depositing you in a great square with bands playing, waiters circling and
tourists all around. Every corner has another surprise. Every street is a
work of art. I am glad I have never killed anyone there.
Rykov took me to a café around
the corner from his flat, an old-
fashioned place with a tiled floor, a long counter and a giant-sized coffee
machine that blew out clouds of steam.
We sat together at a little
antique table and he ordered cappuccinos, orange juice and
tramezzini
–
little sandwiches, made out of soft bread with smoked ham and cheese. I
hadn’t eaten for about twenty hours and this was my first taste of Italian
food. I wolfed them down and didn’t complain when he ordered a
second plate. There was a canal running
past outside and I was
fascinated to see the different boats passing so close to the window.
“So your name is Yassen Gregorovich,” he said. He had been speaking
in English ever since we had arrived in Venice. Perhaps he was testing
me – although it was more likely that he had decided to leave the
Russian language behind … along with the rest of the character he had
been. “How old are you?”
I thought for a moment. “Eighteen,” I said.
“Sharkovsky kidnapped you in Moscow. He kept you his prisoner for
three years. You were his food taster. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lucky. We tried to poison him once and we were considering a
second attempt. Your parents are dead?”
“Yes.”
“Arkady Zelin told me about you in the helicopter. And about
Sharkovsky. I don’t know why you put up with it so long. Why didn’t
you just put a knife into the bastard?”
“Because I wanted to live,” I said. “Karl or Josef would have killed me
if I’d tried.”
“You were prepared to spend the rest of your life working for him?”
“I did what I had to to survive. Now he’s dead and I’m here.”
“That’s true.”
Rykov took out a cigarette and lit it. He did not offer me one but nor
did I want it. This was the one good thing that had come out of my time
at the
dacha
. I had not been allowed to have cigarettes and so I had been
forced to give up smoking. I have never smoked since.
“Who are you?” I asked. “And who are Scorpia? Did they pay you to
kill Sharkovsky?”
“I’ll give you a piece of advice, Yassen. Don’t ask questions and never
mention that name again. Certainly not in public.”
“I’d like to know why I’m here. It would have been easier for you to
kill me when we were in Boltino.”
“Don’t think I wasn’t tempted. As it is, it may be that I’ve made a bad
mistake. We’ll see.” He drew on the cigarette. “The only reason I didn’t
kill you is because I owed you. It was stupid of me not to see the second
bodyguard. I don’t usually make mistakes and I’d be dead if it wasn’t for
you. But
before you get any fancy ideas, we’re quits. The debt is
cancelled. From now on, you’re nothing to me. You’re not going to work
for me. And I don’t really care whatever happens to you.”
“So why am I here?”
“Because the people I work for want to see you. We’re going there
now.”
“There?”
“The Widow’s Palace. We’ll get a boat.”
From the name, I expected somewhere sombre, an old, dark building
with black curtains drawn across the windows. But in fact the Widow’s
Palace was an astonishing place, like something out of the story books I
had read as a child, built out of pink and white bricks with dozens of
windows glittering in the sun. There was a covered walkway on the level
of the first floor, stretching from one end to the other, held up by slender
pillars with archways below. And the palace wasn’t standing beside the
canal. It was actually sinking into it. The water was lapping at the front
door with the white marble steps disappearing below the murky surface.
We pulled in and stepped off the boat. There was a man standing at
the entrance with thick shoulders and folded arms, wearing a white shirt
and a black suit. He examined us briefly, then nodded for us to continue
forward. Already I was regretting this. As I passed from the sunlight to
the shadows of the interior, I was thinking of what Zelin had said as he
left the helicopter.
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