“What papers?”
“You need special pass. Government train visas.”
“Where do I get them?”
“You get issued by my friend Feltsman, high official. Russian. You must pay him.”
“Where is Feltsman?”
“Government building. Erevan Square.”
“Where in Erevan Square? Which building?”
“Next to Russian State Bank.”
Isaac Bell stood to his full height and stared down at the Russian train official. Then he opened his coat just enough to allow a glimpse of the Bisley nestled in his shoulder holster. “If I can’t find the government building—or if I can’t find Mr. Feltsman—I do know where to find you . . . Is there anything else you want to tell me before I go back to Erevan Square?”
“I am remembering,” said the chief agent, reaching for his telephone, “that it would be best if I personally telephoned Feltsman to tell him to expect you. That way he would not be out to lunch or somewhere when you arrive.”
“A wise precaution,” said Isaac Bell. He waited for the call to be completed and left somewhat surer now that the papers would be forthcoming, but considerably less certain that tomorrow’s special passenger train would materialize in the chaos.
—
“Hold it!” said Isaac Bell.
They had just stepped down from the tram to Erevan Square and were hurrying across the busy plaza toward the government building next to the Russian State Bank when Bell saw the gleaming black pompadour that crowned the Social Democrat Josef.
“Is that who I think it is skulking at the tram stop?” asked Wish.
“Josef.”
With a furtive glance over his shoulder, revealing beyond a doubt that it was he, Josef ran to jump on the tram leaving for the railroad station.
“What’s he up to?” said Wish.
Rockefeller started to make a beeline for the telegraph.
“Grab him, Wish.”
Wish snared the plutocrat.
“What? What?”
“Just wait,” said Wish. “Something’s up . . . What is it, Isaac?”
Bell had spotted three or four workmen in the crowds whom he might possibly have seen with Josef earlier on the road. Aware that he was sensing more than seeing, he looked up and scanned the tops of the two- and three-story buildings that bordered the open space. He could feel stress in the air, almost as if every person bustling about his business was about to stop breathing.
Suddenly two enormous carriages raced into the square. Thundering alongside them, Cossack outriders brandished lances and rifles. Heavy as freight wagons yet high-wheeled and fast, they were pulled by teams of ten horses. Their coachmen, enormous three-hundred-pound men in greatcoats, hauled back on their reins and the carriages and outriders came to a banging, clashing halt in front of the elaborately decorated stone edifice that housed the Russian State Bank.
Bell motioned urgently to Wish.
Moving as one, they backed their people away.
The Cossacks looked formidable and others in the crowds retreated, too. But the men Bell had noticed a moment earlier edged closer. Others, dressed in urban working garb, converged on the carriages. Bell looked up again. Now he saw men on the roofs.
“Isaac!” said Wish.
“I see them,” said Bell. “It’s a bank robbery.”