Read Online The White Russian by Tom Bradby - Free Book Online Page A

police official in the city, but they both knew he’d never dare stand in the Okhrana’s way. Prokopiev might easily have forged his signature to save time.
    Prokopiev lit another cigarette, then pointed at the pile of clothes on the side. “Where are the contents of their pockets?”
    “Are you assuming control of the investigation?” Ruzsky pressed.
    “I don’t believe any mention is made of it.”
    “Then why do you wish to remove the bodies?”
    “You have emptied their pockets?” Prokopiev countered.
    Ruzsky shook his head. “They had been stripped of all personal items by the time we arrived.” He omitted to mention the discovery of the roll of banknotes.
    Prokopiev nodded, his face expressionless. Ruzsky thought it was the answer he had expected, or wanted.
    Anton stepped aside and forced Ruzsky to do the same, as Prokopiev’s men took hold of the canvas sheet and began to carry the corpses out of the room and down the corridor. Prokopiev clicked his heels. “We shall return them when we are done. Good day, gentlemen.”
    Ruzsky followed them, shaking off Anton’s restraining hand. Pavel stared at the floor as he passed.
    Upstairs, Ruzsky’s constables stood and watched as the corpses were carried out into the courtyard and thrown into the back of a large truck. The Okhrana men climbed up beside them. Prokopiev made his way around to the cab.
    “Urgent political investigation,” Ruzsky said. “What does that mean?”
    Prokopiev turned back.
    “Who were they?” Ruzsky asked.
    “I have no idea.”
    “Then why do you want them?”
    “They were murdered in front of the Winter Palace. That will do as a reason for now.”
    “So, in your estimation, it was a political murder?”
    “I didn’t say that, did I?” He raised his finger. “You mustn’t misquote me, old man.” He took a pace back. “I’m glad you’re home. See how our city has changed?”
    Ruzsky did not respond.
    “You haven’t, perhaps, but you will. You’ll telephone me if you ever need anything, won’t you?”
    Ruzsky still held his tongue.
    “So much crime, such difficult times. We need to help each other, isn’t that so? How is your son, by the way?”
    Ruzsky went cold. “He’s fine, thank you.”
    “Michael, isn’t it?”
    “Michael, yes.”
    “A good name. Perhaps if I ever have a son, I’ll call him Michael.” Prokopiev looked at him with his piercing blue eyes. “Good day, Prince Ruzsky.” He climbed up into the truck. “And, once again, welcome home.”
    The engine started up and diesel fumes billowed across the courtyard.
    Ruzsky watched until it had disappeared from view. He turned to find Anton standing on the step behind him. “So, we let them get away with it?” he asked quietly.
    Anton stared up at the sky. “Sometimes you’re not very bright, do you know that? If they had the power to send you into exile before, imagine what they could do to you now.”
    “Was the dead man one of theirs?”
    “How should I know?” Anton turned toward him. “If you want to be a martyr, be my guest, but be careful of Pavel.”
    “Why?”
    “He bears a huge burden of guilt. He carries it like a yoke.”
    “He shouldn’t.”
    Anton sighed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Sandro. I know what happened. He’ll follow you into the jaws of hell if it comes to it. Remember that, please.”
    Ruzsky shook his head.
    “You know what I mean, and don’t pretend that you don’t. Your desire to take the blame places others in your debt, but you’re stubborn and, in these times, that is dangerous.”
    “So, what do you want us to do?”
    Anton didn’t answer.
    “It was only authorization to move the bodies. We still have responsibility for the overall investigation.”
    “Well, then it’s up to you,” Anton said, before walking back into the building. Pavel passed him on the lintel, making his way out into the courtyard.
    “Do they frighten you?” Ruzsky asked Pavel.
    “It’s you they should