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Russia
It was late at night
Outside Pekkala’s apartment
Earlier that day
As the Emka rolled beneath the archway
Although the Museum of the Kremlin
‘Who is this man, Inspector?’
Years ago, when Pekkala first started
How exactly did you
As they walked across the courtyard
Exhausted from his run
The door to Pekkala’s office burst open
It was after dark
The Emka skidded
Rifleman Stefanov breathed in sharply
On the ride back to Moscow
Now Pekkala settled
As moonlight glinted
Kirov and Pekkala
Having crossed
While Pekkala reported
‘Oh, it’s you again,’
Late that August afternoon
Later that day
In the Tsar’s Secret Service
‘Comrade Stalin,’ said Pekkala
Before going to see Kovalevsky
At that same moment
Walking up a flight
By the time their request
Pekkala arrived
In the course
With no idea how far he had to go
It was the middle of the night
Lieutenant Churikova
The sun was not yet up
Rather than return
After a three-hour flight
That morning
‘Stefanov!’
Kirov paced back and forth
Having left behind the town
By the time Kirov
Pekkala watched
People’s Commissar Bakhturin
With the fires
Following the instructions
Under the jaundiced eye
Kirov stood at attention
‘Engel!’
Wearily, Kirov trudged
We’re too late
‘Not again!’
With their nerves beginning to fray
On Stalin’s desk
‘What treasure?’
An hour later
In a tiny, windowless room
Kirov sat in his office
Less than an hour
One week later
The Amber Room: Timeline
