No Time for Heroes cad-3

by Brian Freemantle

  That afternoon Kosov dialled someone they were sure was the man of the first day. It was an extremely brief exchange, Kosov asking if there was anything he should be told, which there wasn’t, and the man asking the same in return and receiving the same reply. Cowley thought it possible when they made the tape available to Washington, other Quantico specialists would be able to extract a number – from which in turn they could get an address – from the electronic variations in the dialling. There were two clumsy, sexually intimate conversations with women, quite soon after one of which a girl audibly entered the car. Fifty American dollars was agreed, for fellatio, which was performed to a lot of grunted pleasure from Kosov.

  There were recordings of three other passengers in the car, all male, one obviously another Militia officer. That journey was the day after Kosov received his instructions about the lorry convoy, which he passed on in specific detail to the unnamed policeman: three days later there was a call of thanks from the man who had sought an unhindered journey. Another passenger was a fence, paying a bribe of $500 for the right to operate on Kosov’s territory. They were not sure about the third. The man said very little and what he did say was spoken in a quiet voice, so not everything was picked up, even though he was sitting literally on top of one of the microphones. A lot of it was also intentionally ambiguous. It was not until Kosov talked openly of a ministry – although without stipulating which one – that Danilov guessed at a government official. They prepared a written transcript of the entire encounter, paring away the double meanings finally to agree Kosov was establishing himself as the man’s supplier – ‘anything you want, all you’ve got to do is ask, you know that,’ Kosov said at one point.

  And on the eighth day they heard – not completely, but far more than they had dared hope – what they had been listening for.

  ‘ Gusovsky,’ announced a rasping voice, maybe that of a heavy smoker, the moment the receiver was lifted.

  ‘ Arkadi Pavlovich! ’ greeted Kosov.

  ‘Chechen,’ identified Danilov at once.

  ‘Pavin called him a leader,’ remembered Cowley. He smiled, half disbelievingly, at the Russian.

  ‘… gone quiet? ’ asked the caller.

  ‘… told you they were getting nowhere,’ came Kosov’s stronger voice.

  ‘ I need to be absolutely sure: we’re ready to go.’

  ‘ You can be. Dimitri Ivanovich is my friend.’

  ‘Me?’ queried Danilov.

  ‘Who else?’ agreed Cowley.

  Static snowed the line, blotting out Gusovsky’s response and the beginning of whatever Kosov said.

  ‘… waiting to hear from you, before I spoke to him again.’

  ‘… want a definite assurance,’ said Gusovsky.

  ‘ I can get it.’

  ‘… worth his while.’

  ‘ I’ll tell him.’

  ‘ What about you? ’

  ‘… suggested it.’

  There was more interference. All they caught of what Gusovsky said was: ‘… going personally.’

  ‘ Who? ’ asked Kosov.

  There was a gap, which they later decided had been a pause of uncertainty. The reply was broken, when it came.

  ‘… Zimin… Zavorin…’

  ‘ Rome or Sicily? ’

  ‘ Sicily… all arranged…’

  ‘ When? ’

  ‘… soon.’

  ‘… not going to be any more trouble? ’

  ‘… got the message. They know they’ve lost it.’

  ‘ Any more killing would attract too much attention,’ suggested Kosov.

  ‘ There won’t be, if there doesn’t have to be.’

  The line blurred, the sort of interference that had come from their road tests when they drove through an underpass. ‘Shit!’ said Cowley vehemently.

  ‘… no problem with the other one,’ returned Gusovsky’s voice.

  ‘ Are you sure? ’ asked Kosov.

  ‘… whenever we want to. And he knows.’

  Danilov was curious at the way Cowley shifted beside him, as if he were uncomfortable. The American did not answer his look.

  ‘ So what do you want me to do? ’

  ‘ Speak to him again. They won’t go until I’m sure.’

  ‘ They couldn’t have found out: haven’t found out.’

  ‘ I won’t take the risk, not this close.’

  ‘ Shall I call you? ’

  ‘ This number.’

