Wolfhound Century: Radiant State Part 23

3.

Kistler managed a couple of hours' sleep and returned to Rizhin's dacha stale and depressed, unbreakfasted, the dregs of the wine and the grappa still in his blood, a sour taste of coffee on his tongue. The dinner of the night before weighed heavy in his stomach. He felt queasy.

He followed the sound of gunfire to Rizhin's shooting range, a crudely functional concrete block among almond trees. Vasilisk the bodyguard, six foot three, blond and beautiful, was lounging on a chair by the door, white cotton T-s.h.i.+rt tight across his chest. He was wearing white tennis shoes and regarded Kistler with sleepy expressionless sky-blue eyes.

Kistler nodded to him and entered the shooting range.

Vasilisk rose lazily to his feet and padded in behind him. Closed the door, leaned against the wall and folded his arms. Kistler watched the muscles of the bodyguard's shoulders sliding smoothly. His thickened honey-gold forearms.

Rizhin was alone inside the building, bright and fresh in s.h.i.+rtsleeves, firing at twenty-five-yard targets with a pistol. Three rounds then a pause. You could cover the holes in the target with the palm of your hand.

He paused to reload. The gun was fat and heavy in his swollen fists but his fingers on the magazine were lightning-quick. Nimble. Practised.

'Do you know firearms, Lukasz?'

'Not really.'

'You should. Our existence depends on them. The powerful should study and understand the foundations of their power. This, for instance, is a Sepora .44 magnum. Our VKBD officers carry these. Heavy in the hand, but they shoot very powerful sh.e.l.ls. Very destructive. They tend to make a mess of the human body. The removal of limbs. The bursting of skulls. Large holes in the stomach or torso. Butchery at a distance. Not a pretty death.' He turned and fired seven shots in rapid succession. The noise was deafening. An unmistakable acrid smell.

Rizhin offered the gun to Kistler.

'Would you like to shoot, Lukasz? It's important to keep one's skills up to scratch'

'No,' said Kistler. 'Later perhaps. I drank too much grappa last night.'

Rizhin shrugged.

'Your hand's trembling,' he said.

Kistler couldn't stop himself looking down at his hands. It was a sign of submission. He cursed himself inwardly.

Careful.

He held his hands out in front of him, palms down.

'I don't think so,' he said.

Rizhin ejected the magazine from the pistol and reloaded, taking a fresh magazine from his pocket.

'You enjoyed our evening then?' he said. 'I hope so.'

'Of course! It's good to know one's colleagues better. The holiday season is valuable. Time well spent.'

'I thought you were bored. You seemed bored. Gribov can be overpowering.'

'Not at all. A little tired perhaps. I'd had a long journey.'

Rizhin raised his arm and squeezed off three rapid shots. 'But you keep a distanceI see you doing itand that's sound. I admire it in you. Music and feasting are excellent things, Lukasz; they reduce the b.e.s.t.i.a.l element in us. Song and dance, food and wine, good company: they calm the soul and make one amiable towards humanity. But we aren't ready for softness yet, you and I. Today is not the time to stroke people's heads. Of course, opposition to all violence is the ultimate ideal for men like us, but you have to build the house before you hang the pictures. Your att.i.tude last night was a criticism of me, which I accept.'

'No. Not at all, Osip. I only-'

'But yes, it was, and I accept it. I've sent the others home, you know. I've packed them all off back to Mirgorod, back to their desks. There is work to be done and they must get to it.'

'What? All of them?' said Kistler.

'I thought you'd be pleased. Our colleagues bore you, Lukasz, isn't that so? Be honest with me. I'll tell you frankly, they bore me too. For now I must use people like them, but they're narrow, they have limited minds. Not like you and me. We see the bigger picture.'

Where is this going?

Vasilisk the bodyguard moved across to a wooden chair. The neat brown leather holster nestled in the small of his back bobbed with the rhythm of his b.u.t.tocks as he walked. Vasilisk settled into the chair, crossed legs stretched out in front of him, and absorbed himself in studying his fingernails.

Rizhin was turning his pistol over with thick clumsy-looking fingers.

'What I was trying to say last night,' he continued, 'but I was drunk and over-poetical... what I was trying to say is that thisthis, all around us, our work and our diplomacy and our cars and our dachasthis is not the point to which history is leading us. This is only the beginning: the first letter of the first word of the first sentence of the first book in the great library of futurity. You see this as well as I do.'

'There's a lot more to be done,' said Kistler cautiously. 'Of course. Certainly. Our industry...'

Rizhin fished out three more sh.e.l.ls from his pocket, ejected the magazine and pressed them into place one by one. Replaced the magazine in the pistol.

'I'm talking philosophically,' he said. 'The moral compa.s.s is not absolute, you see. It has changed and we have a new morality now. A new right. A new good. A new true. Our predecessors were scoundrels; the angels were an obfuscation, the things of the forest bedbugs. Leeches. A distortion of the moral gravity. Whatever serves the New Vlast is moral. That's how it must be, for now. Where all death is temporary then death is nothing. Killing is conscienceless. A million deaths, a billion deaths, are nothing.'

