Shadow Pass Read Free

dark eyes narrowed into slits. But now, at the sight of this telegram, which looked to him so frail that it might at any moment evaporate into smoke, Niarchos began to grow nervous.
    By now, Chicherin had finished reading the telegram.
    “I need that back,” said the young man.
    Chicherin did not reply. He continued to stare at the telegram, as if expecting more words to materialize.
    Kirov slipped the flimsy paper from between Chicherin’s fingers and set off across the dining room.
    This time, Chicherin did nothing to stop him.
    Niarchos stepped out of the way, his huge body swinging to the side as if he were on some kind of hinge.
    On his way to the table of Colonel Nagorski, Kirov paused to stare at various meals, breathing in the smells and sighing with contentment or making soft grunts of disapproval at the heavy-handed use of cream and parsley. Arriving at last beside Nagorski’s table, the young man cleared his throat.
    Nagorski looked up. The skin stretched over the colonel’s cheekbones looked like polished wax. “More pancakes for the blinis!” He slapped his hand down on the table.
    “Comrade Nagorski,” said Kirov.
    Nagorski had turned back to his meal, but at the mention of his name he froze. “How do you know my name?” he asked quietly.
    “Your presence is required, Comrade Nagorski.”
    Nagorski glanced towards the bar, hoping to catch the eye of Niarchos. But Niarchos’s attention seemed completely focused on polishing tea glasses. Now Nagorski looked around for Chicherin, but the manager was nowhere to be seen. Finally, he turned to the young man. “Exactly where is my presence required?” he asked.
    “That will be explained on the way,” replied Kirov.
    Nagorski’s giant companion sat with arms folded, gaze fixed, his thoughts unreadable.
    Kirov couldn’t help noticing that although Nagorski’s plate was loaded down with food, the only thing set in front of the bald giant was a small salad made of pickled cabbage and beets.
    “What makes you think,” began Nagorski, “that I am just going to get up and walk out of here with you?”
    “If you don’t come willingly, Comrade Nagorski, I have orders to arrest you.” Kirov held out the telegram.
    Nagorski brushed the piece of paper aside. “Arrest me?” he shouted.
    A sudden silence descended upon the restaurant.
    Nagorski dabbed a napkin against his thin lips. Then he threw the cloth down on top of his food and stood up.
    By now, all eyes had turned to the table in the corner.
    Nagorski smiled broadly, but his eyes remained cold and hostile. Digging one hand into the pockets of his coat, he withdrew a small automatic pistol.
    A gasp went up from the nearby tables. Knives and forks clattered onto plates.
    Kirov blinked at the gun.
    Nagorski smiled. “You look a little jumpy.” Then he turned the weapon in his palm so that the butt was facing outwards and handed it to the other man at the table.
    His companion reached out and took it.
    “Take good care of that,” said Nagorski. “I’ll be wanting it back very soon.”
    “Yes, Colonel,” replied the man. He set the gun beside his plate, as if it were another piece of cutlery.
    Now Nagorski slapped the young man on the back. “Let’s see what this is all about, shall we?”
    Kirov almost lost his balance from the jolt of Nagorski’s palm. “A car is waiting.”
    “Good!” Nagorski announced in a loud voice. “Why walk when we can ride?” He laughed and looked around.
    Faint smiles crossed the faces of the other customers.
    The two men made their way outside.
    As Nagorski walked by the kitchen, he saw Chicherin’s face framed in one of the little round windows of the double swinging doors.
    Outside the Borodino, sleet lay like frog spawn on the pavement.
    As soon as the door had closed behind them, Nagorski grabbed the young man by his collar and threw him up against the brick wall of the restaurant.
    The young man did not resist. He looked as if he’d been expecting