Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky: Official for Special Assignments. Yuri Kamensky, Vera Kamenskaya official for special assignments Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky

The whole genre of alternative history rests on "What would happen if ...?" So, the hero of this novel, a senior police lieutenant, having inadvertently pleased in 1911, faced this dilemma. Fortunately, Stas is a man of action. You can think fast and very fast. And therefore, having quickly calculated the key moments of that difficult time, he decides, for starters, to save Prime Minister Stolypin from the bullet of the anarchist Bogrov. The main thing is to get involved, and then the battle will show ...

The work belongs to the genre Detectives. It was published in 2019 by AST. The book is part of the Modern Science Fiction Action (ACT) series. On our website you can download the book "Officer for Special Assignments" in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format or read online. The rating of the book is 4.27 out of 5. Here, before reading, you can also refer to the reviews of readers who are already familiar with the book and find out their opinion. In the online store of our partner you can buy and read the book in paper form.

Yuri Kamensky, Vera Kamenskaya

Officer for Special Assignments

© Yuri Kamensky, 2019

© Vera Kamenskaya, 2019

© AST Publishing House LLC, 2019

Unaccounted for factor

Out of the frying pan into the fire

... From a trifle, everything, in general, began. Of course, when you are going to "firearms", all seven senses are fully mobilized. And then business, the teacher to interrogate on fraud. Among other gullible fools, she gave money for cheap black caviar. Well, you have to think about it! So where does this smart girl teach?

Stas glanced at the diary. Gymnasium No. 1520 ... but, in Leontievsky, next to the old MUR. He himself, of course, did not catch this, the building in Bolshoy Gnezdnikovsky was demolished before the war.

The weather was surprisingly sunny. For Moscow March, the phenomenon is, frankly, atypical. You can also walk on foot, since it’s not so far away, otherwise you’ve already smoked all the lungs in the office.

Senior Lieutenant Sizov ran down the stairs, showed his ID to the sentry at the exit, and, opening the heavy doors, went out into the street. The sun was already shining like spring, but the breeze was blowing quite fresh. He squinted at the sun, zipped his jacket up to his neck, and walked slowly down the steps.

A flock of laughing students hurried to the glass cafe, giving him appraising and mischievous glances as they ran. A pensioner in professorial glasses followed sedately, leading a red-haired dachshund with a gray-haired muzzle on a leash. From the balcony, a black dog greeted her with a booming bass, thumping with his tail on the bars that protected his freedom - you see, old acquaintances. Grandma, hurrying to the bus that was pulling up to the stop, awkwardly touched it with a shopping bag, and then she herself was almost knocked down by a skateboarder who flew by with a torpedo.

Somewhere on the verge of hearing, the ambulance siren howled, hurrying to the call. A bluish cloud of exhaust hung in the air from cars rolling in a wave - another hour, and “traffic jams” would begin. Everyone has their own affairs and worries, no one cares about him. Leisurely walking along Strastnoy Boulevard, Stas was not thinking about the upcoming interrogation. Why break your head there? Everything is simple. Yesterday's book was in my head. The name of the author was somehow interesting - Markhuz ... or is that the last name? He even entered this word into Yandex, having learned, among other things, that it was some kind of fabulous beast. Already by this it was clear that the writer is a great original.

The book was written in the alternative history genre. It seems that the whole literary world is simply obsessed with this "alternative" - ​​they are shredding this poor story in all sorts of ways. However, "The Elder Tsar John the Fifth", unlike other writers, was written in a very entertaining way. And made me think, for that matter. At least that our life is a chain of continuous accidents. Here, for example, if he falls ill now, and all the cases that he has in production will go to Mishka.

It's not even the case that the roommate in the office will curse him with the last words. They just have a very different way of working. Mikhail, straight as a handle from a shovel, working with suspects, suppressed their will. No, not with fists. Beating is the last thing, pure profanity. Well, you make a person sign the protocol of interrogation, so what? He will sit for a week in a cell, listen to experienced "prisoners", talk to a lawyer - and went to the prosecutor's office "cart".

And the trouble is not that the prosecutor's office and the "bounty hunters" will drink a bucket of blood. They suck her for far-fetched reasons - only on the way! - but just a swindler in a court session will sing the same song. And he will be justified, this is not the old days for you, because the end of the 20th century is in the yard. Humanization, glasnost, pluralism, and God knows how much fashionable chiaroscuro. Thanks to enlightened Europe, you might think that before them we slurped cabbage soup with bast shoes.

