S ome things were not strange or unfamiliar. Indeed, as he settled into the secure communications room in the headquarters basement Charlie had the very real sensation of never having been away. He liked it. He even recognized some of the technicians who recognized him, in return, but the duty officer tempered Charlie’s comforting nostalgia by complaining that things weren’t like they used to be and Charlie commiserated that they never were.
He was immediately linked to Kestler, who said he’d chosen a bad time to be away, although it all seemed pretty straightforward from the briefing to which Popov had summoned him, four hours earlier.
Both Agayans and Shelapin, recounted the American, had been picked up around Bykovo airport, where it had been pretty damned stupid of either of them to have been because it was the known turf both disputed and the most obvious place to look. His guess was that neither had wanted to give the other any edge, by going to the mattress. Agayans had been stopped at a road block. There’d been three cars in the cavalcade and six men picked up, in addition to Agayans himself. There’d been some shooting but no one had been killed, although a Militia man had been badly wounded. They’d got Shelapin in a house raid. The canisters had been found in a car, parked outside, belonging to Shelapin himself. The two seizures had occurred within four or five hours of each other and the Russians were cock-a-hoop. There was another ambassadorial briefing scheduled later at the Foreign Ministry and that evening Radomir Badim was giving a televised news conference to which all the major Western networks and news media had been invited.
‘It’s celebration time in the old town tonight,’ said Kestler
‘It might well be,’ accepted Charlie, a remark to himself rather than a response to what Kestler had said. ‘Who was at the announcement briefing?’
‘Usual crowd,’ said the American.
Charlie stifled his irritation. ‘No new faces?’
‘No.’
‘None?’
The insistence registered with Kestler. ‘New faces like who?’
‘I don’t know,’ avoided Charlie. ‘No one missing from the usual crowd?’
‘No.’
‘None?’
‘You pursuing anything particular here, Charlie? If you are, it might help if you told me what it was.’
‘I’m just filling in all the details.’ One, or maybe then again more than one, in particular, he thought. ‘General Fedova there?’
‘I already told you!’ said the American, exasperated. ‘There were all the usual people.’
‘Who did the talking?’
‘Popov, mostly.’
‘About the arrests?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anyone else, about the arrests?’
‘The Moscow Militia commander: they kind of shared it, like before.’
‘General Fedova contribute at all?’
‘Not about the seizure of Agayans and Shelapin. She appears to be heading the interrogations. Which also seem to be going well.’
Charlie listened intently to the account of the Yatisyna interview, although he’d already heard it from Natalia. ‘The actual tape was played?’
‘She’s good. Treated him like shit. The old demeaning trick. Worked like a dream.’
‘What about the ministry people? Badim?’
‘Lots of back-slapping. Personal commendations, from the presidential guy.’
‘To whom, specifically?’ demanded Charlie.
‘Popov and the woman.’
‘What was said, exactly?’
‘That it was an excellently conducted investigation and that it was an official commendation, to both of them.’
‘Both of them?’ persisted Charlie.
‘Charlie!’ protested the other man again. ‘We together on this or has something come up I don’t know about? If there is I’d sure as hell like to know.’
‘I wasn’t there. I want to get a feel of everything that went on.’ It was the sort of protection, maybe insurance was a better description, that Natalia needed. He still hadn’t guided the younger man to the significance of the Warsaw references on the satellite tape, which he’d half thought about during his meeting with Jurgen Balg. He could always avoid criticism from the American by pleading the analysis had been done in London and communicated direct, which he now knew it had been.
‘OK,’ said the younger man, doubtfully.
‘What about the crooked cop accusation?’
‘A little foot shuffling, but not much. It was kind of passed over. It’s hardly the revelation of the decade, after all.’
‘What about your contribution? You get any praise?’
‘I didn’t have anything to offer today.’
It was coming, thought Charlie: like pulling alligator teeth but it was coming. ‘Nothing more from Washington?’
‘They’re still working on the audio tape.’
The younger man’s reply told him that nothing significant had yet emerged from the eavesdropped conversation but Charlie’s hair-tuned antenna to nuance twitched. ‘What else from Washington?’ he chanced.
