by Greg Wilson
Hartman stepped away and returned to his place on the sofa, sitting forward intently, his eyes locked hard on Nikolai’s across the space that separated them. “That’s why I’m interested in what you’ve brought me, Nikolai. Fuck all the conferences and the special programs and the Senate committees and investigations into what’s already happened. That’s bullshit! I started writing reports on the way this was going to develop before I left Moscow in 1985 but back then no one in the Company wanted to read them. Now I’ve finally got some of my superiors supporting my position, but no one in Washington is listening. There’s only one way to deal with this threat, Nikolai, and that’s by setting up a new organization with a single responsibility. If we try it any other way your mafiya guys won’t have to worry about us; we’ll end up strangling ourselves in our own red tape!”
Nikolai’s eyes drifted from Hartman to the transcripts and back again.
“And you think this can get you the attention you need?”
Hartman nodded. “Yes, I do. Why? Because this material demonstrates exactly what is going on here in one simple take, and in the most frightening possible way. By the scale of things Ivankov is still relatively small time, but look at what this stuff demonstrates. Here’s a guy who may be unknown, but who can’t be underestimated. Ex-military background, highly educated, sophisticated, ruthless, with admitted direct links to criminal organizations through a weapons and drug dealing operation developed under official protection provided by a key associate who now holds one of the most senior positions in the FSB. Now he’s a supposedly legitimate billionaire businessman who has a complicit relationship with at least one senior government minister involving fraud, kickbacks and the illegal diversion of International Monetary Fund resources, evidence of which he’s sought to conceal by the murder of two people, known, and the intimidation of others. And who is the source of all this information? An FSB officer of unquestionable integrity who can’t take it to his superiors for fear that doing so would place his life and the lives of his wife and daughter in even greater danger than they are in already and who, as a consequence, had no other option than to defect.”
Hartman drew a breath. “The IMF scam is what seals it, Nikolai. That’s what’s really going to get them to sit up: waking up to the fact that money we’re shoveling into the International Monetary Fund to help bail out your economy “is going straight into the pockets of corrupt politicians and businessmen.” He allowed himself a grim smile. “They’re going to have to do something about that or the media will crucify them. But the real point is that these are the kind of people who are going to be coming after us if we let them.”
Nikolai turned aside, thinking, nodding slowly. Hartman paused, watching him, then leaned forward to make his final point.
“I’m CIA, Nikolai. I can make this a CIA matter because of who these people are and what the record shows about them. They’re motivated by power and greed; they’re corrupt and they have all the right connections, so how long is it going to be before they work out a way to start trading out some of your surplus nuclear warheads or a few kilos of anthrax or tularaemia or variola major, or some of the other stuff you guys have tucked away in your closets? We have to convince our Administration just how serious this threat is, Nikolai. To cut through all the inter-agency squabbling, make decisions and commit resources before it’s too late.”
His hand came to rest on the transcripts by his side. “That’s why what you’ve brought me is so important. Why you are so important. You’ve got the evidence, Nikolai. You are the evidence.”
8
Nikolai walked through the sliding glass doors to the Rossiya’s forecourt and hesitated, searching the row of parked vehicles at the curb. He found the Volga towards the end of the line, Vari’s upturned face visible at the window as he leaned out, speaking to a tall figure standing beside the door. As Nikolai approached the other man half turned then, recognizing him, dipped his head in acknowledgment before swinging back to his conversation. It took Nikolai a moment to sift through his memory before his mind freeze-framed the image: the woman with the pale green eyes, the security guard straddled above her, pinning her to the floor.
Vari exchanged some further words with the man then their hands met at the sill of the driver’s window and an envelope passed between them. By the time Nikolai reached the Volga the guard was walking briskly away, heading back towards the service entry where his partner stood waiting.
Nikolai skirted around to the passenger side and opened the door. The heavy odor of stale cigarette smoke and diesel tumbled from the cabin. He stepped through it and fell heavily into the worn vinyl seat as Vari nodded towards the retreating figure.
“Just finishing our business.” He cranked the ignition and the Volga’s engine rumbled to life. “So,” he turned, his thick eyebrows raised expectantly. “How did it go?”
Nikolai stared ahead through the windscreen. “It went well, I suppose.” He turned, facing his partner. “If it’s possible for something like that to go well.”
Vari absorbed the reply without expression.
“So.” his foot tapped the accelerator and the engine growled, “you want to get some coffee?”
Nikolai glanced at the large analog clock at the center of the dash. “It’s after four. I should get back home, Natalia will be anxious.”
“Natalia’s fine, little brother.” Vari strained towards the rear view mirror. “I left her just half an hour ago.” He wrestled the wheel around and steered the black car out of the parking slot. “I knew you’d be worried about her so I dropped in to make sure she was all right.”
Nikolai nodded, chewed his lip. “What did you tell her?”
Vari flicked a hand from the wheel. “That something important had come up only you could deal with. That everything was under control and that I’d be picking you up and bringing you home soon.”
“She didn’t want to know more?” Nikolai glanced sideways.
