William Ryan - The Twelfth Department

Doctor Irina AzarovaProfessor Azarovs wife

Isaac Babelfamous author and also Korolevs neighbor

Sergeant BelinskyMilitiaman in charge of the investigating uniforms (uniformed police) at Leadership House

BlanterState Security operative working for the NKVDs Twelfth Department

Doctor Zinaida Chestnovapathologist and friend of Korolevs

Count Kolyaleader of the Moscow Thieves

Danilovin charge of the removals at the Azarov Institute

The Deaconone of Count Kolyas men

Dubinkina lieutenant with the NKVD

Nikolai EzhovGeneral Commissar of State Security and head of the NKVD

Monsieur Huberta representative of the French embassy in Moscow

Captain Alexei Koroleva detective with the Moscow Criminal Investigation Division

Yuri KorolevCaptain Korolevs son

KuznetskyMilitiaman assisting Korolev

Valentina Nikolayevna KoltsovaKorolevs friend and neighbor

Natasha KoltsovaValentina Koltsovas daughter

Levschinskyforensics specialist for Moscow CID

Lilovamaid to Dr. Shtange

Maria LobkovskayaKorolevs elderly downstairs neighbor

Galina Matkinamaid to Professor Azarov

Menchikovaresident of Leadership House

MishkaCount Kolyas right-hand man

Pavel Morozovresponsible for the car pool at Militia headquarters and a friend of Korolevs

Petya the Persuaderan informant

First Inspector PopovKorolevs boss

Priudskyoriginal doorman at Leadership House

Colonel Rodinova senior NKVD officer

Semyon Shabalina bank robber and gangster

Dr. Arkady Shtangedeputy director of the Azarov Institute

Anna ShtangeDr. Shtanges wife

Shuramaid to Babel and a friend to Korolev

Nadezhda Slivkaa junior detective with the Odessa CID

Spinskydirector of the Vitsin Street Orphanage

SvalovState Security operative working for the NKVDs Twelfth Department

Tambovaalso known as Little Barrel, attendant at the Vitsin Street Orphanage

Timinovreplacement doorman at Leadership House

Ushakovforensics specialist for Moscow CID

VeraValentinas friend and a worker at Moscow Zoo

Doctor Weissneighbor and colleague of Professor Azarov

Captain Dmitry YasimovKorolevs fellow detective with Moscow CID

Colonel Zaitsevhead of the NKVDs Twelfth Department

Patriarchs Ponds was one of Korolevs favorite corners of Moscowa small park with a square-shaped lake around which, especially on a hot summers day like this, white-shirted men and their befrocked womenfolk strolled with slow steps. At the southern end a white colonnaded pavilion stood where, for a reasonable price, a citizen could sip a glass of tea and sit and watch the ducks. Alternatively, in the eastern corner of the park, there stood a wooden kiosk where beer and kvass could be purchased and, if you knew how to ask for them, stronger beverages as well. If theyd had time to spare and a less pressing matter to attend to, Korolev thought to himself, a sip of vodka mightnt have been such a bad idea. But not today and not now. Not with a certain gangster hed been after for six months about to walk into a trap of Korolevs making.

Anyway, he decided, hed need all his wits about him. Semyon Shabalin was as slippery as an eel dipped in oil, and clever with it. Korolev and his comrades had managed to catch up with most of his Gray Fox gang and put them where they belongedbut Shabalin had wriggled free each time theyd thought they had him, even when escape had seemed an impossibility. And while most of Moscows underworld had certain standardswhich, it had to be said, they often seemed to forget aboutthe Gray Foxes had none. With each robbery theyd committed, theyd set new standards in brutality and viciousnessso that now even the Thieves, the organized clans that ran crime in Moscow, were shaking their heads in disapproval. Whatever else happened today, Korolev was determined Shabalin wasnt leaving this park a free man.

Korolev walked outside the parks railings while Petya the Persuader, their informant, followed the tree-covered path that ran alongside the sky-reflecting blue water. Slivka was a few paces behind Petya, wearing a pretty white dress, her short blond hair looking almost golden in the dappled sunlight. Her lips might be a little thin and her expression grave, but she was a good-looking woman and he watched mens heads turn one after the other to follow her procession through the park. He wondered if theyd be so keen if they knew the hand nonchalantly resting inside her open purse was wrapped around the butt of a service-issue revolver.

Korolev glanced at his watch. If Petya was to be believed, Shabalin would meet him on the fourth bench to the left of the pavilionin just a few minutes time. He adjusted the ticket machine he had slung over his shoulderpart of his disguise as a tram conductor on a breakand found himself, to his surprise, wishing there was a sandwich in the tin lunchbox he was carryingas opposed to his Walther.

Korolev kept his eyes movingexamining each of the pedestrians who passed him, watching for anyone or anything that seemed out of place. If things went as he hoped, thered be a small scuffle and Shabalin would be in the bag. If things didnt go to plan? Well, if he had to shoot Shabalins legs from him, then so be it.

Korolev took a seat beside an elderly lady ten meters from the bench Petya now occupied. Slivka found herself a spot a little farther along the path on Petyas other side and, two minutes later, a familiar-looking balloon seller began hawking his wares in their general vicinity. From where Korolev was sitting, Yasimovs disguise looked less than convincingit seemed one end of the detectives mustache was slightly higher than the other. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

Korolev sighed, took his newspaper from the pocket of his coat and opened it, scanning his surroundings one more time as he did so. All was peacefula toy sailing boat moved slowly across the water, leaving a v-shaped wake behind it, the only disturbance on the ponds surface. It was a sweltering afternoon and the heat seemed to be pressing down on everythingmaking even the noises of the city that surrounded them seem distant. He found himself yawning as he opened the latch on the lunchbox so that his Walther would be easily accessible. It wasnt much good having a gun if you couldnt get to it quickly. The toy yacht moved onward and Korolev had no idea where it was picking up a breeze from. He could feel nothingjust the remorseless weight of the heat. It occurred to him that if he couldnt have a sandwich, then an ice cream would be just the thing on a day like this.

He yawned again. He could feel his eyes growing heavy and put a hand to his ear to twist ithard. The pain woke him up a littlejust as a gaggle of besprizorniki came ambling into the park and caught his attention. Most of the street children were barefoot and wearing nothing but short trousers, their shirts tucked into belts or slung over their bare shouldersskin dark as oiled wood from the long summer. They walked with chests out and shoulders back and it seemed that if they didnt own the place, then no one had told them.