City of Exiles (9781101607596)
Page 31
Powell, who had begun to wheel himself around the room, came to a halt. “Wrong?”
“About everything. This was never about Chigorin at all. At least not in the way we believed.”
In her face, Powell saw a look that he recognized, but he wasn’t sure where he had seen it before. A second later, it seemed to him that he had glimpsed it in Ilya’s eyes. “You’ll need to explain what you mean by that.”
“That’s why I’m here. I owe you that much.” Wolfe paused. “It doesn’t matter what I say, does it? You aren’t coming back.”
“No,” Powell said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be tempted. Walk with me.”
He began to wheel himself slowly around the gym. Wolfe followed at his side, giving him plenty of space. “I began by thinking about something that Ilya told me. He said that Karvonen staged his crimes like a man who wanted to be noticed. If you want to hide a body, you don’t set it on fire. And you don’t take out your enemy in a plane crash that makes headlines around the world. Which made me wonder if the crimes were deliberately designed to draw attention to themselves.”
Powell began to understand. “In order to implicate the intelligence services.”
“Yes. More specifically, civilian intelligence. You know Karvonen’s background. He was an army paratrooper from a family with a strong military history. Which implies that if he allied himself with the intelligence services, he’d be drawn to the military side. So I dug deeper. And I found that while civilian intelligence has been squeezed by the recession, its military counterparts have done rather well. Look at Gaztek. A few years ago, it received government authorization to raise its own troops. Archer, I think, told you about this—”
Powell remembered his conversation with the founder of Cheshire. “Yes. He said that they were training soldiers to guard the pipelines.”
“But the authorization only reflects what has been happening for years. Gaztek has always been a state unto itself, with its own private army, which meant that it also needed its own intelligence division. They began by consulting on security, but before long they had grown into something more, a private intelligence arm that answered to no one and stood to earn billions illegally. And because they were originally brought in for their military expertise—”
“—they would have come from military intelligence,” Powell finished. “The GRU.”
“Right,” Wolfe said. “Which has always competed for power and resources with the civilian agencies. The balance shifts one way, then the other. With its access to Gaztek’s assets, military intelligence became the more powerful of the two. A situation that their civilian rivals couldn’t tolerate.”
Powell felt the back of his neck begin to ache, as if a realization were gathering there. “They wanted a larger piece of the pie.”
“Or all of it. From what I understand, the civilian side was preparing a proposal, with the backing of Yuri Litvinov, to reorganize Gaztek’s intelligence division under its control. Billions of dollars were about to change hands. When military intelligence realized that they were in danger of losing their stake, they decided to take out their rivals altogether. Of course, to bring down the head of a rival intelligence agency, it had to be something spectacular—”
“Like the murder of an opposition leader,” Powell said, bringing his wheelchair to a stop. “In a way that would implicate Litvinov.”
“Which is exactly what happened.” Opening her purse, Wolfe removed a thick folder, which she handed to Powell. “We’ve reconstructed the device that Karvonen assembled. It consisted of a point source disseminator, obtained by Campbell, and an electrical detonator, built by Akoun, who had worked as an engineer for an Algerian affiliate of Gaztek. The idea was to make a device that would immediately cast suspicion on civilian intelligence.”
With his unsteady fingers, Powell paged through the file, which included a number of blurred schematics. “And the poison?”
“That was the hardest part,” Wolfe said. “It had to be a weapon that could only have been developed by the poison laboratory of the civilian security services, using a method that had been linked to Litvinov in the past. To get it, they made a deal with the security consultant at Cheshire, a former intelligence officer. Morley was their point man. In the end, he agreed to provide the poison in exchange for a share of profits from Gaztek’s operations in Spain.”
Powell closed the folder, his eyes already smarting from the effort. “So instead of trying to reform the company, he threw in his lot with the thieves. And nobody else at the fund knew?”
“That’s how it looks. Morley was the only one who knew enough about the Spanish operation to structure the deal. The intelligence arm had already established shell companies to siphon off profits. The fact that they were opening for business soon only made the plan more urgent.”
Powell saw another connection. “Which explains why they went after Ilya. They were clearing the decks in Spain. If they had found him at another time, they might have left him alone, but given the stakes, and his reputation—”
“—they decided to take him out,” Wolfe concluded. “Which only succeeded in turning him against them. He was the first to realize that this was an intelligence operation, although he was following a trail that had been carefully prepared. Karvonen deliberately used methods, like burning bodies with potassium permanganate, that would implicate civilian intelligence after the fact. The same was true of the bomb in my car. They always meant for someone to notice the signs. In fact—”
Wolfe paused. “In fact, it’s possible that Garber was supposed to make the connection. He was in an ideal position to influence the case. But until we find him, we won’t know for sure.”
For a moment, they both fell silent. Powell had never completely come to terms with the fact of Garber’s betrayal, which seemed so unlike the man he had known. One day, he thought, he would learn the rest. In the meantime, however, Garber had evidently disappeared for good. “And the rest of the plan?”