‘Some pretty confusing signals,’ admitted Kestler. ‘Which makes me think something is going on that I don’t know about. Like I don’t know what it really is you and I are talking about.’
Here was a ball that had to be juggled carefully, Charlie recognized. ‘What sort of confusing signals?’
‘It takes a year to open the door you pushed and the moment we get inside we get priority instructions to back off and not get compromised. It doesn’t make any sense!’
It didn’t, accepted Charlie. It merely added to the FBI uncertainty. But there again it might give him a route to follow. ‘What are you doing about it?’
‘Obeying orders. I just sat and listened today, like a fucking dummy. And we didn’t make any request for Hillary to examine the car in which the containers were found. She protested that direct and was told to lay off.’
That made least sense of anything: removed the very reason for her being in Moscow. Which worried Charlie and for professional, not personal reasons: in everything she’d done so far Hillary had always found something of forensic value. ‘Hasn’t Lyneham asked for guidance?’
‘The reply was that it was a policy decision. You got any idea what that might mean?’
There was an irony in the American distrusting him for the wrong reasons. ‘How could I possibly know about a policy decision taken in Washington?’
‘I thought it might be a joint policy decision, between Washington and London. And that you might have been recalled to be told what it was.’
‘I was brought back to discuss the exclusion, nothing more.’
‘Your people planning to protest it?’
‘It hasn’t been decided yet.’ Kestler had reason enough to be suspicious, Charlie acknowledged: everything he said appeared either an avoidance or a refusal to give a complete answer. Which, he supposed, it had been.
‘I’m being straight with you now, Charlie.’
The antenna twitched again. Now? When hadn’t he been in the past? And about what? ‘If I get any guidance I’ll tell you. Trust me.’
‘When are you coming back?’
‘Soon.’
‘I look forward to hearing from you.’
‘You will.’
Charlie had left one direct question unasked because it was unlikely Kestler would have known anyway, so to have introduced it would merely have made the American even more suspicious. Natalia would know. And there was an arrangement of sorts for him to call her. But Charlie didn’t, reminded by the presence of the technicians outside his soundproofed booth that all communication with Moscow was automatically recorded. Which meant, he supposed, that there was a voice record of the back-stabbing from Moscow unless Bowyer had communicated through the diplomatic bag. From the meeting that had just been interrupted, Charlie didn’t think that it was going to be a problem any more. And there was no immediate urgency to settle the other query: it could wait until he got back to Moscow to ask Natalia. Far more intriguing was the rest of the conversation he’d had with the younger man. It didn’t make any sense for the Americans to back off, no sense at all. And why now, when he’d been withdrawn to London? Coincidence or connection? Into Charlie’s mind came the stored away conversation with the cynical Lyneham about Kestler’s family connections. Was the policy decision a very limited one, affecting Kestler personally rather than the Moscow Bureau station as a whole? Not if the edict had been extended to Hillary. The Bureau – and America – generally then. So what could…? Charlie positively halted the mental spiral, reminding himself the only effect of revolving in ever-tightening circles was to disappear up your own ass. He now had an easy way to introduce the Bureau into the discussion with Rupert Dean far above. It really was turning out to be a remarkably lucky day.
At first things did not go to Charlie’s satisfaction. He’d guessed they wouldn’t, but obviously he had to begin with the new arrests and the nuclear recovery. He tried to make what he’d learned from Kestler appear additional to the brief message Bates had delivered but there was very little and it showed. He finished actually looking towards Williams for the expected ridicule, but the budgetary controller said nothing, remaining hunched over the papers upon which he’d doodled while Charlie talked. It was the cadaverous deputy who pointed out that the further Moscow seizure didn’t support Charlie’s insistence that the material was moving westwards and even less the fear that it might actually have reached a middleman. Charlie repeated that more remained missing than had been found.
‘Which, I suppose, we’ll have to rely upon the Americans to tell us about?’ sneered Williams.
‘That might be difficult,’ seized Charlie, deflating the accountant. Yet again the room was silent as he summarized the conversation he had just had with Moscow. And yet again there were several long-held looks between the Director-General and Peter Johnson.
