Elvira Baryakina - The Prince of the Soviets

“I think so, yes.”

“Then there’s no time to be lost. I’ll get you a taxi now.”

Magda threw down a half-eaten piece of bread and ran out of the apartment.

Klim called out to Kitty. “We’re going, little one.”

He buttoned her coat and helped her put on her boots.

“What’s that, Daddy?” asked Kitty, pointing at the red mark on Klim’s neck.

He hurriedly adjusted his collar. “It’s nothing. It will heal soon.”

The mark from the telephone cable that the OGPU woman had used to throttle him was in the same place as Galina’s scar.

“We’re going to see Tata now,” said Klim. “We have to talk to her.”

6

“They rang yesterday from the morgue,” Galina’s neighbor, Natasha, told Klim. “They asked if anybody was going to pick up Comrade Dorina’s body or not. But what could we do with her body? We couldn’t afford to bury her, anyway. Tata and I went to say our goodbyes, and they took poor Galina off to the crematorium. It was all paid for by the state. We were told she died in the line of duty.”

“Is Tata in her room? “ asked Klim.

Natasha nodded. “She’s locked herself in, and she isn’t answering. We’re fed up with pounding on the door. I told her, ‘You need to go to an orphanage. Who’s going to feed you?’ But it’s all the same to her.”

Tata only opened the door when Kitty knocked and called her name. But as soon as Klim came in the room, she darted into the closet and began to whimper like a sick wolf cub.

Kitty ran to her. “Oh, please don’t cry!”

“Tata, we have very little time,” Klim said. “So, you need to make a decision quickly. Either you go to an orphanage, or you come abroad with Kitty and me. This minute.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” yelled Tata in an angry voice.

Klim sighed. “All right then. Kitty, let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Kitty tore herself away from Tata. “I love you very much!” she told her friend.

Klim and Kitty left the apartment and set off down the stairs.

“Wait!” Tata’s voice echoed around the stairwell. “I can’t go to an orphanage! I remember what it was like in the boarding school.”

“Come with us!” Kitty cried, her words echoing off the high ceiling.

Tata ran up to them, her worn slippers falling off her feet, and then stopped as if she had hit an invisible wall.

“How can you take me with you? You need documents, don’t you?”

“I can write your name in my passport,” said Klim. “That will be enough.”

Tata gawped at him, unable to believe her ears. “What? Are you going to adopt me?”

“Your mother saved my life.”

“When? How?”

“I’ll tell you later. Get your things together now. The taxi’s waiting.”

1

Alov could not bring himself to tell Dunya about the results of the purge, and Valakhov was not at home; he had been sent out of town on an urgent mission.

The following day, Alov surreptitiously observed his wife, convinced that her feminine intuition would tell her something terrible had happened to him, but she showed no signs of having sensed anything. Or then again, perhaps she had known all along? Was she in cahoots with Babloyan?

Alov knew that everything was over for him. He would never find another position now. Who would associate with a pariah who had been expelled from both the Party and the OGPU? In his mind, he went through all his acquaintances, wondering if he could ask any of them for help, but he could think of no one. The only person who had always helped him and never expected anything in return was Galina.

When Dunya came back from work, the solicitous neighbors were quick to let her know that her husband had been lying about at home all day. Only then did she realize Alov had been dismissed from his post. However, to his surprise, she was not in the slightest bit dismayed at the news.

“I’m glad you’re not working at the Lubyanka anymore,” she said.

“Are you out of your mind?” yelled Alov. “Don’t you understand? We don’t have enough money to live on. We’ll be evicted from this apartment, and we won’t be able to rent even a corner of a room on your miserable wages.”

Dunya took out a small cloth purse from her shopping bag and held it out to Alov. Inside was a brand new banknote, bearing the portrait of an elderly man with a prominent forehead.

Alov had only ever seen a hundred-dollar bill once before in his life—when he had been shown the contents of Klim Rogov’s wallet.

“Did Babloyan give you this money?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes,” replied Dunya. “And there’s no need to stare at me like that. It’s payment for my performance on the anniversary of the October Revolution.”

Now, Alov understood what had happened. Rogov must have used the foreign currency to bribe Babloyan, and Babloyan had handed the note on to Dunya.

