Lyubertsy was also what Muscovites feared because its young factory workers took the train into Moscow to beat up privileged urban kids. It was only natural that Lyubers developed into a mafia with a special talent for tearing up rock shows and restaurants.

Jaak cleared his throat. “In the cellar,” he said.

“The cellar?” It was the last thing Arkady wanted to hear. “If we’re going into the cellar, we should have bulletproof vests and lamps. You didn’t order those?”

“I didn’t know Kim was going to be here.”

“You didn’t really believe your reliable informant, did you?”

“I didn’t want to cause a lot of fuss,” Jaak said.

The trouble was that Lyubertsy cellars were not ordinary cellars, because until recently the private practice of unarmed Oriental self-defense had been against the law. In response, Lyuber musclemen had gone underground, refitting coal bins and boiler rooms as secret gymnasiums. Wandering alone around a Lyubertsy basement was not a prospect Arkady looked forward to, but he knew it would take a day to get special gear out of Moscow.

Three babushkas sat on the steps of the apartment house and watched over a playground where toddlers climbed into a sandbox that was made from rotting boards. The women had the gray heads and black coats of crows.

Jaak asked, “Remember the Komsomol Club that called about a trophy for Rudy?”

“Vaguely.”

“Did I mention they keep calling?”

“Is this a good time to mention it?” Arkady asked.

“What about my radio?” Jaak asked.

“Your radio?”

“I bought it, I’d like to listen to it. You keep forgetting to bring it in.”

“Come by my place tonight and pick it up.”

They couldn’t stand around the bike all day, Arkady thought. They had already been seen.

Jaak said, “I have the gun, so I’ll go in.”

“As soon as someone goes in, he’s going to run. Since you have the gun, you wait here and stop him.”

Arkady walked up to the steps. The women regarded him as if he had arrived from a different solar system. He tried a smile. No, they didn’t accept smiles here. He looked at the playground. It was empty; the kids were chasing cottonwood fluffs across the lot. He glanced back at Jaak, who was sitting on the bike and watching the building.

He moved along the base of the house until he found stairs leading down to a steel door. The door was unlocked and the other side of it was as black as an abyss. He called, “Kim! Mikhail Kim! I want to talk to you!”

The answer was a profound hush. This was the sound of mushrooms growing, Arkady thought. He didn’t want to enter the cellar. “Kim?”