So Bradbury, perhaps, was right about something - if you crush a butterfly in the Cretaceous period, you will get another president at the exit. Another thing is that no one, of course, will follow this regularity and take it for granted. He will also say with a smart look: "History does not know the subjunctive mood." She told you herself, didn't she?

The screech of brakes whipped through his nerves, causing him to look up. The gleaming radiator of the Land Cruiser moved inexorably toward him, and time seemed to stretch. Stas already felt the heat from the engine, the smell of burnt gasoline, the car was advancing slowly and steadily, like a steam locomotive going downhill. The body did not have time to get out of the way, and then another leg caught on the curb ... He rushed with all his might, and suddenly ... a snoring horse's muzzle appeared right before his eyes, his face smelled of acrid horse sweat. The end of the shaft hit his chest, knocking the last of the air out of his lungs. The street swirled before my eyes. The last thing he heard, falling on his back, was a selective mate.

... When he came to, he felt an unpleasant coldness on his face, as if he had been stuck with his muzzle in a melted snowdrift. Stas tried to brush away this cold, but someone held his hand.

“Lie down, young man,” said a calm male voice.

His head was still spinning, and he opened his eyes to see a man with a beard leaning over him. The light irritated, and Stas closed his eyelids again.

“Doctor with an ambulance,” a thought surfaced. - It was still not enough to rattle in the Sklif. Fuck them: nothing seems to be broken. They’ll keep them for a week, and then I’ll rake things with a shovel. And where did the horse come from?

And the people, standing over him, discussed him as if he was not there, or he had already died.

- Looks like a stranger...

"Why did it happen? A native Muscovite, by the way…”

- American, apparently. You see, the pants are stitched. I took one of these...

“Is he talking about jeans, or what? Found, damn it, a curiosity - jeans in Moscow ... Village, or what? Yes, they are in any village ... "

- I wouldn't die...

"Hell, don't wait."

Overpowering himself, Stas opened his eyes and tried to sit up.

“Lie down, lie down, it’s bad for you to move.

Again this one, with a beard.

“It’s bad for me to lie down,” Stas muttered. - No time.

He stood up with difficulty, listening to himself. The chest, of course, ached a little, but it was quite tolerable. Shaking off his pants, the opera glanced briefly at the people standing nearby. The fact that “something is not right” with them, he understood immediately. But what exactly is wrong? Consciousness gradually cleared up and slowly began to evaluate the information that, without stint, gave eyes.

Now, of course, it is difficult to surprise anyone with the strangest clothes, but to be like this, all at once? As if he got into the crowd on the filming of the "old time". Naturally, the cab driver standing next to the cab is dressed like a cab driver from the beginning of the century. And a lady with a coat on her shoulders - well, just the lady from the picture, and next to her, a simple-looking woman in a plush skirt opened her mouth. The pot-bellied uncle snorted and puzzledly scratched the top of his head with his five fingers. Signboards with "yat" climbed over my eyes. The Mummers, in turn, stared at him like kindergartners at a Christmas tree. Now, of course, there are no such services ... and shows ... who will you surprise with this “retro” now? But a bunch of logical inconsistencies grew like an avalanche.

Instead of asphalt - paving stones. One car has passed through Strastnoye all the time - the same retro as everything around. There are different chaises, cabs ... and even then not too many, in comparison, of course, with the flow of cars that he saw about five to ten minutes ago. And the last straw - a tall policeman, heading towards them. Stas did not even doubt that it was a real policeman. Three gombochkas on a cord - a policeman of the highest salary or a non-commissioned officer.

It is only in bad reading that the hero, finding himself in an incomprehensible place, pinches himself for a long time on all parts of the body, trying to wake up. If a person is not drunk and in his mind, one asks, why the extra gestures? And so it is clear that this is reality, not a dream. Behave according to the situation, then you will figure out how you ended up here. When there is time. If it will be.

What happened, gentlemen? - The policeman politely put his fingers to the visor.

“Well, this is…” the driver hesitated.

“Mr. policeman,” a lady in a coat stepped forward, “this gentleman a foreigner was knocked down by the horse of this cab driver.

She looks victorious, her nose up - an excellent student, "surrendering" naughty classmates to the teacher. Well, wait, you bastard...

- What makes you think that I am a foreigner? Stas shrugged. – For your information, I am a hereditary Muscovite.

“Well, you are dressed like that,” the lady hesitated. "I'm sorry, of course...

