Siberian Red

Service?’
    Braninko nodded.
    ‘But the Secret Service controlled all spying operations!’ protested Kirov. ‘Who would these agents answer to?’
    ‘To the Tsar,’ replied Braninko, ‘and only to the Tsar.’
    Kirov was stunned. ‘And the Okhrana did not know about this?’
    ‘That is correct. Even the great Chief Inspector Vassileyev was unaware of it.’
    ‘Then why was the file discovered at Okhrana headquarters?’
    ‘It wasn’t,’ Braninko explained. ‘This file was found in a locked desk in the Tsar’s study. In the chaos of the Revolution, he forgot to dispose of the documents. Either that, or he could not bring himself to destroy them.’
    ‘Why is it called the Blue File?’
    ‘The entries are written in blue pencil. It is the Tsar’s own writing.’
    ‘And who else knows about this file?’
    ‘Let me put it this way, Major – I have taken a great risk by even informing you of its existence.’
    ‘But Ryabov might be in there!’
    ‘Once again, Major, there is that possibility, but let me ask you something. What is it exactly that you need to know?’
    ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Kirov. ‘If Inspector Pekkala were here . . .’
    Braninko breathed in sharply. ‘Pekkala?’
    ‘Yes,’ answered Kirov. ‘He and I work together.’
    Braninko’s head tilted a little to the side, like that of a curious dog. ‘You work with the Inspector?’
    ‘I am also an inspector, you know.’
    ‘I didn’t say an inspector,’ replied Braninko. ‘I said the Inspector.’
    ‘All right, then,’ muttered Kirov. ‘I work with the Inspector, and if he were here . . .’
    ‘Why isn’t he here?’ interrupted Braninko. ‘ He would be allowed to see the Blue File.’
    ‘Why would you let him see it and not me?’
    Braninko paused before he spoke. ‘Do you remember what I said about men who hide the truth?’
    ‘You called them common criminals.’
    ‘Correct, and the only defence against them is men like Inspector Pekkala. No matter what the regulations called for, I would never do anything to hinder one of his investigations.’
    ‘Comrade Braninko, this is his investigation.’ Kirov went on to explain Pekkala’s mission to Borodok. ‘Now can you help me or not?’ he asked when he had finished.
    ‘Follow me,’ replied Braninko.
    At the back of the old sculpture studio, a massive safe stood in the corner of an otherwise empty room. After opening the safe, Braninko took out a drawer which had been removed from a desk. The drawer was made from some exotic wood, inlaid with ornate flower patterns done in ebony and mother-of-pearl.
    ‘As you see,’ Braninko told Kirov, ‘they took it straight from the Tsar’s study. These documents have never been integrated with those of our own Intelligence Service.’ Turning to the file, Braninko began sifting through the documents. ‘Here it is!’ he exclaimed, hauling out an envelope. ‘Ryabov, Isaac; assigned to the Kolchak Expedition.’
    Kirov felt his heart jolt. ‘Now we can find out what this man was doing before the Revolution.’
    ‘It won’t be that easy, Major. There is a good reason NKVD have so little information on this man. Isaac Ryabov is a cover name. Unlike in Okhrana and NKVD archives, the real identities of agents working secretly for the Tsar were never written down. When Nicholas II died, the names of these men died with him. All we have left are the clues remaining in the Blue File, but if there is anyone on earth who could make sense of them, it would be Inspector Pekkala.’
    Kirov stared at the Tsar’s handwriting, precise and ornate. The faded blue pencil resembled the veins in an old person’s hand. ‘May I borrow this, Professor?’
    ‘For Inspector Pekkala, of course.’ Braninko handed him the time-brittled paper.
    The two men walked out into the sculpture studio.
    Once more, Kirov breathed in the smell of that long-extinguished fire which had consumed Okhrana headquarters.
    Braninko sat down on the huge severed hand, looking like some tiny helpless creature resting in the palm of a capricious god, as he waited for his fate to be decided.
    ‘There is something I don’t understand,’ Kirov told him. ‘Why does our government choose to keep the Blue File secret? The Okhrana is gone forever. The men whose names are in that file are either dead or in exile. The information it contains should no longer be considered classified.’
    Braninko smiled, raising his hands and resting them upon the fingertips of