Vari laughed. “Of course she wanted to know more. She demanded to know more… but I didn’t tell her more. He reached across and tousled Nikolai’s hair. “Hey, you worry too much Niko. She’s fine. They’ll both be fine. Now how about we go get some coffee and you can tell me what my old American friend had to say?” He watched for a response.
Nikolai ran a hand to his face and pinched his eyes. “Okay.” He spoke without enthusiasm. “But no more coffee. I need something stronger.”
Vari guided the Volga away from the Kremlin, across Moskvoretskiy Bridge and into Zamoskvoreche, the lazy, old- fashioned neighborhood on the southern banks of the river that had begun life seven hundred years before as a defensive outpost against marauding Mongols and evolved as an enclave for the city’s artisans. They turned right off the bridge and back a century, into a maze of quiet, shady streets that had somehow managed to escape the advance of Soviet planning: cottages and warehouses jumbled together, interspersed by the occasional and incongruous once-grand villa of some merchant who had made his fortune but had known his place and stayed. Most were derelict now, half-hidden behind crumbling stone walls and overgrown gardens. Vari picked up the Embankment on the southern side of the canal. As they came to the place where Gilmanov’s body had been dragged from the river he slowed down, watching silently as Nikolai looked out to where the gray water lapped at the steps that led up to the old red brick factory. The bitter sweet smell of melting cocoa wafted through the open passenger window. Vari pulled a face and swallowed.
“They were cooking this morning, too.” He paused, rolling his lips. “The fishing line they used to sew your friend Gilmanov back together had started to come loose so you know what one of those idiots in uniform did? He pulled it! And the whole fucking thing gave way… slid out of him like an eel and everything inside spilled over the concrete. The uniforms thought it was a great joke. By the time I got here they’d cleaned most of it up, but Christ Jesus! He drew a sharp nasal breath. “You should have smelled it. Between the fucking chocolate and Gilma
nov’s guts I’m not sure which was worse. And then, you know what?” His eyes widened at the sudden, unexpected realization. “They both ended up smelling the same.” His expression changed. His mouth curled in distaste and he tossed his head in a tight arc, trying to throw off the recollection. Then – as if that hadn’t worked and something more was needed – he stomped hard on the gas pedal, leaving the place and its lingering stench behind.
They followed the Embankment to the city side of the Krymskiy Bridge then, just before Gorky Park, Vari dropped down a gear and swung off the road into a tiny parking lot that clung to the front of a rundown building on the edge of the river. Nikolai knew the place: in recent months it had become one of Vari’s favorite haunts, a previously derelict riverside gas station, resurrected as a bar by one of his former acquaintances from the KGB. It was a ramshackle wooden structure hanging precariously over the river on a splintered deck balanced on once perpendicular piles. Built, by all accounts, in the early Soviet era, which made its whimsical resemblance to a lakeside dacha all the more peculiar. The place had no sign; not even a name as far as Nikolai was aware.
They got out and slammed their doors, not quite in unison, Vari leading the way inside, pushing through the heavy swing screen into the gloomy, gasoline-stained air inside. The owner – a man Nikolai had been introduced to only as Leonid – sat perched, as usual, on a stool behind the old gas station counter that now served as his service pen. He glanced up from his newspaper as they entered, folded it on the counter and got up, lazily, from his seat. He met them at Vari’s favorite table by the window, set down a bottle of scotch and two glasses and left without speaking. Vari cracked the seal and poured three fingers in each of the tumblers. Nikolai drained his glass in two swallows and Vari followed, dragging the back of his hand across his lips and moustache. He picked up the bottle and leaned forward, refilling the glasses, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.
“Okay, so tell me. What happened?”
For a moment Nikolai rocked pensively in his chair.
“You were right,” he said, finally. His eyes flicked up to meet his partner’s. “They want the tapes.” He took another drink and set the glass down on the table.
Vari leaned forward. “Of course they want the tapes. What I want to know is what they’re offering in return?”
Nikolai played the tumbler between his fingers. “They’re offering a package. Exfiltration for Natalia, Larisa and me. Protection. New identities. A house. A car. A job,” his eyes flickered, “with them if I want, with the United States government.” His head turned slowly in dismay. “Can you believe that?”
Vari’s eyes narrowed. “How much money?”
Nikolai glanced down at the glass. He spoke the words softly, without looking up. “Two hundred thousand. Perhaps more, he’s not sure yet. He needs to iron out the details with his superiors.” His partner fell back in his seat and blew out a low whistle.
“You’ve hit the jackpot, Niko, you realize that? You’ve won the fucking lottery!”
Nikolai looked up, studying the broad, tanned face that beamed back at him. Why was it that he didn’t see it the same way? He raised his glass and took another drink.
Vari read the subtext. “Listen.” He planted both palms on the table and pulled himself closer. “You didn’t start this. You were trying to do your job and you were fucked over. Your first priority now is your family. Look at me, Niko!”
Nikolai chewed the scotch and swallowed, regarding the older man with a guarded expression. Vari continued.