  The line abruptly went dead, the intercept filled at once by the Billie Holliday tape. Cowley snapped off the machine, looking expectantly at Danilov.

  ‘We needed luck,’ said the Russian quietly, as disbelieving as the American. ‘We’ve got it!’

  ‘It has to be about the conversation he had with you,’ said Cowley, beginning their analysis. Mentally continuing it, he thought, No problem with the other one… and he knows. Soon, Cowley supposed: very soon. It was like slowly bleeding to death.

  ‘It’ll be proved definitely, if he makes another approach.’

  ‘For an assurance,’ reminded Cowley. Rhetorically he said: ‘What does Gusovsky want an assurance about?’

  ‘That we’re no further forward,’ said Danilov, answering it anyway. ‘Which until five minutes ago we weren’t.’

  ‘But now we are,’ said Cowley. ‘Here’s how I read it. The Chechen are sending two men, Zimin and Zavorin, to Sicily: all arranged, Gusovsky said. But they’re not going until he’s sure.’

  Danilov nodded, agreeing with the assessment. ‘We can manipulate it, if Kosov comes to me again!’

  ‘ When he comes to you again,’ said Cowley, without any doubt.

  More subdued, Danilov took the analysis on. ‘A Russian Mafia group is linking with the established Mafia, in Sicily…’ Repeating the phrase the American had already echoed, Danilov added: ‘Maybe it already has: all arranged, like Gusovsky said. So what the hell has been arranged? It’s as frightening as you thought it could be.’

  ‘Worse,’ warned Cowley. ‘We know the Italian and American Mafia are partners: always have been. Now we’ve got the global connection: Worldwide Mafia Incorporated. You any idea what that means?’

  ‘No,’ replied Danilov honestly. ‘At the moment I don’t think I have.’

  ‘We can do a lot of damage,’ insisted Cowley, a promise as much to himself as a suggestion to the Russian. ‘We can manipulate it, if we’re reading it correctly. If we can catch these two guys in Sicily we can not only sweat them about the murders: we can bust their deal. Maybe break a Sicilian ring, too.’

  Danilov felt a sharp and surprising inadequacy, at the enormity of what they were discussing. ‘I can’t get to Sicily without authority… which means admitting the listening devices…’

  For several moments they sat unspeaking, each trying to assess the loss. The car bug – and Kosov – was their only lead, Cowley acknowledged. There was no way to prevent his destruction. So why didn’t he take all the responsibility?

  Cowley said: ‘The eavesdropping equipment is American: nobody here knows anything about it. And they can’t ever. I’ve travelled in Kosov’s car. I could have planted it. Be working independently of you, after all the fuck-ups.’

  Danilov iooked back at the American, head curiously to one side. ‘So I don’t know you’re doing it…?’ he groped.

  ‘All you know is what you’re told, by an American. Which could have come from America.’

  ‘And the bugs stay in the car!’ acknowledged Danilov.

  ‘Unbeknown to anyone except those who need to know,’ said Cowley. ‘How’s that sound?’

  ‘Just fine,’ accepted the Russian.

  The call came from Kosov two days later, to Petrovka, not to the apartment; an invitation for lunch the following day – ‘just the two of us, like old times.’ Danilov couldn’t remember any such old times, but said he’d look forward to it. He fixed an appointment with Smolin afterwards: Cowley spent most of that afternoon sending messages to Washington and rep
lying to the flurry of questions they prompted from the FBI Director.

  Kosov was already seated when Danilov arrived at the Dom na Tverskoi, and for once did not attempt the arm-waving flamboyance of champagne and permanently attentive waiters: he actually shook his head against the interruption of one man who began to approach, pouring the red wine himself. They touched glasses and toasted each other’s health, and Kosov said at once: ‘So it’s getting nowhere?’

  ‘We’ve had to release Antipov,’ disclosed Danilov, alert to the reaction.

  Kosov nodded. ‘I know,’ he boasted. ‘What now?’

  The knowledge could still have been either Mafia or government, decided Danilov. ‘Bill’s under a lot of pressure from Washington. They’re talking of withdrawing him. After all the problems they think he’s wasting his time. He seems to think so, too.’