“It went precisely as intended,” Wolfe said. “Chigorin’s plane crashed on schedule. The fact that he survived was inconsequential. Once the device was found in the wreckage, it would cast suspicion on civilian intelligence, causing a scandal in which Litvinov and his allies would be forced to resign. If they had left it at that, it might have worked. But they were just a little too clever.”
Powell resumed wheeling himself around the room. He had already guessed the rest. “The leaked documents. They were fake?”
“Some of them were,” Wolfe said, walking at his side. “That’s the beauty of it. We don’t know the identity of the source, but our best guess is that he was Karvonen’s handler. He took a trove of real intelligence files and inserted a few forged documents that would tie the security services to the poison program, surrounded by so much authentic material that their accuracy wouldn’t be questioned.”
“And what about Operation Pepel?” Powell asked. “Was it really an attempt to bring down the prime minister’s plane?”
“I don’t know,” Wolfe said. “Personally, I doubt that the security services were involved, but I can’t be sure. The same thing is true of the Dyatlov Pass. It may have been a weapons test, but there’s no proof. Karvonen himself was the forger. And nobody ever would have known, if it hadn’t been for Renata.”
Powell’s wheelchair slid to a sudden halt. “Renata Russell. The photographer?”
Wolfe nodded. “That’s the part that nobody expected. Renata was heavily in debt. By the end, she was getting paranoid, and thought that her own employees were passing information to her creditors. When I tried to put myself in her place, it occurred to me that she might have been keeping an eye on them. And what I what found, when I checked her files, was that she had installed remote monitoring software on the computers of everyone on her staff.”
Powell smiled slightly, feeling
the final piece fall into place. “Including Karvonen.”
“That’s right,” Wolfe said. “It was really quite elegant. The program sent her periodic updates on his email messages, as well as screenshots from his computer at home. After a while, when it became clear that he wasn’t working for her creditors, she stopped checking the updates, but the program continued to function even after she was dead. We found it last week. It’s a complete record of Karvonen’s activities, even though his computer was destroyed. We’re still going through it all—”
Wolfe paused as Powell’s therapist came back into the gymnasium, giving them an apologetic smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid it’s time for our Alan to have a bit of a soak.”
“Hydrotherapy,” Powell explained to Wolfe. “I need to spend two hours in the bath.”
As the therapist wheeled him out of the gym, Wolfe accompanied them to the door. “Karvonen’s handler is still out there. I’ve asked to remain at the agency for as long as it takes to see this through. And I’m sorry to hear that you’re leaving. You’re sure about this?”
“It’s time,” Powell said simply. “I don’t know how useful I’m going to be in the field these days. And the more time passes, the more I doubt I was ever suited for this kind of work. You’re better at it than I ever was.”
He saw a look of surprised pleasure pass across her face. “You know that isn’t true.”
“I’ve never understood that Mormon modesty of yours. It’s unbecoming. Besides, I’m not leaving the game entirely. There are better ways of chasing down these connections. I may still have a few surprises in store.”
“I heard a rumor about that,” Wolfe said. “They say that Cheshire offered you a job.”
“We’ll see. I’m going to wait for the outcome of the investigation. But I might be useful there. They have the resources I need to pursue these connections outside the usual channels, and they certainly have the motivation.” Arriving at the door, he turned to face Wolfe. “The world is too complicated for the old ways to work. Wheels within wheels, you might say—”
Wolfe only smiled at this. After promising to visit again soon, she stood watching as Powell left the gym.
Once he was gone, Wolfe turned and headed out of the hospital. As she made her way outside, she found herself thinking of the one thing she had neglected to mention, knowing that Powell would only misunderstand it. His survival, it seemed to her, had been a miracle, although she was no longer sure what this meant. All she had was a silent conviction that there was a larger pattern at work here, one she couldn’t describe in words, which was, perhaps, for the best.
Life, she was beginning to see, was a process of investigation, with the world itself as a text. She was no longer sure what she believed, and, if pressed, would have said that she believed in nothing. All the same, she also knew that it was necessary to live as if God might still show himself if she looked at the world in the right way. Wolfe didn’t think her mother would approve of this position, but she would at least accept it, now that they had begun to talk again.
Outside the hospital, it was gray and damp, a sign that London, at least, remained true to its underlying nature. Wolfe descended the southern steps, where a solitary figure was waiting with an umbrella. “How did it go?”
“Powell’s doing fine,” Wolfe said to her friend. “But I don’t think he’s coming back.”
“That’s a shame,” Asthana said. As they turned aside together, heading away from the hospital, Wolfe saw a faint smile on her new partner’s face. “But perhaps it’s all for the best. I’m looking forward to working with you—”
EPILOGUE
For there are no poetic secrets now . . . Such secrets, even the Work of the Chariot, may be safely revealed in any crowded restaurant or café without fear of the avenging lightning-stroke: the noise of the orchestra, the clatter of plates and the buzz of a hundred unrelated conversations will effectively drown the words—and, in any case, nobody will be listening.