“This isn’t something you went looking for, but now that it’s been offered you know what you do? You grab it with both hands, you hear me?” Vari lifted his palms and slammed them down against the table. “You grab it and you don’t look back!” Across the empty room Leonid glanced up again from his paper.
Nikolai turned to the open window and gazed out across the river. A tourist boat was gliding past, slowing down as it headed for the Gorky Park landing, the lowering sun casting a long dark shadow behind it on the surface of the river. Figures lined the railing on the open top deck: teenage lovers; young families; parents clutching tight to the hands of tiny, excited children. He watched as they passed by, ignoring their waves, nodding to himself in silent resignation. Vari was right. He had nowhere else to go. He had to trust Hartman. Had to take what he had offered and be grateful. He turned back, his features set in a grim smile.
Vari read the expression. Nodded. “So. When?”
Nikolai’s mind went into rewind. He was leaving Hartman’s suite at the Rossiya, standing beside the door as the American reached around him for the handle.
You tell no one but your wife about the real arrangements, Nikolai, do you understand me? Not even your partner.
There had been no escaping his meaning.
When Vari asks, you give him the story I gave you.
He took a breath. “He’s contacting his people in America right now. He’ll call me tonight and let me know the answer. Provided they agree – and he says it’s only a formality – we move tomorrow. I book tickets for Natalia and Larisa on the afternoon train to St Petersburg. I see them off at the station then I go back to the apartment and Hartman meets me there at three to check the tapes. If he’s happy with what he sees he leaves them with me, then sends a car to pick me up an hour later. We have family in St Petersburg. The fact that Natalia and Larisa are travelling there won’t seem too unusual, particularly since I’m not going with them, but Hartman believes there will probably still be someone waiting to tail them when they arrive, so the train is a feint. There will be a car waiting for them three stops outside Moscow. They get off there and continue on by road to Novgorod and that’s where we meet. We stay overnight, pick up the first train on Monday, change at St Petersburg and go on from there to Finland.”
Vari concentrated, taking it all in, smiling finally with a kind of professional admiration. “So they think you are going out through St Petersburg, but you aren’t… but you are.” The smile widened. “I like it. Clean identities from Novgorod, of course?” Nikolai nodded. “Of course. We’re Canadian tourists… Russian extraction. Natalia’s English is as good as mine so that’s not an issue. Besides, getting through the border isn’t a problem any longer. Our main worry is keeping out of Ivankov’s line of sight.” He watched as Vari played the plan over again in his head.
“So you are the only risk. Once Hartman’s people pick you up, you have to make sure you aren’t being followed.”
It was Nikolai’s turn to smile. “Wrong. We make sure we are being followed, then we get a fix on whoever is following. The car drops me off at Sheremetyevo. If they want to check they’ll find a ticket booked in my name on the Aeroflot seven o’clock to St Petersburg, but I don’t take the flight. I just go in one door of the airport, get lost in the crowd, then go back out another.”
Vari rocked in his seat. “To some point where another car is waiting.”
“Correct.” Nikolai nodded. How simple it all seemed. A few moments passed before he realized that his partner had fallen strangely silent.
Vari nodded at last. “This is a good plan, Niko.” But there was no enthusiasm in his voice.
Their eyes met and held for a long moment.
There was something in Vari’s expression that Nikolai had never seen before. What was it? Doubt? Guilt? A touch of jealousy, maybe? Or was it just the realization that this was the end of a friendship?
Vari broke the connection first and drained his glass. Set it down firmly on the table and smiled a forced grin. “So… your last day in Moscow, little brother. How does it feel?”
Nikolai thought about the answer. The expression he had noticed in Vari’s eyes had vanished now. Whatever it was it had risen to the surface for just a second and then slithered away again, submerging itself beneath the dark glinting pools. He turned to the window, facing the light breeze that skimmed across the river, looking out across the smog-hazed Moscow skyline.
“Wron
g,” he said at last, his voice empty, devoid of emotion. He turned back to face his partner. “You want to know how it feels? Everything about it feels terribly wrong.”
It was close to six and dark by the time they got back to Mira. Vari eased the Volga into a space a block away from the apartment and they sat in silence regarding the street.
“I should be going,” Nikolai said. He looked ahead for a moment then turned to his partner. “If anything goes wrong, Vari, you must promise…”
Vari cut across him. “I will look after everything, Niko. You have my word.”
Nikolai nodded vacantly, his mind in another place. He drew a breath as if bracing himself and thrust a hand towards the older man. Vari looked down, grasped it, and used it to pull Nikolai towards him, clutching him awkwardly across the gap between the seats in a giant embrace. Nikolai folded an arm around the older man’s shoulder, surprised at the sudden intensity of his emotion. It was Vari who let go first. He drew back into his seat and looked at Nikolai with a sudden question.
“What about a dog?”
Nikolai s brow furrowed, “What do you mean, what about a dog?”
Vari threw an innocent shrug. “I’m thinking of you in the United States. Nikolai, Natalia and Larisa: the perfect family. They’re giving you a new identity, money, a job, a car, a house. The lousy bastards forgot the dog. A dog is essential for any perfect family, anyone knows that.”