'But we need people,' said Kistler. 'Strong healthy people, educated, burning with energy. We need them to work. And we need steel. We need oil. We need power. We need mathematics and engineering. We need to be clever, Osip, or the Archipelago will-'

Rizhin brushed him off with a gesture. 'The Archipelago will be ground to powder under the wheels of history, Lukasz,' he said. 'You underestimate inevitability.'

He raised the pistol and levelled it at Kistler's head, the ugly blackness of the barrel mouth pointing directly between his eyes.

'History is as inevitable and unstoppable as the path of the bullet from this gun if I pull the trigger. Effects follow causes.'

Kistler made an effort to take his eyes from the pistol. His gaze met Rizhin's soft-brown gentle look.

'Osip...' he began.

Rizhin turned away and fired a shot at the target. The raw explosion echoed off the concrete walls. Kistler realised his hands were damp. The back of his s.h.i.+rt was cold and sticky against his skin.

'I had hopes for you, Lukasz,' said Rizhin. 'I was going to involve you. You're a man of fine qualities. An outstandingly useful fellow. I was going to take you with us. But I find you are also a sentimentalist. Your belly is soft and white and you aren't to be trusted. You've let me down. Badly.'

'I don't understand this,' said Kistler. 'What's happening here, Osip? Where is this going to?'

'Tell me about Investigator Vissarion Lom.'

'Who?'

'Feeble. Feeble. Where is the famous Kistler fire in the guts? Where is the energy?' Rizhin pulled a crumpled typescript from the back pocket of his trousers and pushed it towards him. Kistler read the first few lines.

Kistler ResidentialInternal 23.47 Transcription begins Kistler: Yes?

Unknown caller: I wish to speak with Lukasz Kistler.

Kistler: This is Kistler. Who the f.u.c.k are you?

'I know this is Lom,' said Rizhin. 'He's a man I know. He circles me, Lukasz. He buzzes in my ear. I can't shake him off.'

'So shoot me.'

Rizhin shook his head.

'I want you to extend your vacation, Lukasz. Another week or two maybe. I've had enough of this b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lom. I want to trace him. I want to tie him down and finish him. And he's not doing this alone; there are conspiracies here, Lukasz, and you're deep in the whole nest of s.h.i.+t, and I'm going to know the extent of it. The whole f.u.c.king thing. Names. Dates. Connections. Circles of contact. You'll stay here and spend some time with Rond and his people. We're going to be seeing a lot more of each other. We'll have more talks.'

4.

Back in Mirgorod again after the long journey from Vitigorsk, Lom wasted no time. He dialled from a call box at the Wieland Station. The contact number Kistler had given him rang and rang. He hung up and tried again.

Eventually someone answered. A woman's voice. Cautious.

Yes? Who is this?

'I want to speak with Lukasz Kistler.'

Name, please. Your name.

'I will speak to Kistler. Only Kistler. He is expecting me.'

Secretary Kistler is unavailable.

'I'll call back. Give me a time.'

The Secretary will be unavailable for some considerable time, perhaps days, perhaps longer. You may discuss your business with me. What is your name?

Lom cut the connection.

He took a cab across the city and walked the last few blocks to the war-levelled quarter of the rubble dwellers, to the cellar Elena Cornelius had led him to. His link to the Underground Road. Konnie and Maksim were there. So was Elena, looking strained. Hunted.

'I can't reach Kistler,' said Lom. 'I've got something he can use. Devastating material. Dynamite. In Kistler's hands it will bring Rizhin down. Definitely. But Kistler is out of contact. His number's no good. I thought you could-'

'Kistler has been arrested,' said Maksim.

Lom felt the warmth drain from his face.

'No,' he said. 'No. When?'

'He went to Rizhin's dacha. He's being held there under interrogation. Rizhin is there with him, and so is Rond. n.o.body else.'

'How do you know this? How can you be sure.'

'We have somebody there,' said Konnie. 'On the dacha staff. There is no doubt.'

'But Kistler is alive?'

'Oh yes,' said Maksim. 'For now he is alive, though what state he's in...'

'Is there anybody else?' said Lom. 'Anyone else who could use the material I have, like Kistler could?'

'In the Presidium? No. Not a chance.'

'Then I have to get Kistler out of there and back to Mirgorod,' said Lom.

'That's impossible,' said Maksim. 'He's being held by the Parallel Sector in Rizhin's own f.u.c.king dacha.'

'Nothing's impossible,' said Lom. 'I need Kistler. Tell me about this dacha. Tell me about your contact there.'

'No,' said Maksim. 'It's out of the question.'

'This material,' said Konnie. 'It's as big as you say? It's that dangerous for Rizhin?'

'Absolutely,' said Lom. 'Poisonous. Lethal. In Kistler's hands it will bring him down.'

'What is it?' said Maksim.

'No,' said Lom. 'First you tell me about Rizhin's dacha.'

'But what you've got is really that good?'

'Yes. If we can get Kistler back to Mirgorod, free, and arm him with what I have, he can turn the Central Committee against Rizhin and he will fall.'

Konnie glanced at Maksim.

'We won't tell you where Rizhin's dacha is,' she said. 'You'll need help. We'll take you there. We'll go with you.'

'Konnie...' said Maksim.

Konnie ignored him.

'You can't get Kistler out of there all by yourself,' she said. 'We have some resources, not much maybe, but better than one man on his own.'