—Robert Graves, The White Goddess
A few weeks later, Ilya was ushered into the glass interview room at Belmarsh. He had been expecting to see Wolfe, or perhaps his own advocate, and was surprised to find himself standing before a plump young man he had never encountered before. The man rose from his chair and extended a fat hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Owen Dancy, Vasylenko’s solicitor.”
Ignoring the proposed handshake, Ilya sat down warily. As the guard left the room, locking the door, Dancy lowered himself into his seat again. “They’ve been treating you well, I trust?”
“Well enough,” Ilya said. This was true, as far as it went. Wolfe had arranged for him to be reintroduced into the general population of the prison, and they had declined to prosecute some of his more recent charges. All the same, he was still awaiting trial for the murder of Lermontov, which was scheduled to begin before the end of the year. “What do you want?”
“Only to talk. It’s high time we were introduced.” Dancy gave him what seemed like a genuine smile, the deep folds of fat crinkling around his eyes. “I was quite impressed by your role in uncovering the plot against Chigorin. I assume that you’ve heard the latest developments in the case?”
Despite his natural distrust, Ilya was always interested in news from outside. “What developments?”
“Oh, elements of the military side are talking—anonymously, of course. It appears that the plot was inspired by the Moscow apartment bombings, another instance of the secret services committing a crime and blaming it on a convenient enemy, at least if you credit what people say. There’s nothing new under the sun.”
Dancy leaned back in his chair, which groaned beneath his bulk. “But there were aspects of the plan that were rather inspired. The choice of target, for one. Chigorin’s presence on the plane would have led to a halfhearted investigation, because the government would have suspected that it was somehow responsible. You see, they couldn’t be sure that they didn’t do it.”
Ilya gave a nod. This was a point that had occurred to him before. “And the balance of power?”
“Shifting, naturally, back to the civilian side,” Dancy said. “It seems that the FSB will benefit greatly, at least in the short term. In the meantime, military intelligence has been correspondingly discredited.”
“So the Chekists are on top again,” Ilya said. “Your employers must be pleased.”
Dancy’s smile widened. “You should be pleased as well, my boy. I know that for you, all these acronyms look the same, but that isn’t necessarily true. The world is a thorny place. If I were you, I would take a moment to ask myself if I had chosen the proper opponent.”
Ilya saw that they were coming around to the true purpose of this visit. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m saying that you should concern yourself with the real sources of wrongdoing,” Dancy replied. “These days, if you consider how the world really works, you’ll see that a new breed of criminal is responsible for most of these evils. The thieves’ world isn’t what it used to be. If the thugs in Transnistria are making deals with anyone, it’s with the new generation, which cares nothing for the old ways, only money. You should be going after them, not the dying remains of the vory. And I can offer you a chance to get them where it hurts.”
Ilya was beginning to glimpse the other man’s intentions. “What are you offering?”
“To serve as your solicitor,” Dancy said simply. “I feel that we can be of use to each other. Although you realize, of course, that there’s no chance of acquittal. The evidence is far too damning. I’ve wondered for a long time why you didn’t just make a deal, and I don’t think it’s misplaced pride. I suspect, rather, that it’s curiosity. You want to see what will come up in a trial.”
Ilya saw that Dancy was more intelligent than he seemed. “If my case is hopeless, then why should I accept?”
“Knowing who your clients are, I have no doubt of that,” Ilya said. “And in return?”
“We get you.” Dancy’s round face grew suddenly serious. “You see, my boy, a war is coming, between two great factions of the security services. A game of chess, if you like. The military side has been weakened, but only temporarily, and the stakes are higher than you can imagine. They amount to nothing less than the future of Europe. And I think we can use you.”
Ilya looked across the table at the solicitor, who seemed in earnest. “And if I refuse?”
“I won’t bother you again,” Dancy said. “If you accept, I can begin to tell you more.”
For a moment, Ilya was struck by the incongruous side of this offer, which had been set before him with such solemnity. “You haven’t explained one thing. What you hope to get in return.”
“You’re a valuable man. We’re hoping to profit from your insights, and perhaps from your experience.” Dancy hesitated. “How you found a man like Lermontov, for example. It seems to us that you must have had help—”
Ilya pointedly avoided the implied question. “What does Vasylenko think of this?”
Dancy took a moment before responding. “Vasylenko is a useful man,” he said at last. “There are those on the outside who still respect the thieves’ code. As such, he is still of value. But he also has his limitations. There are others involved, with much at stake, who have taken a great interest in the Scythian. You’re part of the game, whether you like it or not. And I suspect that you still have a role to play.”
Ilya sensed that the solicitor was speaking honestly enough, though he also knew that there was another element to the proposal. “If I agree, it would also make it easier for you to keep an eye on me.”