The policeman, who turned to the cab driver, froze and again turned his gaze to Stas.

- Indeed, sir, you are dressed, I beg your pardon, more than strange.

With the light hand of the "soviet" writers, the appearance of the policeman of tsarist Russia was formed as a stereotype of Gogol's Derzhimorda - a kind of healthy bull, moreover, he was necessarily boorish and not a fool to load his fist in the snout. And now Stas looked at the non-commissioned officer with interest. Well, except perhaps a healthy one, of course: a height of one hundred and ninety, that's for sure. Cast shoulders, not an ounce of excess weight, hands (they say a lot about the level of training) like a good fighter - a wide wrist, a strong palm, dry and strong fingers.

The rest, as they say, is exactly the opposite. He carries himself like a professional - confidently, but without rudeness. The eye is tenacious, like a good opera. When he glanced at Stas with a quick glance, it seemed to him, a sinful deed, that he spotted the barrel under his jacket. Although, in theory, it should not ...

- Be kind, Mr. Muscovite, show me your passport. And you carry your documents - this is already a cabman.

He sighed and dutifully trudged to the cab.

- I don’t have a passport with me, - Stas answered calmly, feverishly thinking whether to present an official ID. "Xiva" is valid until 1995. It is difficult to predict the policeman's reaction to such a document. Not a damn thing, of course, is not clear, but the fact that he somehow failed in time is a sad fact. "Occam's Razor" does not fail - nothing else could explain what was happening.

“Well, what are you…” The policeman shook his head reproachfully. Don't you know, sir...

He looked questioningly at Stas.

- Sizov Stanislav Yurievich.

- ... Mr. Sizov, that when carrying weapons, you must have a passport with you? This is a pistol under your jacket, am I not mistaken?

While he was uttering this tirade, Stas had already pumped over the option - what should he do in this stupid situation.

- Mister policeman, I have a service certificate. But I'm afraid if I present it, the situation will become even more confused.

- And what do you suggest?

It was evident from the eyes of the policeman that he, too, was pumping through possible options.

"I'm asking you to escort me to the police station...

Chapter 2

Well, just like in the movies. The portrait of Tsar Nicholas on the wall, heavy velvet curtains and the furnishings appropriate to the time - a complete entourage. From behind a massive table, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a lush mustache, exactly like in the portrait in the book, rose to meet him.

Hello, Arkady Frantsevich.

Please, sit down, - Russian Sherlock Holmes gestured at the leather armchair, - how would you like to be called? Thank you, Vladimir Ivanovich, you can be free.

The young detective, placing his pistol and ID in front of his head, inaudibly disappeared through the door.

Stas. Stanislav Sizov. Detective.

And, colleague., - Koshko, having opened the certificate, carefully studied it, - the detective, hmm ... what a strange position, the right word ..

What's strange here? - shrugged operas, - Although, yes. Oper-fell-wet. This is how they make fun of us, joke, in a sense.

It's funny, - the detective laughed, - fell wet. The Russian people know how to twist something like that ..

Before, in fact, we were called inspectors of the criminal investigation department.

Well, it sounds much more noble, - the state adviser nodded approvingly, - otherwise, it fell, wet, bad taste. In what year did you see the light, Mr. Sizov?

In the sixties, - Stas answered and, having already answered, he realized that the seasoned detective simply “spoke his teeth”, - in nineteen hundred and sixty.

And your pistol was made, exactly, in the year you were born,” Koshko said thoughtfully, “right for you, Herbert Wells. And what, the time machine is invented? No, according to your testimony.

No, it hasn't been invented yet.

I got what you mean. You know, what I like about this whole incident is, well, this is its utter absurdity.

Well, yes, - Stas nodded, - it was possible to invent something more useful.

That's it, - the famous detective nodded, - it's more useful, you rightly deigned to notice. This story does not promise you anything but a headache.

That's it, - muttered the opera.

Arkady Frantsevich rubbed his forehead.

Speaking mercantilely, for you this adventure is like smoking a hare, but, here, for me, as a detective, well, like a gift from above. You, I dare to hope, did well in the gymnasium on the history of the Fatherland?

I was in time, - Stas nodded with a wry smile, remembering the textbook "History of the USSR". - and, most importantly, he himself then read the history of our book. For you, of course, I am a valuable source of information, the goat understands.

Koshko, of course, noted the sarcasm that sounded in the interlocutor's answer, but did not react to it in any way, only an eyebrow, slightly noticeably, rose.

