Lord of the Swallows

by Gérard de Villiers

  “How do you know who was sitting beside me?”

  “I drew up the plan for the table, and I put you next to her,” she said simply. “A good choice, don’t you think? Only she must have been disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Alexei should have been sitting in your seat.”

  “Alexei Khrenkov, your husband?”

  “Who is also her lover.”

  Things were getting more and more confusing. But Malko glimpsed one possibility: Zhanna had invited him to the gala so he could seduce her husband’s mistress. It was pretty twisted. But during the dinner Lynn Marsh hadn’t given any signal that she was available.

  “Please explain,” he said. “You want me to seduce this woman?”

  Zhanna’s carefully made-up mouth twisted into a sneer.

  “Not really,” she said. “I’d like you to get rid of her for me.”

  —

  The moment Lynn got home, she grabbed her cell and phoned Alexei. She knew about his unplanned trip, but he had suggested she go to the gala anyway, for fun.

  Now she missed him badly and wanted to talk. And it wasn’t yet seven o’clock in New York.

  Finally, her lover came on the line.

  “Are you back at your flat?” he asked.

  “Yes. I missed you terribly.”

  “I was going to call,” he said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be home yet.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Weren’t there any unattached men at the party? Starting with whoever took my seat?”

  “Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “A charming gentleman. He’s an Austrian prince, an art lover.”

  The silence that followed was so long that she eventually asked if he was still there.

  “Yes, yes, I’m here.”

  “Are you coming home soon?”

  “In a few days.”

  “I want you back in London. I want you to make love to me,” she said.

  The two of them had met by chance. Khrenkov’s original dental appointment was with Lynn’s better-known office mate, but he was out sick that day. When Khrenkov came to the office, she found him very attractive, in spite of his gray hair, Trotskyite glasses, and serious mien. A reserved, virile man, he had a hungry look that seemed to cut right through her white lab coat.

  Despite their age difference, she accepted his invitation to dinner. She was divorced and didn’t have anyone in her life. They went out three days later and made love afterward. Lynn was surprised to discover that Khrenkov had the energy of a man of twenty. Now, months later, their passion hadn’t flagged.

  “I’ll let you go now,” he said. “I have a meeting with my lawyer. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Come home soon!”

  —

  Having hung up, Khrenkov spent a long moment lost in thought.

  An Austrian prince at the Christie’s gala! That couldn’t be a coincidence. How had Malko Linge gotten there? Only one person could have made it happen: Zhanna, who hated Lynn Marsh. What game was she playing?

  And what was Linge up to? Khrenkov remembered what they had learned about him. Lynn might not know anything about the Austrian prince’s real life, but the mere fact that he’d met her was a serious threat.

  Zhanna is playing with fire, he thought. This wasn’t like her. She must really be crazy jealous, because she also knew Linge was a CIA agent.

  Khrenkov was now even more in a hurry to get back to London so he could take the necessary measures.

  —

  Zhanna coolly put her dress back on, as if her sexual offensive had only been playacting. Having asked Malko to get rid of Lynn Marsh for her, she lit a cigarette while waiting for an answer.

  “Do you want me to become her lover?” asked Malko. “Because that would depend on her, and I didn’t feel she was available.”

  Zhanna blew out a puff of smoke and shook her head.

  “What I’m asking isn’t so complicated. I want you to get rid of her physically.”

  Malko didn’t seem to understand, so she added slowly, stressing the individual words:

  “I want you to kill her.”

  At first Malko thought he hadn’t heard right. From mysterious, things had turned gothic. This woman, whom he’d encountered just once in his life and with whom he had no particular connection, was asking him to kill her husband’s mistress. Yet she seemed perfectly at ease and clearly wasn’t joking.

  “Do you think I’m a killer for hire?” he asked, keeping his tone light. “Are you going to offer me money?”

  “No,” she said. “Something much more valuable.”

  “But why would I do such a thing?”

  “Because it wouldn’t be the first time you killed someone.”

  She was looking at him so intently, he realized that she meant what she said.

  “What in the world makes you say that?” he asked, making an effort to sound calm.

  Zhanna stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

  “I imagine you’ve killed quite a few people during your missions for the CIA,” she said calmly. “Spilling blood doesn’t scare you.”

  Chapter 6

  Malko managed an almost natural-looking smile. He hadn’t been expecting such a direct assault.

  “My friend Helmut has been sharing his fantasies, I see.”

  Zhanna’s venomous smile immediately told him that this line of defense wouldn’t cut it.

  “Don’t treat me like an idiot,” she said sharply. “I have other sources besides Helmut. Does the name Leonid Shebarshin mean anything to you?”

  Of course it did. Shebarshin had headed the KGB’s First Chief Directorate from 1989 to 1991.

  When Malko didn’t answer, Zhanna continued.

  “I know you killed a woman named Valentina Starichnaya in the bar of this very hotel.”

  This time, Malko had to struggle not to show his surprise. Zhanna had brought him back to three years earlier, to 2006, when an FSB hit team had murdered Alexander Litvinenko. The Starichnaya woman had tried to kill Malko and he’d had to shoot her. As if to drive the point home, Zhanna continued:

  “I also know that Valentina Starichnaya was acting under orders from Boris Tavetnoy, the deputy head of the London rezidentura. Need any more details?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Malko, feeling rattled. “So what do you want?”

