Cold Blood by James Fleming Read Free Book Online

went.
    It was exposed in the glare of those arc lights. I quietened my nerves and climbed with slow, humble steps, not raising my eyes.
    There was a table at which anyone wanting to get into the building had to present himself. Two men were being questioned in front of me. I didn’t catch what their business was. Seeing me approach, the guard officer waved them through instantly, as if clearing the decks for action. He crooked his finger at me and smiled ominously.
    â€œ
Vot, vot vot
. . . Well, well, well, who have we here . . . So tall! So princely! It’s obvious you’re not one of us. You look far too good—too
comfortable
with yourself. Put your tray on the table. Slowly. Here, you—search it and then search him.”
    I said, “Comrade, in the name of science I appeal to you. No weapon could ever be disguised as a mushroom.”
    â€œYou know about science? You’re not who you’re dressed up to be. You’re educated. Start the search.”
    I cursed myself. How could I have thought that the new Tsar would be any less suspicious than the old one? The Luger felt like a ton weight in my pocket.
    I said briskly, “No need for that, comrades, when you have duties to the whole of mankind. Matters of real importance,I can see that. Look, I’ll search myself in front of you. Down to the bare skin, if that’s what you want. If I miss anything you’ve only to say. Shoot me whenever you want. But keep your hands off the mushrooms. That’s proper food I’m giving away. Who wants the likes of that fellow’s arse-wiping fingers all over his meal?”
    It was the dirtiest and most squalid of the guards I’d picked on, which raised a laugh. I bounced the mushrooms up and down on the tray, saying, “Bombs, little bouncing bombs, look at them playing!”
    My interrogator said, “OK,
kroshka
—little one—what’s the password?”
    â€œ
Radost’.”
    â€œThat’s the old one.”
    â€œI wasn’t to know that, comrade. I’ve been feeding the troops—”
    He cut me short. “A good password system is the key to victory. That’s the way one catches traitors and latifundists.”
    â€œMay we be preserved from them, Excellency.”
    His eyes roamed over me. “You’re from Estonia or one of those little relics, you’re not a proper Russian. Here, show me your papers.”
    â€œBut he’s offering us food,” murmured one of the guards.
    â€œYes, let the fellow go. Free food!”
    â€œI’ll eat his bombs,” said a third, snatching at my tray. “I know a good risk when I see it.” His eyes glowed. His teeth, strong and white against the black pelt of his face, bit decisively into the crinkled dome of the mushroom. “Bang!” he shouted comically. “Bang, bang, bang!”—and took a handful.
    â€œVery well, Estonian,” said the officer. “But stay where I can see you.”

Nine

    T HERE WAS a knot of us at the top of the Smolny steps. Below was an anthill of activity. Adventure was in the air. People were taking deep breaths, as if to draw the future into their lungs and never let it go. Excitement! It was flashing like the neon sign of a lady’s slipper that hung outside the Makayev champagne bar. Only my interrogator was out of it. Something was needed to sideline him—and here it was—
    A brilliant beam of light came boring out of the night, picking out the trees in the square. Behind it, thunderously, was a motorbike and sidecar. The driver spun the outfit round with a sudden twist of the handlebars, spattering mud over some bicycle messengers who’d paused, toes pointed to push off, to see what was up. The man in the sidecar leapt out and stared up at Smolny. He lifted his goggles—stuck them on his head. He lit a cigarette, inhaled, removed it from his mouth with a dramatic swoop. Nodding at the guards, he