And the memory of me survived?

And by the way he asked it, Stas realized that the question was not idle.

“And you,” he grinned to himself, “nothing human is alien.”

They remember you, - he nodded, - they put you as an example to us. They call you the Russian Sherlock Holmes.

Nice to hear, of course. But I really talked to you, I beg your pardon.

He picked up the phone.

Sergey Ivanovich, please, order a dinner for two persons in the restaurant. No, over here. Thank you.

Well, here, - Koshko smiled, - now we will have dinner, what God sent, and then, don’t blame me, you will tell me about your past, and I will listen about our future, I apologize for the pun.

The State Councilor carefully blotted his mustache with a crisp napkin. The adjutant brought in a tray covered with a napkin, on which stood a covered teapot, a silver sugar bowl, and two tea glasses in glass holders.

Thank you, Sergey Ivanovich.

Nodding, the officer silently disappeared through the door.

Tea, I suppose, has not stopped drinking in Russia? - Koshko asked, filling the glasses with a drink as dark as tar.

They didn’t stop, - Stas nodded, sipping from a glass, - this, however, is rarely possible to drink. Hurry, racing. More sachets.

Silk, like the Chinese, or what?

Paper ones, - the operas sighed heavily.

Paper? - the detective was surprised, - Well, this, your will, is a mauvais ton of the purest water. How can you?

God be with him, with tea, - Stas shook his head decisively, - there is a matter that cannot be delayed. Four days later, in Kyiv, student Dmitry Bogrov will kill Pyotr Arkadievich Stolypin with a shot from a revolver.

Do you remember the details? - Koshko immediately crept up, as before the jump.

The king with the whole court will be in Kyiv. Naturally, the prime minister will also be there.

Stas spoke dryly, briefly, detachedly. Emotions are over, work has begun.

The head of the Kyiv Security Department, in my opinion, the surname is Kulyabko.

The cat nodded silently.

I received information from my agent Dmitry Bogrov that at night a woman arrived in Kyiv, on whom the combat squad was assigned to carry out a terrorist act - the murder of Stolypin.

Bogrov said that he knew her by sight and would help, if anything, to identify her. Kulyabko wrote him a pass to the theatre. Bogrov went there and fired two shots from a revolver at the prime minister. From instant death he was saved by the order, which was hit by a bullet. Changing direction, she passed the heart. On the fifth, if I am not mistaken, September, Stolypin will die in the hospital. They say there was a version that Bogrov carried out the task of the Okhrana.

All the while Stas was talking, the detective listened to him without interrupting. He didn't ask a single question the entire time. When the opera fell silent, he sat for a long time, thinking about something. It was not difficult for Stas to calculate the course of his thoughts. He himself, if he were in Koshko's place, would break through two directions. First, is his strange appearance part of a giant misinformation? It is not clear, of course, for what purpose, but when it becomes clear, it will be too late. In politics, sometimes, such multi-moves are played, the grandmaster smokes. And the second - if true, how to protect the prime minister, who, in life, does not listen to advice, but rushes like a bull at a red light? The task is not for the first class, frankly.

So, there is such a version that the head of the gendarme department contributed to this? - said, finally, Koshko, - Kulyabko, of course, bourbon and stupid, what to look for, but an honest man.

I have the impression that he was simply outplayed, - Stas decided to interject.

Koshko silently nodded, continuing to ponder something.

So, so, Mr. Inspector, I will not prevaricate, I have thoughts on your account. Both "pro" and "contra", do not blame me. If you are a detective yourself, then, you know, in our accursed trade, trust is worth a lot, and it can cost a lot. But the stakes are painfully high. If we lose Pyotr Arkadievich, we will screw up Russia, I beg your pardon.

He looked searchingly at the opera. Stas was silent. The well-known detective was right, which is already there.

Let's do this, - continued Koshko, - I appoint you as an official for special assignments. I'll settle the formalities at the top myself, this is my sadness. But if it turns out that you, sir, are a hoaxer, do not blame me - I will shoot myself.

I agree, - Stas said calmly, - about Stolypin and my contemporaries have the same opinion. Only the main trouble is not in the terrorists, but in the king. Your autocrat is weak, you'll excuse me if I accidentally violated something.

He is not only ours, but also yours, - the detective said with pressure, - and “violated”, I dare say, is not the right word. I advise you to think ahead.