  There was no point in trying to bluff the woman, he realized. Ponickau couldn’t have told her any of this; he didn’t know it. Malko was clearly dealing with an extremely well-informed person with links to Russian intelligence.

  Zhanna lit another cigarette.

  “I’ve already told you,” she said. “I want you to get rid of Lynn Marsh. I don’t care if you strangle her, shoot her, poison her, or blow her up. I just don’t want her breathing the same air as me anymore.”

  “Why do you hate her so much?”

  “Because that bitch is stealing my husband.”

  “It’s not as if you’re completely faithful to him,” Malko couldn’t help remarking. “You wanted to meet me here on business. You didn’t have to make me think it was for an affair.”

  The Russian woman smiled.

  “I felt like it. The bastard is cheating on me, and I wanted to pay him back in kind. But don’t get me wrong. I’ve known Alexei for seventeen years. We’ve done a lot together, and I still love him.”

  “You also helped him steal twenty-seven billion rubles from the Moscow oblast.”

  Zhanna let that pass without comment. Instead, she said:

  “He’s been acting crazy since meeting the Marsh woman,” she continued. “Before that, women didn’t matter to him. Now, he’s lost his head. All he thinks about is fucking her. To do that in peace, he’ll have to get rid of me sooner or later.”

  “He can get a divorce.”

  “No, there’s too much between us. The only way he’ll ever have the perfect romance is by killing me.”

  A thin smile lit up Zhanna’s pale
face.

  “So from my point of view, it’s self-defense.”

  A position that hadn’t occurred to Malko.

  “Zhanna, I’m flattered that you thought of me for this operation,” he said. “But I’ve never killed anyone just because I’d been ordered to. Besides, this business is between you and Lynn Marsh. It should be easy for you to farm the job out to someone. The two goons who beat me up in Monte Carlo would do just fine.”

  “They don’t take their orders from me,” she said. “I need help from the outside.”

  Abruptly Malko decided he’d heard enough. He stood up and made for the door.

  “Sorry, Zhanna, but I’m not your man. The world has no shortage of hired killers.”

  The Russian woman didn’t stir.

  “Do you think I’m a complete fool?” she said. “I never imagined asking you to do this for free.”

  “I’m not for sale,” he said flatly. “Not even for your seven hundred million dollars.”

  “I’m not trying to buy you!” she protested. “I want to offer you a deal. A deal that will certainly interest your bosses at the CIA. I’m not asking you to be personally involved. The Agency has vast clandestine means. For them, liquidating a person like Lynn Marsh is no problem.”

  Malko was astounded at her chutzpah.

  “Why would the CIA do that?”

  “Because it’s in their interest. I wanted us to meet so you can transmit an offer they won’t be able to turn down.”

  Malko sensed that this was more than empty talk.

  “What’s that?”

  “There is a network of sleeper Russian spies operating in the United States that the FBI or CIA has never detected because it has no connection with the SVR”—the Russian foreign intelligence service. “Even the Washington and New York rezidenturas don’t know about it.”

  “That’s nonsense! The Cold War is over.”

  “But the confrontation between Russia and the United States isn’t. You’re in a good position to know. Remember the 2008 war in Georgia? If the Americans had uncovered the Russian network operating in Tbilisi, there wouldn’t have been an invasion.

  “Russia absolutely has to know what American leaders are really thinking. To identify the ones who can be corrupted. We also need a lot of technology. Nowadays, turning a scientist is much more important than persuading some general to defect.”

  Malko was listening now. It was true that the shadow war was continuing, albeit in a lower key. The operations he’d recently carried out proved it. Zhanna Khrenkov knew what she was talking about.

  “All right, let’s assume this sleeper network exists,” he said. “What’s the connection between that and killing Lynn Marsh?”

  “There isn’t any, except through my proposal. You and your friends get rid of her, and I’ll give you the network. Which is working perfectly, by the way. The American agencies can’t detect it. The agents have a direct link with only two people: Alexei and me.”

  Zhanna was seated on the edge of her armchair, leaning slightly forward and speaking deliberately.

  Aside from their conversation, silence reigned. The room was hung with curtains, and thick walls muffled any outside noise. The Lanesborough was asleep at this late hour anyway. Even the hookers in the bar had gone home to bed.

  Zhanna looked intently at Malko.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t know. What I’ve learned about you makes me extremely cautious. I’m sure you honestly want to get rid of your husband’s girlfriend, but I have my doubts about the rest. I know how careful the Russian secret services are. Why would they use people like you?”

  An ironic smile appeared on Zhanna’s pale face.

  “You’re referring to our problems with the Moscow authorities, aren’t you? It’s true, we can’t set foot in Russia without winding up in Lefortovo, and then Siberia. The MVD is after us, and they’ve arrested several of our friends, the ones who took a chance and stayed. The Moscow FSB financial section also has a file on us.

  “The Americans know all this, and consider us thieves—but anti-Russian thieves! What better cover could we have? Not even the most paranoid CIA analyst would imagine that we work with the Kremlin.”