‘Ordered not to!’ queried the Director, although without quite the surprise Charlie expected.
‘Specifically,’ confirmed Charlie. ‘It’s a policy decision to pull back from the cooperation they’ve achieved. The physicist they’ve put in was categorically told not to make any approach to examine what was found in the car.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ said Pacey.
‘Fenby does move in mysterious ways,’ remarked Dean, still more mildly than Charlie expected.
‘Which surely has to be the explanation,’ said Simpson. ‘They’re doing something, or know something, they’re not sharing with us.’
‘Then it’s happening in Washington,’ insisted Charlie. ‘I was asked whether it was a joint resolve, involving us: whether, in fact, I’d be going back. I probably wouldn’t have been told anything if the Bureau in Moscow hadn’t thought there was some connection and that I could tell them what it was.’ Kestler had been indiscreet about what was essentially an internal FBI decision although it did impinge upon their officially agreed cooperation. But there was the family connection to protect him from censure if it was queried from London, which it obviously would be.
‘This was supposed to be a joint operation,’ said Williams, addressing the Director-General. ‘Wasn’t there any warning they were going to do this?’
‘Not to me,’ said Dean, looking once more to his deputy. ‘Were you told?’
‘No,’ said Johnson, shortly.
‘We’ve obviously got to find out what it’s all about,’ said Pacey.
‘Obviously,’ agreed Dean.
Choosing his moment – and the exaggeration – Charlie said, ‘In practical terms my expulsion was more inconvenient than a serious setback, as long as we had the American conduit. If they’re going to abandon that then the idea of setting up a sting operation becomes even more valid, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Dean. ‘I think it probably does.’
Petr Tukhonovich Gusev was a sparse-bodied, fixed-faced man who wore well the ribboned uniform of the Militia controller of the central Moscow region and whose reserve, Natalia decided, had nothing to do with the apprehension that both Oskin and Lvov had shown towards her and her rank. It was, instead, the natural demeanour of a totally professional policeman unwilling to venture an opinion ahead of all the evidence: the voice, when he did speak after considered pause, was as slowly pedantic as it had been at their first encounter on the day the Arbat vehicles had been found.
He accepted without hesitation the chair Natalia offered, formally straightened the uniform and sat without any discomfort waiting for her to tell him what she wanted. A witness.
‘You’re very much part of the efficiency and speed of this investigation that’s been acknowledged. I have asked Colonel Popov officially to commend you. Which will, of course, be noted in your records.’ Natalia wasn’t as sure now that the complimentary approach, which she’d decided upon because the man had been present when she and Aleksai had been publicly praised, was the right one.
‘Thank you,’ said Gusev, automatically, flat-voiced.
‘I am personally going to question Yevgennie Agayans and Vasili Shelapin.’
He nodded.
‘I want to be as fully prepared as possible.’
‘Of course.’
‘So I want to know everything.’
‘I understand.’
‘Where were the canisters found?’
‘In Shelapin’s car. And another. It was outside the house in which we arrested him.’
‘There was no resistance?’
‘We hit it at dawn. They were all sleeping. Shelapin is homosexual. He was with his lover, a boy of twenty. It was in the boy’s car that two of the canisters were found.’
‘How old is Shelapin?’
‘Fifty-five, sixty maybe.
‘There was one in Shelapin’s car?’
‘That is correct.’ He could have been giving evidence in a court.
‘What cars were they?’
‘Both Mercedes. They have large boots.’
‘That’s where the canisters were, in the boots?’
‘Yes.’
Natalia hesitated, as the unprepared question came into her mind. ‘Are you telling me what you’ve learned from those at the scene? Or were you there?’
‘I was there, in charge. Bykovo is their area: it was the obvious place to concentrate. I led the Shelapin raid and was still there when we got a report about Agayans. So I organized the road block.’
‘How did you hear about Agayans?’
‘We had a report, from a radio car we’d put in the area.’
She’d moved away from the core questioning: time to get back.
‘What happened to the Shelapin cars?’
For the first time Gusev’s expressionless face showed a frown. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘Were they seized?’
