.
Arkady covered the distance between sheds in two steps and jumped into the next aisle, shouting at the sables as he hit the cages. Their tails trailed behind them as they leaped from wall to ceiling to floor, spitting, some urinating in fury. His hand bled; one had bitten him through the mesh. Then he was down on the aisle floor, shot, a bullet through his thigh. Not bad, clean through; he was up again. He noticed he had passed an empty cage, where Osborne had taken the chance and fired, though the slug must have been deflected or he would be dead. There were new planks in the roof of the shed, and the mesh was freshly repainted, a crowbar and toolbox in the aisle. It must have been the cage from which the sable escaped. He saw Osborne running to catch him as he came out of the end of the shed. Arkady would dive under the cages into the waste trough instead and fire first. But he stumbled, losing control of his leg as shock spread through it.
Then he heard Irina shouting. She stood inside the compound gate calling his name. She couldn’t see him. Osborne called for her to stay where she was.
‘Investigator,’ Osborne yelled, ‘come on out! You can keep your gun and I’ll let you both go. Come out or I’ll shoot her.’
‘Run!’ Arkady shouted to Irina.
‘I’ll let you both go, Irina,’ Osborne said. ‘You can get in the car and go. The investigator’s wounded and needs medical attention.’
‘I won’t go without you!’ Irina called to Arkady.
‘You can go together, Arkady,’ Osborne said. ‘You have my promise. But come out now, right now, or I’ll shoot her. Right now.’
Arkady was back at the empty cage. He picked up the crowbar and inserted its narrow end through the shackle of the padlock in the neighboring cage. The sable inside stilled and watched. Arkady let his weight drop on the bar and the shackle snapped. As the cage door swung open, the sable jumped off Arkady’s chest onto the aisle and out the shed. He had never seen anything move so quickly over snow. The sable darted over the snow on soft, furred paws, its tail whipping the snow behind. Arkady inserted the bar into the next padlock and pushed down again.
‘No!’ Osborne cried.
Arkady caught the sable as it came out of the cage and held it against him as it clawed to escape. Osborne stood at the end of the aisle, rifle raised. Arkady threw the sable at him. Osborne stepped aside, raised the rifle again and fired. Arkady dropped to the aisle floor as his leg gave way and fired. The first two shots took Osborne through the stomach. Osborne worked another round into the breech. Arkady’s next two shots hit Osborne in the heart. The fifth shot caught Osborne in the throat as he went down. The sixth shot missed altogether.
Arkady dragged himself out of the shed. Osborne was on his back, looking not as chewed up as man should be with so many bullets in him. He still held his rifle. Oddly, Arkady saw him as not quite dead, not even dressed in the hunting outfit but in a finer suit with more touches of elegance. Arkady sat beside him. Osborne’s eyes were closed, as if he’d had time to compose himself. Arkady felt the heat leaving the body and the chilling process already under way. Wearily he stripped Osborne’s belt from his body and tied it around his own leg. Slowly he became aware of Irina standing over them. She stared. Was there, after all, an expression on Osborne’s face as if he’d won?
‘He told me once that he loved the snow,’ Arkady said. ‘Maybe he does.’
‘Where do we go now?’
‘You go.’
‘I came back for you,’ Irina said. ‘We can get away, we can stay in America.’
‘I don’t want to stay.’ Arkady looked up. ‘I never wanted to stay. I only came because I knew Osborne would kill you if I didn’t.’
‘Then we’ll both go home.’
‘You are home. You’re American now, Irina, you’re what you always wanted to be.’ He smiled. ‘You’re not Russian anymore. We always were different, and now I know what the difference was.’
‘You’ll change, too.’
‘I’m Russian.’ He tapped his chest. ‘The longer I’m here, the more Russian I am.’
‘No.’ She shook her head angrily.
‘Look at me.’ Arkady pulled himself to his feet. One leg was numb. ‘Don’t cry. See what I am: Arkady Renko, former Party member and chief investigator. If you love me, tell me truthfully how American I could ever be. Tell me!’ he shouted. ‘Tell me,’ he said more softly, ‘admit it, don’t you see a Russian?’
