"L'Amour, Louis - Last_of_the_Breed17" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Amour Louis)

"Good! Very, very good! A friend of Zhikarev might also befriend a friend of his. You ordered the arrest of Zhikarev?"
"I did."
Zamatev walked to the window and looked out. The little car was farther down the street tonight. He gave it a glance only. This was a lead, although a slim one, scarcely more than that found by Alekhin.
If the American was an Indian he must also be a trapper. Were they not all hunters and trappers? If so, he might be catching fur to raise money he would need and to pay his way now. In any event, he could not afford to ignore any lead.
"You are tired."
"Not too tired."
He smiled. "Go home and get some rest. It will be busy around here tonight."
"We know nothing," she warned. "It is only the furs."
"And the man Zhikarev, who disappeared. It is only the guilty who flee."
"It is sometimes as dangerous to be merely suspect," she said. "Zhikarev had been questioned before, by Stegman."
"And others."
He paused, thinking about it. "We must find him, but Wulff may know something. He is one who always knows more than he says and uses it for his own benefit. This time he will use it for mine."
"Be careful of him. He has friends."
He got out his maps after she had gone and studied them. Kyra and Stegman had gone to the Sinyaya and found nothing, and so they might be anywhere. They had sold their furs in Aldan.
Because it was nearby? Or because they knew a buyer who would ask no questions? Of course, for the profit that could be made, there might be many such. But supposing they were near Aldan? He drew a mental circle around the area and began studying the streams. It was wild country once one got away from the city itself. The Sinyaya was far from Aldan. It was not even close. It was closer to Yakutsk.
He considered that. A possible buyer in Yakutsk? Of course, in such a large place there was certain to be one or more than one. Stegman would know. He had worked out of Yakutsk at one time and knew them all.
It was three o'clock in the morning before Alekhin arrived. He came quietly, sat down, and listened.
He had only just come from the taiga, and when Zamatev told him of the furs his face revealed nothing, but he was smiling inwardly. Of course! The man was an Indian. He could hunt and trap. If he had found a good place to hide and a way to sell the furs he trapped, he should have made some money before warm weather. With money in his pocket and a change of clothes he would be harder to find. He might even leave the forest.
Zamatev shook his head. Not Makatozi. He would stay in the forest. Besides he did not know the language. How long to learn to speak Russian? Even a little bit?
"You do not believe in the furs?" Zamatev demanded.
"I believe. This man is a good trapper, I think. I think you waste time, Alekhin can catch him. Only Alekhin."
"I want him alive."
Alekhin shrugged. "Always somebody died. Some like to fight me, so I kill. Why not?"
"A man named Borowsky came with the furs. He was not alone. They came to Aldan."
Alekhin considered that. There would be tracks. Borowsky was not the American, who knew so well how to hide a trail. Borowsky would have left something, but finding where he had come into the town would be difficult.
"I will look." Alekhin looked over at Zamatev. "He will fight, this one. If he fights, I kill him."
"I do not want him killed! Do you understand? I want him alive!" He paused. "You are a shrewd man, Alekhin. You have trapped animals, why not a man? Trap him, and bring him to me. When he has told me what I want, you can have him."
Alekhin considered that. To trap him? That would be amusing. He would like to see the American in a trap, helpless.
"I will look." Alekhin got up and, turning, walked out without a backward glance. Zamatev was irritated, but he needed the Yakut. There was no one quite like him, and nobody had escaped once he had started on the trail. The American would not escape, either.
He asked for and received the dossier on Evgeny Zhikarev. Quickly, he leafed through it. There was no harm in the man except it was suspected that he dealt in illicit furs. That was not unusual. Most furs were sold through the proper channels, but some dealers were known to hold back the best furs and sell or trade them on the black market.
Had the man actually fled? He glanced at the dossier again. He had been questioned by Stegman, and Stegman liked to work on the feet. It was unlikely that Zhikarev would be going very far if he had to walk. So they would find him, and they would find where the furs came from.
Kyra--she was like an extension of himself. A shrewd, intelligent woman, but she had been in Shepilov's department. He must not trust her too much, not yet. Not ever.
It was always best to keep one's plans to oneself. Tell no one at all and you were safer.
He walked to the window again, thinking of that vast country out there. Obviously, Alekhin must be right. The man was hunting, somehow. If he had sold furs he had a little money. But how had he sold them? He must have established a connection with somebody who could handle the furs or who had put him in touch with Zhikarev. Find that connection. Kyra had made a start. She had found Zhikarev. Of course, they were surmising too much. The furs might not have been trapped by the American. They were grasping at straws. How had the man disappeared so suddenly, so thoroughly?
Yet he must be wary. Not only within the borders of Yakutia, but all over this part of the country, there had been trouble. There had actually been a move to set up an independent nation, and the army had had to be called in.
Silly fools! How could they hope to exist, situated in the midst of Russian-held territory? Yet there were dissidents still around, and one never knew, in Yakutia, where sympathies lay. The brief revolt, if such it could be called, had been put down quickly and harshly, but the feeling still lurked, hidden in the inmost hearts of many here. A mistake might stir up that feeling again, and they might slow production if nothing else. No doubt there were people in Yakutia who had never surfaced during that aborted nationalistic move who might be willing to help someone escape. Some of their own people were in prison.
He swore bitterly. Why must this happen just when all was proceeding so well? Now his future was on the line. All he had done, his years of work, his careful cultivation of the right people, all could be wasted because of this one man, this American!
He returned to the map. Alekhin would find him. He had never failed, and now for the first time he was officially involved. He had been looking around, asking questions here and there; this Zamatev knew. Now he was involved, and he would discover the American.
Yet he was full of doubt. So many weeks and never even a sighting of the man!

Miles away to the south and east a heavy truck rolled through the night. The road was bad, filled with potholes and unexpected swells or breaks in the surfacing. Permafrost made the building of roads difficult, their maintenance even harder.
It was dark in the cab, only the faint light from the instrument panel picking up highlights on their faces and throwing cheeks and eyes into black shadows.
"I can only take you to Zavitinsk this time," the driver was saying, "and I can pick you up in six days' time when I am on my way back."
"That will be all right," Zhikarev said. "I will pay as usual. Half when you let me off in Zavitinsk and half when you get me back to Aldan."
"Fine! I got the same from Potanin when I took him to Yakutsk."
Zhikarev thought he would faint. His heart seemed to miss a beat, and it was a moment before he caught his breath. "Potanin? You took Lieutenant Potanin to Yakutsk?"
"First leave he's had in two years. He needed rest. That border watch is hard, hard! No telling what those Chinese will do." The driver looked around at him. "Hey! Are you all right?"
"I'm all right." Zhikarev drew a slow, hopeless breath. "Who took his place?"
"Lieutenant Baransky. No nonsense about him! He's a cold fish! Goes by the book!" The driver glanced at Zhikarev. "If you have any idea of dealing across the river, forget it."
Zhikarev leaned back against the seat. His heart beat slowly, heavily. He had come all this way! And back in Aldan--