  ‘Which would leave it to you?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And there’s no way forward?’

  ‘Not that I can see. Maybe I’ll get lucky.’

  Kosov added to their glasses. ‘You thought any more of what else we spoke about?’

  ‘Like what?’ Danilov was glad he was not in the car, where he would have known everything was being overheard: self-consciousness might have been obvious.

  ‘Like missing the old days.’

  ‘I don’t think I said I missed them.’

  ‘Just some of the benefits.’

  ‘Olga certainly misses them.’ He didn’t like bringing Olga into the conversation, but it fitted.

  ‘Women like nice things. Larissa wouldn’t know how to live any other way.’

  For a few brief seconds Danilov wondered if there were some hidden meaning in the remark, before deciding there couldn’t be. Larissa was going to have to learn. ‘It’s too late for me now.’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

  ‘I’ve lost contact.’

  ‘You introduced me, once. I could re-introduce you.’

  ‘People will have changed, surely?’

  ‘I’ve made other friends: important friends. It’s much better than it was in your day: better organised.’

  ‘The work I do now is a lot different from a uniformed division. It wouldn’t be as easy to co-operate, like it was before.’

  ‘Things can always be worked out. Don’t forget I want a transfer. I could be there, ensuring things run smoothly.’

  One team replaced by another, recognised Danilov. A lot of careful thought had gone into this approach. ‘I need to think about it.’

  ‘You do need to think about it. I’m your friend, so I think I can talk honestly: you’ve been stupid, for far too long.’

  Not as stupid as you’re going to be proven to be, thought Danilov. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘You know I’m right! I can introduce you to the proper people,’ persisted Kosov. ‘Fix everything.’

  Danilov nodded, wondering how far he might be able to utilise that boast. ‘Let’s keep in touch.’

  ‘ Close touch,’ insisted Kosov. ‘Friends should help friends.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Danilov. ‘They should.’ He still had time to meet Larissa, before the Federal Prosecutor. He didn’t feelat all hypocritical.

  The Tatarovo apartment had two full-sized bedrooms, as well as a separate living room with a dining annexe, and kitchen fittings better even than Larissa’s existing flat. It was on the eighth floor, and from the balcony there was a view of the river.

  ‘It’s fabulous!’ declared Larissa. ‘I want it!’

  ‘How much is it?’ asked Danilov.

  ‘Four hundred and fifty roubles a month if you’re paying in Russian; three hundred if you give the concierge twenty dollars a week for himself. And the bribe to jump the list is two hundred and fifty dollars.’

  ‘I don’t have two hundred and fifty dollars.’

  Larissa looked at him uncertainly. ‘We need it, to get the flat,’ she said simply.

  Larissa wouldn’t know how to live any other way, he remembered. ‘I’ll have to try to get it.’

  ‘Yes darling, you will,’ Larissa agreed. ‘Why don’t you ask Bill?’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Danilov went to Pushkinskaya unsure if it would be as easy to convince a trained lawyer as it had been to deceive Kosov. He still believed he was correctly pursuing the investigation by holding things back from Nikolai Smolin, so strongly did he believe the man would make any ultimate decision about the case thinking of government sensitivity first and the law second. But until now it had been nothing more than delaying the information, until he was sure. What he was attempting that afternoon was going further: it was deception, even if the eventual outcome might be justified. And if it didn’t turn out to be justified, he’d be open to the sort of tribunal that had condemned Anatoli Metkin.

  ‘What’s the development?’ prompted Smolin. He had a notepad open, ready, in front of him.

  ‘Not here,’ warned Danilov, edging out on to creaking ice. ‘The Americans have decided it’s sufficiently sound for Cowley to examine. I think we should consider my going, too.’

  ‘Going where?’

  ‘Sicily,’ announced Danilov. ‘The information came from America: specifically Brighton Beach,’ he elaborated. ‘The rumour, confirmed from several different sources, was of a forthcoming meeting between Russian and Italian Mafia. The American authorities are already liaising with the Italians.’

  ‘What has it got to do with the investigation here?’