So you thought of it, - Stas muttered uncompromisingly, - they banged the prime minister, then together they merged Russia to the Bolsheviks. And eighty years later, the opera in the offices began to be hung up, because the family is starving, and the salary is not paid for three months.

He got carried away. But the defiant look of the opera came across the bewildered eyes of the great detective. There was such undisguised pain that Stas felt ashamed.

How can this be? - quietly asked Koshko.

Excuse me, - Stas felt unbearably ashamed, as if he had whipped a small child in the face, - forgive me, Arkady Frantsevich. We've had a lot of trouble over there lately. Tell you - do not believe. Yes, and probably not worth it.

Worth it, - the detective said firmly, - but more on that later. If everything is as you say, it must be broken. But now the main thing is to save Pyotr Arkadyevich. How do you, - he turned the conversation into a more urgent direction, - do you prefer your weapon or is it better to take it from our arsenal? I'm afraid that this type of cartridges are not found now. Except that.

Having examined the PM, he skillfully pressed the latch, pulled out the magazine and, having clicked out the cartridge, twisted it in his fingers.

From Parabellum Borchard-Luger is suitable?

No. This one is a millimeter shorter. And a different type.

Because?

Here, I would take Parabellum. Can?

Why not? - Koshko shrugged his mighty shoulders, - Parabellum, so Parabellum. Well, of course, you need to change clothes. In some form, you, God knows, for whom they will take. It's out of place in your new position, you know.

Yes, who argues? - Stas was surprised, - Only, here, our money is not in use here, but I don’t have yours, you know.

Let me be curious.

He took the outstretched twenty-five rubles, carefully examined it, rubbed his forehead, - this profile, your will, reminds me of someone.

Well, yes, - Stas grinned, - now he, perhaps, is on the wanted list. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov - Lenin, the founder of the world's first state of workers and peasants.

State Founder? - Koshko twisted his lips in disgust, - Is this lawyer, a socialist?

That's why they ate you up, - the opera said mercilessly, - because you didn't take them seriously. They will not liberalize with you. Okay, not by the time this topic, then I'll tell you with all the details. You will forget about sleep for three days, I guarantee.

Two hours later, senior police lieutenant Sizov, now an official for special assignments under the head of the Russian detective, entered Koshko's office. This time he was wearing a gray double-breasted wool suit. The clothes, in principle, were not too different from those to which he was accustomed. Except, perhaps, a bowler hat. But during these years, it was decidedly not accepted to appear on the street without a headdress.

In his pocket was a solid wad of money and a document certifying that Sizov Stanislav Yuryevich was not just anyone, but oh-hoo. And, as a finishing touch to his new position, a brand new Parabellum, habitually tucked into his pants belt.

Come in, Arkady Frantsevich is waiting for you, - said the adjutant.

Thank you, Sergey Ivanovich, - Stas responded politely, opening the door.

Already at the very threshold, he quickly looked over his shoulder and caught a look full of dislike. Yes, his adjutant doesn't like that, and don't go to grandma. Although, why, it seems. Or does he not like everyone who gets too close to his boss?

Well, now, it's a completely different matter, - the state adviser greeted him, - now they will give a car. We'll have dinner on the train, time is precious.

The railway station square greeted them with ringing cries of boys selling newspapers, which famously maneuvered between the public, with the cries of lively hawkers offering hot pies and bagels, piping hot.

Everything was decorous on the platform - the ringing of the bell, which marked the arrival of the train, the puffing of the locomotive, shrouded in hissing steam. And, no fuss and nervousness for you when boarding the cars. Porters in aprons carried suitcases, trunks and bags of departing passengers under the lazy gaze of the attendant.

And the platform lived its own life - the chesty laughter of a lady in a long cape and the gallant bow of the officer who saw her off. Cheerful chirping of kids that, under the supervision of a skinny maman and a portly nanny, proceeded to the next carriage. The prim German is important and imperturbable, and then minces the “bun” in a bowler hat and with a monocle. Young officers look at him mockingly and laugh merrily, full of youth and youthful recklessness. Aha! They made a stand on a pretty girl. Well, nothing is new in this world!

The first blow on the bell rang and the mourners left the cars. At the second blow, the locomotive answered with a whistle and puffed, throwing clouds of smoke into the sky. The train shuddered, twitched and, moving from its place, began to pick up speed. Stas, thinking about his own, followed the floating platform with his eyes. The conductor, who peered through the door, politely asked: would the gentlemen deign to have tea or would they prefer to go to the restaurant? Definitely, here the passenger service is at the proper level - this is not disgusting for you - boorish service from his time.