  “The Kremlin?” Malko was surprised.

  “That’s right. The network was set up on the Kremlin’s direct initiative, outside of all the official intelligence structures. By people who are aware that the struggle between Russia and the United States is continuing. In the unlikely event the network is uncovered, no SVR agent would be implicated.

  “You know Russia well. So you know that in the days of the Soviet Union, the KGB sent waves of sleeper agents abroad. We call them lastochkas, ‘swallows.’ These swallows would have no connection with their superiors for very long periods of time, until they had worked their way into the right positions. At which point they were taken in hand again.”

  Zhanna paused, and smiled slightly.

  “You could call Alexei the lord of the swallows.”

  Malko’s mind was racing. What Zhanna was telling him was certainly plausible. The Russians were masters of intelligence, and he could easily imagine them creating a clandestine network that the official authorities could later disavow.

  But one part of the story didn’t fit.

  “You and Alexei embezzled millions of dollars from the Moscow oblast. Why would they trust you?”

  Zhanna burst out laughing.

  “Because we’re rich! We’d never betray them for money. We’re not like most defectors. Or people like Aldrich Ames.”

  There again, she was right. Most Soviet defectors had done it for the money.

  To drive her point home, Zhanna continued:

  “You know that the FSB and the MVD are after us for a huge swindle. Don’t you find it odd that an international warrant has never been issued for our arrest?”

  “Why hasn’t it?”

  Her smile broadened.

  “Because if it were, we wouldn’t be able to travel freely and live in the United States. I’m fine. Thanks to my first marriage, I have an American passport, so I can’t be deported. But Alexei still uses his Russian passport. And by the way, if we agree on a deal, I’d like him to have an American passport too.”

  “There’s no deal so far,” he said, “and I doubt there ever will be.”

  Zhanna merely shrugged.

  “Very well, so be it. Our swallows will continue feathering their nests.”

  She was putting on her Burberry when Malko asked:

  “Assuming your story is true, how did the Kremlin first contact you?”

  “Alexei didn’t act alone. He had a krisha. His protector was a retired general with ties to the Kremlin. He knew we were in trouble, and he suggested we cut a deal and leave the country. The oblast people were planning to send killers after us, and we knew they’d succeed eventually. So we agreed to run the network.”

  “You were forced to leave Russia in 2008, but this network was in place long before that. Your story doesn’t hold water.”

  Zhanna was unruffled.

  “Actually it was created in 1996. The problem was that the head of the network died of cancer in 2007.”

  “Who was that?”

  She gave him a mocking glance.

  “Oh, stop treating me like an idiot! The swallows flew free for more than a year but they needed a guide, a führer, as you might say. Alexei fit the bill perfectly.”

  Malko found this all so startling, he didn’t know what to think. There was such an imbalance between eliminating a romantic rival and betraying a spy network that he had trouble believing it.

  “Let’s get this straight,” he said. “You’re telling me that to get rid of Lynn Marsh you’re ready to deliver an entire network working for your country.”

  Zhanna smiled ironically.

  “First of all, my country is Belarus. I’ve never been involved in Russian politics. Second, nothing would make me happier than attending that bitch’s f
uneral. If some people have to do jail time for the killing, so be it. At least the death penalty doesn’t exist in Great Britain for that kind of crime anymore.”

  She looked at her watch.

  “I have to go now,” she said. “They think I’ve been at the theater. If you want to contact me again, be extremely careful. As I said, our personal security is handled by people who answer to Moscow. They vet all our contacts to make sure no ‘pollution’ comes close to us.

  “If those people got even a whiff of a collusion with you, they wouldn’t hesitate to liquidate us. They take their orders from the Kremlin, and they report back regularly.”

  “How did you figure out who I was?” asked Malko.

  “Through them. When we visit people or go out to dinner with someone, they check them out. In your case, it was easy.”

  Apparently.

  Anticipating Malko’s next question, Zhanna said:

  “It was standard procedure. The Kremlin didn’t view your presence as dangerous. Otherwise we would’ve canceled the dinner.”

  “What about the attack on me, then?”

  “That was Alexei. He wanted to get you away from us for a reason no one would question: jealousy.”

  Zhanna already had her hand on the door handle when she said:

  “To contact me, leave word at the Dorchester Spa. I go there every day when I’m in London. I’ll call back on your cell. But pass my offer along quickly. If I’m not going to do business with you, I need to find someone else. I just can’t stand to have that bitch having sex with my husband.”

  She closed the door.

  Now alone, Malko wondered if he hadn’t been dreaming. The mystery of Zhanna’s invitation to London had been cleared up, only to be replaced by another, much bigger one. Either this was an exceptionally clever setup by the Russians, who were experts at this sort of thing, or it was a real chance to roll up a spy network.

  What Malko found striking was the disproportionate stakes: a girlfriend versus a network. Only a jealous woman could imagine such a project. Especially since if the people running the network learned of her role, Zhanna wouldn’t long outlive her rival.

  But one thing was clear: it was up to the CIA to decide what to do next.

  The Russians were likely to be particularly ferocious in defending their flock of swallows.