Major Ustinov led him to the control room. ‘I trebled the patrols in the garden and grounds, as we discussed, sir; I had doubled the number of officers in the house.’
‘So?’
‘At nine o’clock there was an explosion in the woods – over near the main gate.’
‘Did your men see anything?’
‘No, sir. They never got there. They were attacked by the dogs. They had to take cover.’
‘What dogs? You haven’t got any dogs.’
‘Precisely.’
‘Christ, so you had the surprise of the explosion – and the confusion it created – followed by an invasion of dogs, prompting all three of your foot patrols to go into hiding.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Leaving the grounds completely unguarded?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then what?’
‘The power went out in the entire mansion. But there was no power from the emergency generator.’
‘Why not?’
‘We’ve since found it's been damaged, sir. The fuel line had been severed and the leads to the batteries have been cut.’
‘Cut! Christ, and what about Mrs Baryshnikov?’
‘Still in her room, sir. I went straight up there, of course. I found her in her bedroom. She was as uncivil as usual.’
Shaking his head rapidly, Pudovkin looked concerned. ‘You have been on the receiving end of a highly organized attack, major.’
‘What did they want, though, sir?’ asked Ustinov. ‘Mrs Baryshnikov's still here.’
‘When you went up to her room, was there anything in there that struck you as odd?’
‘I couldn’t see anything, because it was pitch dark – what with the power cut.’
‘So there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary?’
‘Well,’ replied Ustinov hesitantly, ‘there was something.’
‘What?’
‘One of the curtains was slightly open.’
‘Oh Christ,’ roared the police colonel forcefully. ‘Search the place – right now. Immediately. Get the Baryshnikov woman out of her room. Take her place to pieces. Strip it down! Strip it! Strip it right down – top to bottom.’
Pudovkin was summoned to 15A Bolshaya Dmitrovka Ulitsa for a meeting at six thirty the following morning. Léon Gazdanov, the prosecutor general, was in an agitated state. The trial of the year – and for him the trial that could define his career – was imminent; he was clearly unnerved by recent events.
‘What the hell's been going on at the Baryshnikov mansion?’ he asked with barely any preamble.
‘It's been strange,’ replied Pudovkin.
‘I don’t want strange, colonel,’ he snapped. ‘I warned you to take care of this man Straker.’
‘We don’t know it was him, sir.’
‘After all we know of what he's been up to, how can it not be his handiwork at the Baryshnikov house?’
Pudovkin fought to hold his presence together. ‘We cannot be certain, Mr Prosecutor, but there was this,’ he said producing a photograph from his briefcase. ‘This was taken from some CCTV footage recorded at the house.’
Gazdanov looked down at the grainy, dark grey photograph. In the extreme top-right corner was the blurry shape of a figure dressed in black. ‘This is no use. You can’t make out anything from this. How close was this even taken to the Baryshnikov woman's apartment?’
Pudovkin looked sheepish.
‘This man seems far too clever to be that obvious. If there was a figure captured on film, you can bet your life it wasn’t him. This man deals in diversions – decoys – and misdirection. When we get to the trial, colonel, you are going to have to fucking well get your act together.’
‘I will remind you, Mr Prosecutor General, that you instructed me not to interfere directly with this man – when I could so easily have had him in custody and out of the way by now. What do you want me to do? What will you authorize me to do?’
Gazdanov looked down at the dark figure in the CCTV photograph again.
He paused.
Under his breath, he sighed: ‘We’ve got to stop this man Straker.’