He gradually delved into the life of this Russia and caught himself thinking that he was sincerely sorry to lose her - such. Outside the window of the car floated black as ink, the night with the occasional lights of substations.

Believe me, Stanislav, - Koshko sighed, adding a little bit of cognac to the glasses of tea, - I, after all, am an old detective, beaten and beaten. What you tell me the truth, I see.

I can’t understand,” he continued, “how could it happen that the Sovereign, in general, with this, God forgive me, trash, entered into negotiations? In 905, all these Robespierres were dispersed by one Semyonovsky regiment like the wind of autumn leaves. Where was the Life Guards? Just do not say that they betrayed themselves.

They didn’t surrender, - Stas shook his head sadly, - they disappeared in the Pinsk swamps. He sent them there himself. That's right, Arkady Frantsevich.

This dialogue was preceded by a long story. Stas, sparing the detective, led an excursion into national history. True, about the most extreme moments - about the impalement of priests and other Middle Ages - he, having regretted the interlocutor's nerves, did not spread too much. The cat was enough for his eyes and what he heard. He was already aware of rampant terrorism. I also listened calmly about the Russian-German war. The story about the execution of the royal family made the state councilor grit his teeth, only the jaws went on his cheekbones.

Oper, looking at the genuine confusion of the State Councilor, has already begun to think - for evil or for the good of his appearance here? He did not suffer from youthful maximalism for a long time. And about the butterfly Ray Bradbury remembered well. And, also, where the road paved with good intentions leads. He understood one thing very well - he would not achieve a complete understanding of the situation from the locals. Monarchists will be loyal to the tsar, regardless of whether it will turn out to be good or bad for Russia. Revolutionaries, too, take out and put down the overthrow of the autocracy, and no nails. And then they will take each other like spiders in a jar.

I wonder if an official for special assignments is a big enough "bump" to start his game? Yes, no, - he mentally pulled himself up, - have you lost your mind, or what? It's cheaper to squeeze between Scylla and Charybdis. There, and then, more chances. Yes, what is there, if we talk about the chances, he has them, like a mouse between two millstones.

Okay, colleague, - Koshko yawned, - let's sleep, perhaps. We will arrive in Kyiv only tomorrow evening. The sovereign will only arrive in five or six days. So, I think we have time. Yes, how do you like the facilities here? You, I suppose, progress has stepped so far that we, the dark ones, could not even dream of.

How can I tell you, - Stas answered evasively, - I didn’t ride in the general’s cars. In simple, of course, there is no such luxury. But the trains, of course, run faster. Good night, Your Excellency.

He, little by little, began to grow into this new old life._

1 Stas did not make a reservation, this is exactly what is written in the materials of the criminal case. The fact is that until about the 30s of the 20th century, the words “pistol” and “revolver” were full synonyms.

Today, October 28, there is a great occasion to remember Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev (1818-1883) - Russian writer, poet, corresponding member of the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences.
Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev was born on October 28, 1818 in Orel.
In 1836 Turgenev finished the course V Petersburg University, received a Ph.D., and in 1838 went to Germany. Having settled in Berlin, Ivan took up his studies. Listening to lectures at the university on the history of Roman and Greek literature, he studied the grammar of ancient Greek and Latin at home.
In 1841 Turgenev returned to his homeland. In early 1842, he passed the examinations for a master's degree in philosophy. At the same time, he began his literary activity. In 1846, the novels Breter and Three Portraits were published. Later, he wrote such works as The Freeloader (1848), The Bachelor (1849), The Provincial Girl, A Month in the Village, Breakfast at the Leader’s (1856), Mumu (1854), Calm (1854), "Yakov Pasynkov" (1855), etc.
In 1852, a collection of short stories by Turgenev was published under the general title Notes of a Hunter. In the future, Turgenev wrote four major works: Rudin (1856), Noble Nest (1859), On the Eve (1860) and Fathers and Sons (1862).
From the beginning of the 1860s, he settled in Baden-Baden, where, presumably, he performed the duties of a resident of Russian political intelligence and served not so much Pauline Viardot as Russia.

