Free The Twelfth Department by William Ryan Page A

and the light that the low sun cast flattered the older Moscow buildings and burnished the newer ones. His son was at home waiting for him and nothing more could be desired from life, really.
    It was only because Korolev happened to be walking past the Lubyanka’s side-entrance that he allowed himself to even think of anything to do with State Security. They were doing more work on the building, he saw. More cells, he supposed, or more offices for more Chekists. The comrades from State Security were busier than ever these days.

 
    CHAPTER NINE
    “Papa?”
    Yuri’s voice came from the other side of the bedroom. Two streets away a cockerel crowed, as it did every morning, and Korolev, as he did every morning, wondered how the bird had managed to survive this long. There were plenty of people in Moscow who’d happily eat a cockerel given half a chance, cooked or uncooked. Its owner must guard it well.
    “Yuri?” Korolev said. His voice sounded like the creak of a barn door.
    “You’re sure you won’t have to go to work today?”
    “As I told you,” Korolev said, his eyes still firmly shut, “they’ve assigned the investigation to someone else. Which means we can do anything we want.”
    “Anything?”
    “Yes,” Korolev said, but he didn’t fully trust his answer. Who knew what a twelve-year-old boy might want to do?
    He heard Yuri get out of bed and pad over to him.
    “We could go to the zoo then, couldn’t we?”
    Korolev opened his left eye to see Yuri looking down at him. Weak sunlight was streaming in through the gap in the curtains and footsteps were moving back and forth above his head as the people upstairs prepared to face the day. They wouldn’t be so loud if they put down a carpet. He should mention it to them.
    “The zoo?” Korolev looked at his watch. A quarter past six already. “Isn’t it a bit early for the zoo?”
    “Natasha says they feed the lions at eight.” Yuri crossed his arms and turned his face toward the window, avoiding Korolev’s gaze as if expecting a refusal. “With red meat.”
    Something about the thought of the red meat seemed to cheer Yuri up, however, and he smiled slowly. No doubt he was imagining the gore.
    “Red meat, you say?” Korolev allowed his open eye to close naturally.
    “Blood red. She says sometimes they give them a goat. A whole goat. But not alive—at least I don’t think so anyway. Although Natasha says sometimes the goats are alive, but I’m sure that can’t be right.” Yuri paused, his mouth twisting sideways as he considered this.
    “That Natasha says a lot.” Korolev turned onto his side so that now he was facing his son.
    “Well,” Yuri said, “I suppose the goats might be alive—every now and then. You know, for authenticity—what good would a lion be if it didn’t remember what it was to hunt?”
    “That’s a good question.” Korolev made the effort to open both his eyes now, look at his son fondly and smile. He even managed to push himself up onto his elbow. This was what it was to be young, he supposed—to think that anything was possible.
    Yuri, after a moment, smiled back.
    “Torn to pieces?” Korolev continued, fighting a yawn. “Now that would be a sight to see.”
    Moscow’s zoo was located only a few streets from where Korolev had lived when he was Yuri’s age. And sometimes back then—not often, but occasionally—a boy might hear a lion roar—a strange and marvelous sound in the middle of a Moscow winter. The memory persuaded Korolev to push down the sheet and get out of bed.
    “But I thought the zoo didn’t open until nine?”
    “That’s the best thing of all, Valentina Nikolayevna called her friend there yesterday evening and she can give us a tour before it even opens. A whole zoo just for us.”
    Korolev remembered something about this friend of Valentina’s from the morning before.
    “So she called her, did she?” Korolev looked down at his son—the boy looked a little unsure, apprehensive even.