“… you can help me,” Arkady heard him say as he caught up. “I was on my way here to join my colleagues from Radio Liberty when my car was deliberately run off the road. In the explosion one man was killed and I sustained injuries.” He turned and pointed to Arkady. “There is the driver of the other car. He followed me.”

The guards had cut eyeholes in woolen ski caps that were a contrast to their satiny suits. One was hulking and the other small, but they both had sawed-off rifles that they held casually in Arkady’s direction. He didn’t even have his father’s gun, and by now he was so exposed he couldn’t retreat.

“He’s not from the press. Ask for his identification,” Arkady said.

Max took hold of the situation like the director of a film. It looked like a stage set: wet marble steps, vying strobes, the fairy lights of tracers in the clouds. “My identification burned in the car. It doesn’t matter because a dozen reporters here will vouch for me. Anyway, I think I recognize this character. His name is Renko, one of Prosecutor Rodionov’s gang. Ask him for identification.”

Dark eyes stared through the masks. Arkady had to admit that Max had defined the moment neatly; here his identification could condemn him.

“He’s lying,” Arkady said.

“Is his car a wreck? Is my friend dead?” In the clamor of the steps, Max’s whisper was all the more effective. “Renko is a dangerous man. Ask him whether he killed someone or not. See, he can’t deny it.”

“Who was your friend?” the smaller guard asked through his mask. Though he had no face to go by, Arkady thought he had heard the voice before. The guard could have been militia like the traffic officer at the bottom of the steps or a private bodyguard.

“Borya Gubenko, a businessman,” Max said.

“The Borya Gubenko?” The guard seemed to know the name. “He was a close friend?”

Max answered quickly, “Not close, but Borya sacrificed himself to get me here and the fact is that Renko brutally killed him and tried to do the same to me. Here we are surrounded by the cameras of the world. The world is watching these steps tonight and you can’t afford to let a reactionary agent like Renko near anybody. The main thing is to get him out of sight. If you do trip and accidentally shoot him in the back it will be no loss to the world.”

“I don’t do anything accidentally,” the guard assured him.

Max began to sidestep to continue his climb. “As I said, I have colleagues here.”

“I know you do.” He lifted off his mask. It was Beno, Makhmud’s grandson. His face was almost as dark as his mask, but it was lit by a smile. “That’s why we came, in case you tried to join them.”