For most of his life, the great Russian writer Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev lived abroad, although he had no friction with the authorities, and his works were actively published in Russia.
The writer died in 1883. Turgenev's body was, according to his desire, brought to St. Petersburg and buried at the Volkovskoye cemetery with a large gathering of people.
These are the main milestones of his life.
And now about the alleged service in intelligence.
In 1832, the III Branch of His Imperial Majesty's Own
Chancellery, the new body of the Russian political police, brought in foreign agents, who were also engaged in foreign propaganda. With the money of the branch in France, Prussia, Austria and Germany, Russian newspapers were published. These newspapers were published ostensibly for immigrants, but in fact they quite subtly propagated the tsarist foreign policy. The branch was supposed to build bridges with the official and semi-official media and with the foreign writers of the time. And get some loyalty out of them. And it required specially trained highly educated personnel. That is why, upon returning to Russia in January 1843, Ivan Turgenev enters "by invitation" to serve in the Ministry of the Interior. Next - service in the "special office" under the direct supervision of Vladimir Ivanovich Dahl - official for special assignments in the Ministry of the Interior.
November 1, 1843 Turgenev meets the singer Pauline Viardot. Young Turgenev fell in love on the spot. They say that he admired Polina so noisily in conversations with friends that he even annoyed many! The critic Vissarion Belinsky once allegedly told him: "Well, how can true love be as noisy as yours?" Was it love or was the affair with Pauline Viardot just a lucky legend for him?
Some circumstances of Ivan Sergeevich's life indirectly indicate that he really could work in intelligence.
To begin with, the great Russian writer was fluent in five European languages. “Turgenev spoke German quite fluently,” wrote the German philologist, Professor Ludwig Friedländer. “Very rarely he resorted to English or French words when he could not immediately find the corresponding German.”
"And how well he spoke French! - wrote Sergei Lvovich Tolstoy, brother of the famous writer. - It is known that the French themselves admired his accent and turns of speech."
Thanks to his brilliant knowledge of languages ​​and education, Ivan Sergeevich freely communicated with the best minds of Europe. Among his friends, he had writers George Sand, Gustave Flaubert, Emile Zola, Victor Hugo, Alphonse Daudet. Of course, with such connections, Turgenev could influence public opinion and form a positive image of Russia in the press!
Ivan Sergeevich also had extensive connections among the Russian emigration. “It was rare to find Ivan Sergeevich alone,” recalled the writer Alexandra Budzianik. “During office hours, one or several people always had to be caught talking to him ...”.
In this sense, his beloved, Pauline Viardot, who was friends with many influential people, was also very useful to him. German King Wilhelm and Queen Augusta, Dutch and Belgian princes and princesses easily came to her salon in Baden-Baden. In Paris, Viardot's house was also open to aristocrats, politicians and intellectuals.
In 1878, at the international literary congress in Paris, the writer was elected vice-president; in 1879 he received an honorary doctorate from Oxford University. Of course, with such connections, Turgenev could influence public opinion and form a positive image of Russia in the press!
His task, perhaps, was to track all false information about Russia in the foreign press, as well as to create a favorable image of our state in the West. That is, Turgenev was a kind of participant in the then ideological war.
Unfortunately, there is no reliable data on the intelligence activities of the writer. At best, these data were preserved in some archive, classified even before 1913.
We, modern readers, who were fond of the novels of Yulian Semenov, are not shocked by the image of the writer Turgenev in the role of a kind of Stirlitz, on the contrary, we are attracted, we want to take his novels and re-read from a different angle ...
Detail:

// kovyrino.ucoz.ru

Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky

Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky was born in the village of Kovyrin in 1780. From the official list, written with his own hand in 1828 in a clear, beautiful, legible handwriting, we learn that he received a very good education for a nobleman of that time. Pavel Alekseevich was fluent in German and French, studied mathematics, geography, history.

Pavel Alekseevich from early childhood, according to the custom of his time, was recorded in the Life Guards Preobrazhensky Regiment. As we would say now, to one of the elite guards regiments. In 1791, as a boy of eleven, he was listed there as a sergeant. But due to the reorganization of the guards regiments in 1803, he began to serve in 1804 as a lieutenant in the new Petrovsky Musketeer Regiment (also guards, the companies in which stood out, including from the Preobrazhensky Regiment). Six years later, in 1810, with the rank of staff captain, he retired due to illness and returned to Vologda, to Kovyrino. This is where his military career ends.

Soon he marries the daughter of the Gryazovets district judge, artillery second lieutenant Alexander Andreevich Gryazev. In 1812, P.A. Zasetsky was appointed honorary superintendent of the Veliky Ustyug School, and in 1816 he began serving in the Vologda provincial government. For his service as an honorary caretaker, he was promoted to the rank of titular adviser.