‘We came all this way. I won’t let you go back alone, Arkasha—’
‘You don’t understand.’ He took Irina’s face in his hands. ‘I’m not as brave as you are, not brave enough to stay. Please, let me go back. You will be what you already are, and I will be what I am. I will always love you.’ He kissed her fiercely. ‘Go on, run.’
‘The sables . . .’
‘Leave them to me. Go ahead.’ He pushed her. ‘It shouldn’t be so hard on the way back. Don’t go to the bureau; go to the police or the State Department, anything but the FBI.’
‘I love you.’ She tried to hold on to his hand.
‘Do I have to throw stones?’ he asked.
Irina released him. ‘I’m going, then,’ she said.
‘Good luck.’
‘Good luck, Arkasha.’
She stopped crying, brushed her hair from her eyes, looked around and took a deep breath. ‘For snow like this I should have felt boots, you know,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘I’m a good driver. The light seems to be getting better.’
‘Yes.’
She took a dozen steps. ‘Will I ever hear from you?’ She looked back, her eyes haggard and wet.
‘No doubt. Messages get through, right? Times change.’
At the gate she stopped again. ‘How can I leave you?’
‘I am leaving you.’
Irina went through the gate. Arkady found the cigarette case on Osborne and smoked and listened to the branches drumming in the wind until he heard a car start up in the distance. The sables heard it, too; they had sharp ears.
So, Arkady thought, there had been three trades. First Osborne’s, then Kirwill’s and now his. He would return to the Soviet Union so that the KGB would let Irina stay in America. He looked down at Osborne. Excuse me, he thought, but what do I have to trade besides myself? The sables, of course. They would have to be disposed of, too.
He pulled the rifle out of Osborne’s hands and hobbled back to the shed. How many bullets did he have? he wondered. The day was turning bright and pure. The sables had quieted; their eyes pressed against the mesh.
‘I apologize,’ Arkady said aloud. ‘I don’t know what the Americans will do with you. It’s been proven we can’t trust anyone.’
They clung to the mesh watching him, their coats black as coal, their eyes still with attention.
‘They have elected me executioner,’ Arkady said. ‘And they’ll get the truth from me, brothers; they aren’t men who’ll accept lies or fairy tales or fancy stories. I’m sorry.’
He could hear their hearts beating, running awa
y with them, the same as his.
‘So . . .’
Arkady dropped the rifle and picked up the crowbar. Ineptly, on one leg, he broke a padlock. The sable jumped free, and a second later was at the fence. He got better at it, just a thrust and a pull at each cage. Cigarettes were good aspirin. He thrilled as each cage door opened and the wild sables made their leap and broke for the snow – black on white, black on white, black on white, and then gone.
Acknowledgements
I thank Anthony Astrachan, Dr Michael Baden, Anthony Bouza, Knox Burger, William Caunitz, Nancy Forbes, Dr Paul Kagansky, Anatol Milstein, John Romano, Kitty Sprague and Richard Woodley for their generous aid and encouragement during the writing of this book.
Especially, I am beholden to Alex Levin, Yuri and Ala Gendler and Anatoly Davydov. Without them Gorky Park would be a place without people.
About the Author
Martin Cruz Smith is the bestselling author of a number of novels, including the Arkady Renko thrillers Gorky Park, Polar Star, Red Square, Havana Bay, Wolves Eat Dogs, Stalin's Ghost and Three Stations. A recipient of the CWA Gold Dagger award for fiction in the UK, he is also two-time winner of the Hammett Prize in the United States. He lives in northern California with his wife and three children.
Martin Cruz Smith’s novels include Tatiana, Stalin’s Ghost, Gorky Park, Rose, December 6, Polar Star, and Stallion Gate. A two-time winner of the Hammett Prize from the International Association of Crime Writers and a recipient of Britain’s Gold Dagger Award, he lives in California.
Also by Martin Cruz Smith
The Girl from Venice
Tatiana
Three Stations
Stalin’s Ghost
Wolves Eat Dogs
December 6
Havana Bay
Rose
Red Square
Night Wing
Polar Star
Stallion Gate
Gypsy in Amber
Canto for a Gypsy
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1981 by Martin Cruz Smith
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First Simon & Schuster trade paperback edition February 2018
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ISBN 978-1-5011-7796-5
ISBN 978-1-5011-7797-2 (ebook)
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Martin Cruz Smith, Gorky Park
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