"L'Amour, Louis - Last_of_the_Breed14" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

Suddenly she picked up an ermine. "This skin was not treated by the same man as were the others. It is different. See? It is much more expertly done, as by someone who loves a nice pelt."
She turned them one by one, checking each one. There was no way out of it now. She saw what he had seen.
She stepped back and turned toward him. She looked at him, coldly, curiously. Then she walked to the door and called out. A moment later the big man appeared in the doorway.
"Stegman, I want to know all this man knows about a former soldier, a Jew named Borowsky. I want to know about these hides." She showed him the hides, turning them rapidly. "I hope he will tell us here so we will not have to take him away."
"He will cooperate," Stegman said. "Comrade Zhikarev and I are old friends." He smiled, showing big white teeth. "How are the feet, comrade?"
Zhikarev was frightened. He stood back against the table. Why had he waited so long? He could have been away. There was all that nice money in Hong Kong, and he knew how to leave the country. Knew exactly how.
"Whatever I can do to help," he said calmly, "I will do. Trappers do not talk of where they trap, or how."
"This batch of skins," Kyra asked. "When did you buy them?"
"It was only yesterday." There was no use lying about that. It could be so easily checked. "Borowsky brought them in. I do not know this, but I believe that when he comes he brings pelts from other hunters as well. The ones you indicate are new to me. I have not seen anything like them in years. The trapper"--he was honest in this--"is extremely expert both in trapping and curing." He gestured toward them. "Look! They were taken with snares. The fur is, undamaged. This trapper did not have steel traps."
Kyra Lebedev was excited, but she masked her feelings. This was a fresh lead and a good one. She must move carefully. If she could bring this off, if she could recapture the American--
"The Sinyaya, you say?"
"It is tributary to the Lena. It joins it well this side of Yakutsk."
"I know it." Her tone was sharp. "I know the area very well." Her eyes were cold. "We will look. If we find nothing, we will be back."
"I suggest"--her eyes were hard--"you shake up your memory, comrade. I would suggest you begin to remember everything you know about this man Borowsky and these furs.
"Who else has come in here with him? Exactly how often does he bring furs? Why did you suspect the Sinyaya? I had believed it was trapped out. "
She smiled, but attractive as she was, the smile was not nice. "You see, I had an uncle with whom I lived as a child. He was a furrier and a trader in furs."
She started for the door. "Come, Stegman. It will take only a few hours to visit the Sinyaya and return." She smiled again. "I hope we are not wasting our time!"
They left, and Stegman closed the door carefully behind them. For a moment after they had gone, Zhikarev did not move. Had he said anything wrong? Quickly, he reviewed the few minutes of conversation. He had hoped to steer them away, and now he was hoping there actually was some trapping on the Sinyaya and its branches. Formerly, it had been good, and during the interval it could have recovered.
He did not know where Borowsky came from. He had made it a policy not to ask questions. He did not wish to know more than was essential to conduct business, and he knew there were escapees and others who did not wish to be found. Wulff knew it, too.
Those people out there in the taiga, they had to live. They were harmless. They had been there for years, some of them, and had done no harm to anyone. All they wanted was to live quietly in the woods.
Wulff had slowly been getting rich from the furs they brought to him and would not want them disturbed. But what was Wulff to Colonel Zamatev? A word or two from Zamatev, and Wulff would find himself a mere clerk in some remote outpost. Zhikarev had seen it happen.
So what to do? Wait and see. But meanwhile to prepare. There was little to do. He had had this in mind for so long, determined never again to go through questioning by the KGB or anyone else. He was one of the few in a position to prepare an escape, a procedure carefully developed over the years through his fur trading.
At a remote post along the Amur he had quietly arranged to buy furs from Manchuria. The officer at the guard post allowed the furs to cross and received small favors in return. After more than a year of this, the officer had permitted Zhikarev to cross to pick up the furs. This had become an established procedure, so all Zhikarev now had to do was to cross and not return.
Would his place be watched?
He knew nothing of this stranger, this man who sent furs along with those of Borowsky and others. He might be the American. Evgeny Zhikarev felt an affinity with the stranger because of his handling of the skins. He treated furs with respect. He was not careless. He did not treat them in a slapdash let's-get-it-over-with manner. The stranger was known to Borowsky, and Borowsky was a good man.
Now Borowsky might be in serious trouble. Could he warn him?
Zhikarev might be planning to leave Russia, but he would not betray Russia. He loved his country, even though he did not love some of those who governed it. The local officials, anyway. He knew nothing of those in Moscow. At least, nothing more than anyone knew.
A moment's thought told him he could do nothing for Borowsky. He did not know how to reach him and dared not leave town in any event. Not unless he decided to leave for good.
Then he thought. If he was not watched--
If they found nothing on the Sinyaya they would know he had lied. They would be back.
He must escape now, tonight.