by Tom West
‘Has this guy Max suggested the next move?’
‘He has promised a direct meeting with Sergei before any negotiations or mention of money changing hands.’
‘A good sign,’ Lou commented.
They walked across the plaza in silence for a while, overawed by the view. Fleming had been to Moscow many times, but this was a first for Lou and Kate. Neither of them could have guessed as they stood on the deck of the Inca that, a few days later, they would be walking across Red Square with temperatures in the minus double figures.
‘It is an encouraging step forward,’ Fleming said, stopping. They stood together close to the centre of the square. ‘But I have to make some things clear. Sergei is a renegade. He won’t be helping us. He is only interested in himself and he knows he possesses something valuable.’
‘Well, he claims he does,’ Kate said.
Fleming nodded and stamped his feet in a futile effort to get warm. ‘My team are confident he is genuine. Sergei is a busy man. He runs a mini empire. Twenty or thirty million dollars is not a lot of money to him, but it is worth him getting out of bed for. And who knows? Maybe he has a personal agenda, some other reason to communicate with us and to spend some of his precious time negotiating an exchange.’
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘We’re due to meet Max at 9 p.m. at Moscow State University, Building 6. He hasn’t said what he wants to do after that, but we should expect the unexpected.’
30
Building 6 of the Moscow State University in the suburb of Ramenki, about three miles from the centre of Moscow, was a four-storey anonymous block of concrete and steel: utilitarian, predictable, with small windows, stains running vertically down the sheer walls, snow heaped at its base. Girdled by a galvanized steel fence, it nestled up against a busy road, Michurinskiy Prospekt.
The cab pulled away and Fleming led Kate and Lou towards a gate in the metal fence. The building housed off-campus geophysics labs. A few lights remained on and they could hear the strains of a Coldplay song tumbling down from one of the windows overhead. The traffic was lighter than usual: CSKA Moscow were playing Spartak in a crucial semi-final game in the Russian Cup.
The path was slippery and they took it slowly to the reception area on the ground floor of the block. The reception itself was closed up, the place quiet except for the hum of fluorescent strips overhead and the far-off thud of a generator. The clock on the wall said it was 20.59. A corridor to the left of reception led to a set of double doors. Against the east wall stood a row of well-used grey plastic chairs.
They were about to walk over to the chairs when a short man wearing a fur-collared greatcoat appeared at the door. He beckoned them over. ‘I am Max. Come . . . please. I have a car outside.’
It was a Mercedes CL500. Fleming climbed into the front passenger seat. Max shook hands with him and turned to offer his hand to Kate and Lou in the back. The vehicle was warm and comfortable and lit with gentle, expensive light. From beyond the windows the sound of cars churning the sooty snow was muffled very effectively.
‘You are extremely punctual,’ Max observed. ‘I like that. This is perhaps not the most salubrious meeting point, I know, but I was going for discretion. I hope you approve.’
Nobody replied.
‘The way this works is that I will take you to my boss’s home,’ he continued. ‘You will of course appreciate that this is a massive privilege and it comes with some . . . process.’
‘Process?’ Lou asked, searching Max’s face.
‘Sergei allows very few to enter his realm. He trusts no one.’
‘Realm?’ Kate said, giving the Russian a puzzled look.
‘Forgive me,’ Max said quickly. ‘Habit. In some senses we think of it as a realm. I know my boss Sergei does, and I think it is a justifiable tag. Soon perhaps you will be able to make your own judgement on the matter.’
‘OK,’ Fleming said impatiently. ‘Where to first?’
‘The Metro station, Universitet,’ Max replied and opened the door. ‘It’s not far, just along the street.’
It was almost deserted, the entrance a single-storey circular building standing on a large traffic island. Across the street stood a row of tatty electrical stores; along the opposite side, a block of apartments, faceless and bedraggled. A young couple dressed in similar brightly coloured parkas with fur-lined hoods zipped up to their cheeks came towards them in the freezing night. Inside, an escalator descended one floor to a small ticket hall. Curved stone walls funnelled into a corridor lined with blue ticket machines and a row of grilled booth windows.