2

Alov was lying in wait for Diana Mikhailovna when she came out of work.

Finally, she appeared from the gate. Alov ran up to her and grabbed her sleeve.

“Help me, for God’s sake! Could you check the number of a banknote against the list given to Oscar Reich?”

Diana Mikhailovna stared fearfully at her former boss. “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

“Please! I helped you when you needed work. Don’t you remember?”

She agreed in the end to check the number and went back inside the building. Fifteen minutes later, she came out again.

“Yes, that’s one of ours,” she said.

Overcome by emotion, Alov kissed her hand. “I’ll be indebted to you till the day I die. Now tell me, what’s happening with Rogov?”

“They let him out today.”

“What? Who let him out?”

“It was Drachenblut who signed the order. He said the charges were fabricated. Rogov was just the victim of slander by some scoundrel.”

Alov clutched at his head. So, that was it! Babloyan had had Alov expelled from the Party simply to get his crony out of prison. Babloyan must have made a deal with Drachenblut, agreeing to support him during the purge and creating an alliance against Yagoda. And as Alov might have objected to their plan, they had sacrificed him like a pawn in a game.

But why had Drachenblut agreed to such a deal, Alov wondered. After all, his former boss had been adamant about locating the money stolen from Reich. And he knew that the registered banknotes had been found in Rogov’s wallet.

Suddenly, Alov felt his blood run cold. But maybe Drachenblut didn’t know about the banknotes, he thought. Not if I didn’t include it in the report!

On that day, Alov’s damned illness had made it impossible to work; he must have neglected to fill out the necessary papers and then forgotten all about it.

Alov took his leave of Diana Mikhailovna and ran back to the gate. He had to speak to Drachenblut urgently.

3

At first, Drachenblut refused point blank to speak to Alov, but then he relented.

“What is it?” he demanded gruffly when Alov came into his office.

“Why did you let Rogov go?” asked Alov, trembling all over.

“Comrade Stalin invited Rogov for an interview. That doesn’t happen to just anyone.”

Alov clutched at his chest. “But Rogov was planning an assassination attempt! He won over Babloyan and used him to get close to Comrade Stalin.”

Then Alov told Drachenblut of the hundred-dollar bill and of the money that had been found in Rogov’s wallet.

“I didn’t manage to finish the report,” Alov said, “because I was sick. But you saw for yourself the portrait of Comrade Stalin with a hole in his forehead. It was a prearranged signal!”

It turned out that Drachenblut had seen nothing of the sort. He had only read Elkin’s testimony. The envelope containing the postcards had turned up on the following day.

“We have to save Comrade Stalin!” cried Alov. “All Rogov has to do is to smuggle in some poison powder into Stalin’s office inside a button or a fountain pen and scatter it before he leaves. Surely you know that?”

Drachenblut summoned Eteri Bagratovna. “Find out the time of Rogov’s interview at the Kremlin!” he ordered.

A few minutes later, the secretary reported back that the meeting with Stalin was scheduled to take place at seven o’clock. It was now already half past six.

Cars were dispatched to Chistye Prudy and to the Kremlin visitors’ pass desk.

Alov sat fidgeting nervously while Drachenblut smoked one cigarette after another, every now and again picking up the phone to make a call. “Have you found him yet? No? For Chrissakes!”

At 7:30 p.m., a call came in from the Kremlin to say that Comrade Stalin had canceled the meeting with the correspondent from the United Press as he had not turned up.

“I don’t understand,” Alov kept saying. “Was Rogov so delighted to be let out of jail that he went on a drinking spree? How could anyone fail to turn up to a meeting with the Comrade Stalin?”

Drachenblut ordered an investigation of Rogov’s friends and acquaintances and a search of the city hospitals, stations, and local bars. Rogov was to be found, dead or alive.

At half past eight, the message came in that he had flown out of the Moscow.

“What do you mean ‘flown out’?” Drachenblut roared at his secretary.

“He got on a plane,” answered Eteri Bagratovna calmly. “He left for Berlin this afternoon. His documents were in order.”

Alov jumped to his feet. “We need to tell Comrade Stalin everything. He needs to know that Babloyan is taking bribes—” Alov caught Drachenblut’s icy stare and fell silent.