Dubious Intent

This is an excerpt from the newly released novel, New Watch, by Sergei Lukyanenko (translated by Andrew Bromfield and published by Harper Collins). It is the fourth and final book in the series, begun with the popular Night Watch, and which has been translated into 28 languages, with over 2 million copies in print.

PROLOGUE

Perhaps it was the powerful memory of that shameful binge, or perhaps Pastukhov had simply developed some unusual abilities, but after a while he started noticing other people with strange eyes. To himself Pastukhov called these people “wolves” and “dogs.”

The first group had the calm indifference of the predator in their gaze: not malicious, no, the wolf harries the sheep without malice – more likely, in fact, with love. Pastukhov simply steered clear of their kind, trying hard not to attract any attention in the process.

The second group, who were more like that first young drunk, had a dog-like look in their eyes. Sometimes guilty, sometimes patient and concerned, sometimes sad. There was just one thing that bothered Pastukhov: that wasn't the way dogs looked at their masters, at best it was the way they looked at a master's whelp. And so Pastukhov tried to steer clear of them too.

And for quite a long time he managed it.

✦ ✦ ✦

…Dima Pastukhov had just taken out his lighter to give his partner Bisat Iskenderov a light, even though Bisat had his own lighter – it was simply a routine they'd got into. If Dima took out a cigarette, Bisat reached for his lighter. When the Azerbaijani decided to smoke, Dima offered him a light. If Pastukhov had been inclined to intellectual reflection, he might have said this was their way of demonstrating their mutual respect for each other, despite their differences of opinion on many things – from problems of nationality to which car was classier: the Mercedes ML or the BMW X3.

But Dima wasn't inclined to reflections of this kind – he and Bisat both drove Fords, preferred German beer to Russian vodka or Azerbaijani cognac, and had quite friendly feelings for each other. So Dima clicked on the button, summoning up the little tongue of flame, glanced briefly at the exit from the airport terminal building – and dropped the lighter just as his friend's cigarette was reaching for it.

There was a “dog” walking out through the doors of the departure lounge. A middle-aged man who didn't look frightening at all – quite cultured, in fact. Pastukhov was used to seeing people like this, but this one wasn't simply a “dog,” he was the “dog”... from the Exhibition of Economic Achievements district, from way back in the distant past.* Only he didn't look drunk now, more as if he had a bit of a hangover.

Pastukhov turned away and started slowly groping for the lighter on the ground. The man with watchdog's eyes walked past without taking the slightest notice of him.

“A drop too much yesterday?” Bisat asked sympathetically.

“Who?” muttered Pastukhov. “Ah... no, it's just that the lighter's slippery...”

“Your hands are shaking and you've turned as white as a sheet,” his partner remarked.

Pastukhov finally gave him a light, checked out of the corner of his eye that the man was walking away towards the car park, took out a cigarette, and lit up himself – without waiting for Bisat's lighter.

“You're acting kind of funny...” said Bisat.

“Yes, I was drinking yesterday,” Pastukhov muttered. He looked at the terminal building again.

This time there was a “wolf” coming out of it. With a self-confident, predatory gaze and determined stride. Pastukhov turned away.

“You should eat khash the morning after,” Bisat admonished him. “But only the right khash – ours. That Armenian khash is poison!”

“Ah, come on, they're absolutely identical,” Pastukhov replied in his usual manner.

Bisat spat disdainfully and shook his head.

“They may look the same. But in essence they're completely different!”

“They might be different in essence, but in reality they're absolutely identical!” Dima replied, watching the “wolf,” who had walked past and was also going towards the car park.

Bisat took offense and stopped talking.

Pastukhov finished off his cigarette in a few quick drags and looked at the door of the terminal again.

His first thought was angry, even resentful: Are they holding some kind of grand get-together in there today?

And then the fear hit him.

The individual who had walked out of the doors when they slid open and was now standing there, gazing round thoughtfully, wasn't a “dog.” But he wasn't a “wolf,” either. He was someone else. A third kind.

A kind that ate wolves for breakfast and dogs for lunch. And left the tastiest parts for supper.

The classification that immediately occurred to Pastukhov was “tiger.” He said: “I've got stomach cramps... I'm off to the can.”

“Go on, I'll have a smoke,” replied his partner, still offended.

To have asked Bisat to go to the toilet with him would have been strange. There wasn't any time to explain anything or invent anything. Pastukhov turned round and walked away quickly, leaving Iskenderov in the path of the “tiger.” “He won't do anything to him... He'll just walk straight past, that's all...”

Pastukhov reassured himself. Pastukhov only looked round as he was already walking into the departure hall.

Just in time to see Bisat salute casually and stop the “tiger.” Of course, his partner couldn't spot them – there wasn't any incident in his past like the one Pastukhov had experienced. But this time even he had sensed something – with that policeman's intuition that sometimes helped you pull an entirely unremarkable-looking man out of a crowd and discover that he had a rod stashed in a secret holster or a knife in his pocket.

Pastukhov suddenly realized that his stomach cramps were genuine now. And he sprinted into the airport's safe, noisy interior, full of people and suitcases.

Since he was a good polizei, he felt very ashamed. But he felt even more afraid.

* The reference is to an important incident in book one (Night Watch), where Dima and the novel's main character (Anton Gorodetsky) first cross paths.