"Smith, Martin Cruz - Polar Star" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Martin Cruz)

Marchuk conceded the point. 'Their head representaнtive has visited me. The situation is even more compliнcated by the fact that this unfortunate girl died two nights ago. You speak English?'

'Not for a long time. Anyway, the Americans on board speak Russian.'

'But you don't dance.'

'Not recently.'

'Two nights ago we had a dance,' Slava reminded Arkady. 'In honour of fishermen of all nations.'

'I was still cleaning fish. I just glanced in on the way to my shift.' The dance had been held in the cafeteria. All Arkady had seen from the door were figures bouncing in the lights reflected from a ball of mirrors. 'You played the saxophone,' he said to Slava.

'We had guests,' Marchuk said. 'We had two American catcherboats tied up to the Polar Star and American fishermen at the dance. It's possible you might want to speak to them. They do not speak Russian. Of course this is not an investigation; that will, as you say, be carried out by the appropriate authorities when we return to Vladivostok. Information should be gathered now, however, while memories are fresh. Bukovsky needs the assistance of someone with experience in such matнters and with a command of English. Just for today.'

'With all respect,' Slava said, 'I can ask questions with complete correctness and no help from Renko at all. We must keep in mind that this report will be studied by the fleet, by departments of the Ministry, by Ц'

'Remember,' Marchuk said, 'Lenin's thought: "Bureaucracy is shit!"' To Arkady he said, 'Seaman Patiashvili was at the dance, which was held about the time you say she died. We count ourselves fortunate in having someone with your skills on the Polar Star, and we assume that you count yourself fortunate to have an opportunity to serve your ship.'

Arkady looked at the litter of papers on the desk. 'What about my political reliability?'

Marchuk's smile was all the more startling in contrast to his beard. 'We do have an expert in your reliability. Slava, some interest in Seaman Renko has been expressed by our friend Comrade Volovoi. We would not want to start any enterprise without Volovoi.'

Films were presented twice a day in the cafeteria. All Arkady could see from the hall were murky images on a screen set up on the stage where Slava and his band had performed two nights before. A plane was landing at an airport with modern architecture: a foreign locale. Cars swung to the terminal kerb: limousines, maybe a few years old and a little dented but definitely American. In American accents voices addressed each other as 'Mister This' or 'Mister That'. The cameras focused on foreign wingtip shoes.

'Vigilance Abroad ,' said someone wandering out. 'All about the CIA.'

It was Karp Korobetz. Barrel-chested, with a hairline that started within a millimetre of his brows, the trawl-master resembled those massive statues erected after the war, the soldier hoisting his rifle, the sailor firing his cannon, as if victory had been gained by primitive man. He was the model worker of the Polar Star.

In fact, on display in the hall was a board that kept count of the competition between the three watches, the winner each week being awarded a gold pennant. So many points were awarded for the quantity of fish caught, for the quality offish processed, for the percentнage of the all-important quota. Karp's team won the pennant month after month. Because Arkady's factory team had the same shift, they won too. 'You Are Building Communism by Feeding the Soviet People!' said the banner over the board. That was him and Karp!

The trawlmaster idly shook out a cigarette. Deckhands didn't take much notice of crew that worked below. He hardly glanced at Slava. On the screen, white packets were being passed from one secret agent to another.

'Heroin,' Karp said.

'Or sugar,' said Arkady. That was hard to get too.

'Trawlmaster Korobetz was the one who found Zina,' Slava changed the subject.

'What time was that?' Arkady asked.

'About 0300,' Karp said.

'Was there anything else in the net?'

'No. Why are you asking questions?' Karp demanded in turn. The quality of his gaze had changed, as if a statue had opened its eyes.

'Supposedly, Seaman Renko has experience in matters like this,' Slava said.

'In falling overboard?' Karp asked.