The ticket offices were all closed. Max stepped towards the nearest machine and in a few moments he had tickets for all of them. He handed them round and led the way along the tunnel, through a turnstile, down a wide staircase to a stark platform lined in brown concrete, over-lit and oppressive.
A train thundered into the station, its flat silver snout emerging from the tunnel beyond the platform and out into the neon brightness.
The carriage was almost empty with no more than a handful of figures in overcoats hunched up in their seats.
‘We only need to go one stop . . .’ Max said, clinging on to a leather strap dangling from a suspended rail above his head as the train rocked on its axis. ‘. . . Prospekt Vernadskogo.’
The train had barely stopped accelerating when it began to slow; the flash of the multicoloured conduit and junction boxes of the tunnel interior gave way to neon and concrete as they pulled into the station.
They were the only ones leaving their carriage and spotted two other passengers disembarking further along the train. They walked quickly along the platform and disappeared into a side tunnel. Max led the way towards an exit.
As they took a left and then a right, the passages were eerily quiet. Max stopped abruptly. On the wall to their left was plastered a poster for a new Tom Cruise movie and they could just make out next to that the outline of a door sunk into the brickwork. Max had a key in his hand; he leaned in and twisted it in a small partially hidden lock.
A middle-aged man in a trilby and heavy coat and carrying a leather briefcase rounded the corner.
‘Tom Cruise . . .’ Max said as he began shuffling away from the door and pointing to the poster. The others huddled together as though they were old friends who had stopped for a moment to discuss the movie. The man in the trilby ignored them and in a moment he had disappeared around a bend at the end of the passage. Max glanced round, pulled the door outward and beckoned Fleming, Kate and Lou into the opening.
Max ducked inside, pulled the door to and flicked on a light switch. They were in a maintenance tunnel running parallel to the passenger route. It was illuminated by a low voltage strip light embedded in the ceiling. The floor was scuffed and worn concrete, oil smears decorated the walls, and from nearby they could hear the sound of dripping water. It smelled of damp.
‘Well, this I didn’t expect,’ Lou said, looking around.
‘Perhaps I should have explained,’ Max said. ‘Sergei is not what you might consider a conventional man. While some in his political and financial position establish themselves abroad, others are persecuted and imprisoned by our so-called rulers. Sergei has found a unique solution that allows him to stay in his homeland and the city he loves but far removed from his enemies.’
‘Explain some more, please, Max,’ Fleming said. He couldn’t straighten up in the maintenance tunnel for fear of hitting his head on the ceiling.
‘This’ – Max waved a hand around in the half-light – ‘is one of many entrances to the outer ring of Metro 2.’
‘Metro 2?’ Fleming exclaimed. ‘You’re telling me there really is such a thing?’
Kate looked at Lou and then said: ‘Could one of you please tell me what you are talking about?’
Fleming tilted his head and put out a hand towards their guide, who said: ‘Metro 2 is the popular name for a vast network of tunnels and chambers lying beneath the Moscow underground
system. It was built by Stalin’s minions, beginning in 1947, just as the Cold War began. Some of it has not been explored in recent times and was sealed off in the early 1960s. In the mid-1990s, my boss, Sergei, began making a section of Metro 2 habitable. The periphery of the network is more or less public. Excitable teenagers and various cranks calling themselves “diggers” make forays into Metro 2, thinking they will find hidden treasure or perhaps nuclear silos. There are even organized media tours that can be booked secretly on the Internet. None of it is officially sanctioned of course. In fact, the government continually insists there is no such thing as Metro 2.’ He produced a gruff laugh. ‘Sergei tolerates these people because it is easier for him to do so. But none of them has a clue about the real subterranean places he has occupied, expanded and made habitable in the lowest reaches of Stalin’s network under Moscow – what I referred to earlier as Sergei’s realm. Security is incredibly tight and our own intelligence team, headed up by a former KGB bureau chief, is world class in the art of disinformation.’