  ‘The people named in the Serov documents are thought to be involved,’ said Danilov, lying openly.

  ‘It’s vague,’ complained the Federal Prosecutor.

  ‘I can only pass on what I have been told.’ It wasn’t as easy confronting a legal mind.

  ‘Why didn’t Cowley come with you this afternoon?’ frowned Smolin.

  A mistake: it would have been more convincing for an American to have talked about a development supposed to have come from America. ‘He’s been ordered to leave, as soon as he gets the final go-ahead from Washington,’ improvised Danilov. The earlier rehearsal with Cowley provided the escape. ‘And there are implications about it I felt best only discussed between the two of us.’

  ‘What implications?’

  ‘I suspect the Americans have had this information for several days,’ said Danilov. ‘If the decision had not been made to involve Cowley, I don’t think we would have been told at all. The Americans and Italians could have handled it quite independently.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘They don’t trust us.’ Danilov paused, wanting to get the argument absolutely right, although Smolin had earlier not rejected the sort of thing he was going to say. ‘They’ve got every reason not to. If whatever might happen in Sicily is linked with our enquiry, and it becomes generally known in advance at Petrovka and in the ministries most closely involved, it will almost inevitably leak.’

  ‘Or be leaked?’ The Federal Prosecutor was subdued, but showed no surprise at the suggestion.

  ‘It’s a danger we’ve got to accept,’ insisted Danilov. Too soon to judge how it was going, but he was encouraged.

  ‘You got names of people you don’t trust, at Petrovka or the ministries?’

  ‘If I had I would have given them to you officially,’ said Danilov. And still would, if he ever understood the significance of Ilya Nishin and Ivan Churmak and Gennardi Fedorov. What, he wondered, would officially happen after he did?

  ‘Not even an indication of rank?’

  ‘I would have considered that sufficient for an official report, as well.’

  Smolin nodded, slowly. ‘I suppose the American attitude is unavoidable.’

  It was moving in the right direction. Danilov said: ‘But they have told us.’

  Smolin took the point. ‘So if nothing happens in Sicily – if it is a rumour, without foundation – we’re damned, suspected of leaking it from here without any chance of defending ourselves?’

  ‘U
nless we absolutely restrict the number of people to be told. At the moment there are only four, here in Moscow: Cowley, myself, Major Pavin and yourself. There is nothing in any of the case files at Petrovka.’

  ‘Are you suggesting we do not tell Vorobie or Oskin?’

  ‘I think they should have it made clear to them what I believe the American attitude to be, and ensure nothing about Sicily is passed to anyone in their departments.’

  ‘That still wouldn’t cover us if it is an unsubstantiated rumour.’

  ‘The Americans don’t believe it is.’ Could he escape censure, if it went wrong or nothing did happen? Hardly.

  ‘You should go, of course,’ decided Smolin.

  There was relief but little satisfaction. ‘And by a very special route.’

  Smolin had given his agreement distantly, as if he was preoccupied with something else. Now he came fully back to the investigator, frowning. ‘What special route?’

  ‘We won’t be able to avoid people at Petrovka knowing I am away. We need a deception.’ It was the moment he and Cowley had accepted to be the most difficult to steer past the other man. It was essential, further to convince Kosov of the collapsing murder case, but it was flawed if examined too closely. Determinedly Danilov pressed on. ‘A way has already been suggested: it might, too, reassure the Americans of our genuine co-operation.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There has still been no public announcement about our having to release Antipov,’ reminded Danilov. ‘If the announcement about the release was made, it would be entirely understandable for me to return to America to review the progress of the case of far, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Review the failure of the case so far,’ qualified Smolin. ‘That’s how it would be interpreted.’

  ‘That’s how I want it to be interpreted,’ seized Danilov. ‘It has failed: is failing. I very much want the people we’re trying to find to believe that.’

  ‘By publicly humiliating ourselves!’

  ‘There’s no choice about that: it’s got to happen, sooner or later. And there wouldn’t be any humiliation in the end, if we made it clear we allowed the impression, to create a trap.’