‘Of course. Brought to the central Militia garage. So were the Agayans vehicles.’
‘I’m only interested in those belonging to Shelapin at the moment. Were they brought to Militia headquarters at once? Or were they scientifically examined at the site, first?’ Natalia took particular care posing the question.
‘Scientifically examined. We had to establish the canisters were safe.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Natalia. ‘So who carried out the examination? Nuclear experts? Forensic scientists? Or both?’
Gusev hesitated longer than usual. ‘The nuclear people. It was only the canisters that were important.’
Natalia felt a dip of uncertainty. ‘After they were found to be safe what happened to the canisters?’
‘They took them away to be properly stored.’
‘So they weren’t forensically examined? For fingerprints, for instance?’
‘No.’
Again! thought Natalia, anguished. She should have corrected the first omission with Aleksai. Too late now.
Gusev took the silence to be criticism. ‘We have no facilities, for this stuff! We couldn’t have stored it!’
‘Storage wouldn’t have been a factor if a forensic team had been brought to the scene, would it?’
‘There was!’
‘At the same time?’ She was exceeding her remit – although not her authority – straying into an operational wilderness about which she knew nothing, full of unseen quicksands and sucking whirlpools. She’d have to tell Aleksai.
‘No,’ conceded the man. ‘But I don’t understand the significance.’
‘Fingerprints could have guided us, literally, to who’d handled it.’
‘It was in their cars!’
‘You questioned Shelapin?’
‘I tried to.’
‘Explain that.’
‘It was just abuse: obscene abuse.’
Natalia had interrogated too many people to accept that generalization. ‘There was something,’ she insisted.
‘He denied any knowledge of the canisters: said they’d been planted.’
‘How were they, in the cars? In boxes? Secured? Loose? What?’
‘Loose.’
‘Wouldn’t they have rolled about, with the movement of the car?’
Gusev regarded her even more blankly than normal. ‘There would have been some movement, I suppose.’
‘You’re a very senior Militia officer: have you ever had any dealings with Agayans before?’
‘No. But I know of him. It’s a major Family.’
‘Tell me about his arrest.’
‘We set up a road block. The moment they drove up to it I had other cars come in behind, so they were trapped. They began shooting at once. Uzi machine guns: Israeli. One of my officers will lose a leg.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘It was very brief. I had twenty-five men: they were outnumbered.’
‘You heard the Yatisyna tape, about an Arab buyer?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is the Agayans Family big enough for an operation like they tried at Kirs: with contacts outside Russia?’
‘They tried the robbery at Kirs!’
It hadn’t been a considered question: she couldn’t afford to be that casual with either of the gang leaders. ‘What’s your reaction to Yatisyna’s claim, against the Militia? Were you surprised?’
‘No.’ There was no hesitation.
‘Why not?’ prompted Natalia.
‘Every law enforcement organization in Russia is infected. Are you surprised that virtually every former KGB officer is now involved in organized crime?’
‘I would be, if it were true.’
‘It is.’
‘You’re the head of the largest Militia division in Russia!’ repeated Natalia. ‘If you know it’s true haven’t you tried to do something about it?’ She was going way beyond the original intention of the interview.
The face broke again, into a patronizing smile. Gusev’s teeth were very bad, overcrowded and displaced: one in the front was practically covering another behind. ‘Since 1992 I have initiated disciplinary proceedings against a total of two hundred and thirty officers, up to the rank of inspector, in the central Moscow division alone. The accusations against ten were unproven but I still dismissed them. The remaining two hundred and twenty are serving prison sentences.’ Gusev paused. ‘I knew Nikolai Ivanovich Oskin. I was looking forward to his being transferred under my jurisdiction. He was an honest man.’
‘I was not making any criticism,’ said Natalia. ‘I was asking your opinion.’
‘In my opinion there is no such thing as law and order in Russia,’ declared Gusev. ‘The country is collapsing into total chaos. And no one could care!
‘A few care.’
‘A few is not enough.’
‘If I get what I expect from Agayans, we can provide cellmates for a lot of those you’ve already put into jail,’ suggested Natalia.
‘I’d like very much to see it.’