STARODUG, 4:30 PM
Hayes watched Feliks Orleg force the wooden door, The burly Russian's breath clouding in the cold dry air. A sign affixed to the brick above read: KAFE SNEZHINKI-IOSIF MAKS, OWNER.
The jam splintered as the door slammed inward. Orleg disappeared inside.
The street was empty, all of the surrounding shops closed. Stalin followed Hayes in. Darkness had enveloped them an hour ago, the drive from Moscow to Starodug taking nearly five hours. The Secret Chancellory had thought Stalin's presence important since the mafiya was seen as the most efficient unit to handle the matter, its representative now charged with full responsibility to do whatever was necessary.
They'd gone first to Iosif Maks's house on the outskirts of town. The local police had discreetly been monitoring the situation since morning and thought him at home, but Maks's wife informed them he'd gone into town to work for a while. A light in the rear of Maks's cafe breathed hope, and Stalin had sprung into action.
Droopy and Cro-Magnon had been dispatched to the rear of the building. Hayes recalled the names Lord had given his two assailants and thought the descriptions apt. He'd been told about Droopy's abduction at gunpoint from the Moscow Circus and the death of his captor, the man as yet unidentified and unlinked to any Holy Band Semyon Pashenko may or may not head. This whole thing was turning strange, but the seriousness with which the Russians viewed everything was causing him concern. It wasn't often men like these became riled.
Orleg appeared out of a doorway that led to the rear of the building and rounded a set of glass cases, another man with bushy red hair and mustache in his grasp. Droopy and Cro-Magnon followed.
"He was on his way out the back door," Orleg said.
Stalin pointed to an oak chair. "Sit him there."
Hayes noticed a discreet signal Stalin gave Droopy and Cro-Magnon, both of whom seemed to instantly understand. The splintered front door was closed and positions were taken up at the windows, guns drawn. The local police had been warned off an hour ago by Orleg, an order from a Moscow inspector not something local militsya tended to ignore. Khrushchev had earlier used his government connections to advise the Starodug authorities that a police operation would be occurring in town, the effort linked to a Red Square killing, and there should be no interference.
"Mr. Maks," Stalin said. "This is a serious matter. I want you to understand that."
Hayes watched as Maks considered what was said. Not a shred of fear appeared in the man's face.
Stalin stepped close to the chair. "Yesterday, a man and a woman came here. You recall?"
"I have many visitors." The voice carried contempt.
"I'm sure you do. But I would imagine few chornyes frequent your eatery."
The stout Russian jutted his chin forward. "Fuck off."
There was confidence in the tone, but Stalin did not react to the rebuke. He simply motioned and Droopy and Cro-Magnon moved in unison, pinning Maks facedown to the plank floor.
"Find something we can amuse ourselves with," Stalin said.
Droopy disappeared into the back room while Cro-Magnon maintained a grip. Orleg had been dispatched to the rear door as guard. The inspector thought it important he not be an active participant. Hayes considered this the wisest course as well. They might need militsya contacts in the weeks ahead, and Orleg was the best source they possessed inside the Moscow unit.
Droopy returned with a roll of duct tape. He wrapped Maks's wrists together tightly. Cro-Magnon yanked the Russian up and plopped him into the rickety oak chair. More tape was wrapped around the chest and legs, securing Maks firmly. A final strip was slapped across his mouth.
Stalin said, "Now, Mr. Maks, let me tell you what we know. An American by the name of Miles Lord and a Russian woman named Akilina Petrovna came here yesterday. They were asking about Kolya Maks, a person you claimed to have no knowledge about. I want to know who Kolya Maks is and why Lord and the woman are seeking him. You know the answer to my first inquiry, and I am certain you also have the answer to the second."
Maks shook his head.
"A foolish decision, Mr. Maks."
Droopy ripped off a short strip of the gray tape and handed it to Stalin. The two seemed to have done this before. Stalin brushed the hair from his tanned brow and bent down. He loosely pressed the wad of tape over Maks's nose. "When I squeeze that tape tight, your nostrils will be sealed. There will be a bit of air remaining in your lungs, but only a few moments' worth. You will suffocate in a matter of seconds. How about a demonstration?" Stalin squeezed the tape tight to the skin.
Hayes watched Maks's chest heave. But he knew the thick tape was used on ventilation ducts because it was airtight. The Russian's eyes started to bulge as blood cells searched for oxygen, the skin metamorphosing through a variety of colors, finally settling on ash white. The helpless man rocked in the chair, trying to breathe, but Cro-Magnon held him steady from behind.
Stalin casually reached up and peeled the tape back from the mouth. Gulps of air were instantly sucked in.
Color returned to Maks's face.
"Please answer my two questions," Stalin said.
All Maks did was breathe.
"You are obviously a brave man, Mr. Maks. For what, I am not sure. But your courage is to be admired." Stalin paused, seemingly allowing Maks to recover. "I want you to know, while we were at your residence your lovely wife invited us inside. Such a charming woman. We visited and she informed us where you were."
A wild look came onto Maks's face. Finally. Fear.
"Not to worry," Stalin said. "She is fine. She believes we work with the government, here to perform an official inquiry. Nothing more. But I assure you this procedure works equally well with women."
"Goddamn mafiya."
"This has nothing to do with mafiya. This is much bigger, and I believe you understand that."
"You will kill me no matter what I say."
"But I give you my word your wife will not be involved, if you simply tell me what I want to know."
The redheaded Russian seemed to consider the proposal.
"You believe what I am telling you?" Stalin calmly asked.
Maks said nothing.
"If you continue to remain silent, there should be no doubt in your mind that I will direct these men to retrieve your wife. I will bind her to a chair beside you, and you will watch her suffocate. Then, I will probably let you live, so the memory can haunt you the rest of your life."
Stalin spoke with a calm reserve, as if negotiating a business deal. Hayes was impressed with the ease in which this handsome man, crouched over in his Armani jeans and cashmere sweater, dished out misery.
"Kolya Maks is dead," Maks finally said. "His son, Vassily, lives about ten kilometers south of town on the main highway. As to why Lord sought him, I do not know. Vassily is my great-uncle. Members of the family have always operated businesses here in town with a sign out front. That was what Vassily asked of us, and I did as he asked."
"I believe you are lying, Mr. Maks. Are you of the Holy Band?"
Maks said nothing. Apparently, there was a limit to his cooperation.
"No. You would not admit that, would you? Part of your oath to the tsar."
Maks stared hard. "Ask Vassily."
"I shall," Stalin said, as he motioned.
Droopy slapped more tape over Maks's mouth.
The Russian rocked in the chair, trying to breathe. His attempt to break free sent the chair careering to the floor.
His struggle ended a minute later.
"A good man who will protect his wife," Stalin said, staring down at the corpse. "One to be admired."
"Will you honor your word?" Hayes asked.
Stalin stared at him with a look of genuine hurt. "Of course. What kind of person do you take me for?"