In Vologda, P.A. Zasetsky was repeatedly noted as a capable and efficient official. But he did not manage to avoid trouble in the service. By the intrigues of ill-wishers or by the will of an evil chance, but Pavel Alekseevich was under investigation three times. For the first time, allegedly, for abuse in concluding contracts for the transportation of admiralty cargo to the city of Arkhangelsk. For the second time, and for a completely trifling reason - for not announcing, allegedly, the presence of one in the service of the Ministry of Education. The third time the accusation was more serious. In 1827, Zasetsky was accused of embezzling money in the Vologda provincial government in the amount of up to 24 thousand rubles. A lot of money at that time, however, as Zasetsky points out in his formal list, he was found not guilty in all cases, and for the wrong accusation of him in the last case of embezzlement, the Vologda Chamber of the Criminal Court and the civil governor even received a penalty from high authorities.

It should be noted that this did not interfere with the further successful career of Pavel Alekseevich. The reason for this, perhaps, lies in the following: the Kovyrinsky Zasetskys had extensive family ties with famous and significant people: they were related to the Ostolopovs, one of whom was the Vologda vice-governor from 1814 to 1819, and also with Count Pavel Vasilyevich Golenishchev-Kutuzov , member of the State Council, St. Petersburg Governor-General. P.A. Zasetsky and Count Golenishchev-Kutuzov, figuratively speaking, were fourth cousins ​​through great-great-grandfather Vasily Ivanovich Zhidovinov.

Kinship with the Vologda vice-governor Ostolopov was worth a lot, and the fact that the Kovyrin Zasetskys and Nikolai Fedorovich Ostolopov (shown in the figure) had a very close relationship is evidenced by the fact that in 1803 an epitaph appeared on death young Vasily Alekseevich Zasetsky, the younger brother of Pavel Alekseevich, with whom Ostolopov was the same age.

IN Ѣ STNIK
EUROPE
published
Nikolay Karamzin.
MOSCOW, 1803
Epitaph to V. A. Zastsky.

In the ground ѣ - only his ashes; soul is in heaven.
He is dead - rests; we are alive - but in tears.

In 1827, Zasetsky was appointed an official for special assignments to the Moscow civil governor, and after that he continued to serve as an official for special assignments under the St.

We all remember Fandorin, an official for special assignments. So what was this position? It turns out that this was an employee who was attached to a person of high rank (governor, governor-general, minister) and who carried out assignments that were not part of the duties of full-time officials. Often these were secret missions. Often, officials for special assignments were classified as supernumerary institutions, that is, they did not receive a salary, but were awarded from special amounts and received ranks for length of service. This service was considered honorable, close to the authorities and not too burdensome.

Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky was a wealthy landowner. In the alphabetical book for 1829-1832, 1023 souls are recorded behind him in more than 50 villages and villages. In addition, the Zasetskys had houses in Vologda and St. Petersburg. Unlike his predecessors, Pavel Zasetsky spent a lot of money on charity, made generous donations to churches. So, for example, it is known that it was at the expense of the Zasetskys that a new stone building of the Govorovsko-Bogoroditskaya Church was built. Pavel Alekseevich was undoubtedly a very religious person. If his grandfather, retired captain Vasily Zasetsky, dragged the priest by his beard, and the ancestor, according to legend, crucified the monk Nikodim, who had bothered him, in the Ustyug lands, then the retired staff captain Pavel Zasetsky was elected church elder in the parish of the church he built.

P.A.Zasetsky also generously donated to charitable causes.

In the "Gubernskie Vedomosti" dated April 23, 1838 (No. 17, p. 143), a detailed report was printed on how the funds received as interest were distributed from the capital donated by the late staff captain Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky in the amount of 10,000 rubles . According to the will of the donor, this money was transferred on Holy Easter Day to the prisoners of the Vologda prison (50 rubles), the inhabitants of several Vologda almshouses (150 rubles), and also went to ransom the people kept in the workers' house for state debts (200 rubles) . In addition, two "poor girls of the Ober-officer rank" received 50 rubles as dowries.

P.A. Zasetsky had five children: three sons and two daughters. The sons were brought up in the Moscow boarding school, the daughter Ekaterina was brought up in the Moscow Catherine Institute, very prestigious educational institutions.

Pavel Alekseevich Zasetsky died suddenly, as indicated in the parish book “from paralysis”, on November 17, 1833, and was buried in the cemetery at the Govorovsko-Bogoroditskaya Church.