‘Unreal,’ Lou said.
‘May I suggest we move along?’ Max said. ‘You look very uncomfortable, Mr Fleming.’
He took them along the narrow tunnel. ‘Watch out,’ Max said. ‘The ceiling dips even lower here.’
At the end of the section they came to another locked door. It was card-operated. A metal rectangular box with a small slit at the front hung on the wall next to the door. Max ran a card along the groove, there was a low hiss and the door slid open. They passed through into a wider corridor with a higher ceiling and better lighting. It stretched away into the distance, sloping downwards very gradually so that the end lay out of sight.
Fleming rubbed his neck. ‘Thank God for that!’
They walked on for several minutes until the corridor opened out into a roughly circular space. The light here was fainter, the neon strips left behind, replaced by a pair of ceiling lights that did not quite illuminate the corners and crannies. Three corridors led away from the room.
‘I’m afraid I have to insist on a security measure,’ Max said. ‘You will of course understand that I cannot lead you straight to Sergei. The route to the inhabited zone must be revealed to no one. You will have to agree to be blindfolded for a while.’
Fleming stared into the man’s little eyes. ‘I’m not comfortable with that.’ He glanced at Kate then Lou.
‘Be that as it may, Mr Fleming, I have very clear instructions. If you wish to meet Sergei you will have to abide by his terms. This is his domain. It is merely a security precaution. We have not preserved our home for almost a quarter of a century by being careless.’
‘How long do we need to be blindfolded for?’ Kate asked.
‘Ten minutes at the most,’ Max replied. ‘It is just so that you may not retrace the journey.’
Lou shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
Max fixed the blindfolds to each of them, a strip of black cloth tied at the back of the head. He then started to bind Kate’s wrists.
‘Hang on, you didn’t say anything about tying our hands.’
Kate spun round and lifted her blindfold.
‘I’m sorry, but I have my orders. Forgive me, but we have only just met. I have no way of knowing I can trust you to keep the blindfolds in place.’
‘Shit,’ Lou hissed, pulling his blindfold off. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’
‘Well, if you do, Dr Bates, I can take you back to the Metro station. From there you may return to your cosy hotel room.’
Lou gave the man a fierce look and felt Kate’s calming hand on his shoulder.
‘Please, put yourself in our position,’ Max went on, his voice softer. ‘I’m sure you would feel the same way. The government has been trying to bring Sergei before a rigged court for decades. They want his money. I assume you have heard of Mikhail Borisovich Khodorkovsky? He was the richest man in Russia, imprisoned in 2004 on trumped-up corruption charges, his assets seized. My boss does not have the luxury of freedom of movement about the city, the freedom you probably take for granted. But at least he is not in jail or exiled.’
‘Very well,’ Fleming said. ‘Ten minutes, not a second longer.’
Max tied their wrists behind them as loosely as possible, tied their blindfolds back on, and then joined each of them together with a length of rope so they could walk single file behind him.
At first they made slow progress and kept tripping over each other’s feet, but soon they found a rhythm. Max shouted back instructions as they came to bends, and then they slowly descended a long flight of stairs. They stopped at every junction and Max turned them round a few times so they had no idea in which direction they were then taken.
‘This is not my idea of fun,’ Kate hissed.
Lou heard her. ‘Mine neither. You OK?’
‘I guess.’
They stopped for a moment.
‘I have to open another set of doors with my card. It may take a second, please be patient. We are nearly through to the release point.’
‘Sounds like you’ve done this before,’ Lou observed.
‘A few times. It is a necessary evil, and again, I apologize.’
They heard Max tap a set of metal keys and the slither of the card through the reader, then came the sound of him tugging on what must have been a large handle followed by the creak of a door opening away from them. They felt a draught of warmer air hitting them in the face.
Lou was ahead of Kate and behind Fleming. He felt the rope go slack ahead of him, then heard the sound of someone stumbling around.
‘What’s happening?’ he yelled.
‘Lou?’ Kate shouted.
‘Lou? Kate?’ Fleming’s voice boomed around the confined space. ‘Stay still, or we’ll . . .’
Lou spun round and almost lost his balance as he bumped into something or someone. ‘Adam?’
‘Ow!’
‘Kate?’
They both stood still, listening. Nothing.
‘Fleming?’ Lou called. ‘Max?’
No reply.
He tried again, louder. Kate joined in. ‘Adam . . . Max . . .’ then panicking, ‘Shit . . . Shit!’
‘Kate, keep calm. Where are you?’
‘I’m here. Don’t move away.’
Lou followed her voice, shuffling slowly to his left. They bumped together again.
‘OK,’ Lou said. ‘Bend forward. I’ll move my head down – you feel for the blindfold.’
He felt her knock against him and leaned forward.
‘Move your fingers until you find my face.’
Kate touched his shoulder and shifted position, bending down and across. She grabbed the blindfold and lifted it up and over Lou’s head. He then stepped round and did the same for Kate.
They looked around. They were in a dimly lit corridor with rough stone walls and floor. To their left water ran down the hewn rock in a narrow rivulet. Lou tried to loosen the ropes about his wrist. After a moment of struggle, he managed it and then untied Kate.
‘Where are the others?’ she said. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
Lou could see the fear in his wife’s eyes. ‘I wish I knew.’
31
‘What now?’ Kate said.
Lou put his fingers to his forehead. ‘God knows. We could be anywhere.’ He pulled out his mobile and glanced at the screen, expecting very little. Kate gave him a questioning look and tried hers.
‘Absolutely nothing. I reckon I lost the signal before we even entered Metro 2.’
‘Me too.’
‘We could backtrack and try every alternative turning. That way we could maybe get back to the entrance door off the subway passenger tunnel.’
‘Yeah but that doesn’t help us find Adam, or Sergei.’
‘No. We have to move on, keep track of every step, draw some sort of map.’
‘You got a pen? Some paper?’ Lou asked, rifling through his coat and jacket pockets.
Kate produced a couple of pieces of paper, letters sh
e had kept in her bag for days. Lou found a pen in the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘OK, which way?’
‘Take your pick. Fifty–fifty chance, I guess.’
They headed off along the corridor. It continued for at least a hundred yards, featureless, curved stone walls to each side, wet with damp. The corridor swung left and they reached a junction. Kate drew the path they had taken on the back of one of the letters, keeping it small – they had no idea how far they had to go.
‘Right,’ Lou said. ‘The only thing we can do is make random guesses, try a route for maybe ten minutes, see what we find. Then we have to make a decision to either backtrack to here and set off in the opposite direction, or keep going.’
The next ten minutes offered a succession of bland passageways, each pretty much the same as the other. They made random choices, turning left or right. Twice they came to a junction with three options and just had to make an unscientific guess. At the end of a long, winding corridor they emerged into a large open space, the floor made of brick. The light was brighter here and they could see thick metal pipes running along the walls. Two closed doors stood at the far end of the room.
‘Well, this is a good sign,’ Kate said. ‘It certainly beats plain corridors anyway.’
‘The pipes indicate we’re near machinery. They look heavy-duty, maybe the water supply for Sergei’s community?’
‘Possibly,’ Kate agreed. ‘This place Max was talking about. It would need water, electricity, air. There must be a ducting system, from the surface. These services would be guarded and there must be many independent redundant systems or the whole thing could be easily sabotaged. If Sergei and his people have been down here for the best part of a quarter of a century they would have built in safeguards and defence systems.’
The pipes disappeared into the far wall between the doors. They paced over. To the left stood a solid-steel fire door. Lou tried the handle. The door was locked. ‘Nope,’ he said.