He decided it might be smart to sit tight and await developments.
—
Krisantem rapped lightly on the library door.
“I have laid out your tuxedo, Your Highness. And the lady in the Blue Room would like to see you.”
“I’m on my way,” said Malko.
He would see that Lynn was safely settled, and then drive to Kittsee. In her defiance, Alexandra had gone there much too early; the party wouldn’t start until later.
Reaching the first floor, Malko knocked on the door to the room.
“Come in,” cried Lynn.
Her voice sounded odd. He opened the door on the room’s four-poster bed in the light of the big chandeliers. Glancing around, he realized that the bed was empty and that Lynn had made a good start on a bottle of Steinhäger gin on the coffee table.
As he turned to look for her, she appeared from behind the door—and gave him a jolt of adrenaline. Except for a pair of high heels, the young woman was completely naked. She had freshened her makeup and had a slightly crazed sparkle in her eyes.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around Malko’s neck. Draping herself against him, she pressed her mouth to his, her tongue urgent. Malko understood where the Steinhäger had gone.
“Now fuck me,” she said quietly, slurring the words a little.
Lynn relieved Malko of his clothes, then seized and furiously stroked his cock. And it was she who pulled him to the bed, where she fell back, legs apart.
When he entered her, she raised her hips a little to ease him in deeper. Her enjoyment was probably stoked by what was both a reclaiming of power and a victory over another woman.
Now she was moving under him, giving little thrusts with her hips, groaning with pleasure. As Alexandra had guessed, Dr. Lynn Marsh loved to fuck.
Just when he was about to come, she pulled away and turned around, kneeling with her hips raised. It was an unambiguous invitation.
The sight of her firm, rounded rump dismissed Malko’s few remaining scruples. He penetrated her in a single thrust, then seized her hips and started pounding away. Gripping the four-poster’s linen curtains with both hands, Lynn suffered his assault with delight.
When Malko came deep inside her, he couldn’t help but remember how devastated she’d looked when he announced the death of her lover, Alexei Khrenkov.
La donna è mobile…
—
In the darkness, Malko looked at the glowing hands on his Breitling. It was ten past nine. He still had time to make it to Kittsee.
As if reading his mind, Lynn rolled onto her side and pressed against him.
“Make love to me again! I need to forget all those horrors.”
Unable to stir, Malko said nothing.
“I don’t want you to leave,” she continued. “I’m too frightened.”
If only he could wave a magic wand, thought Malko, and make a copy of himself.
Like a scented serpent, Lynn’s head slid down Malko’s belly, where she gently took his resting cock in her mouth. She moved her head only very slightly, but Malko could feel a new erection rising. Driving to Kittsee was now out of the question.
Just then, Lynn raised her head from his lap and looked up at him.
“You did well to bring me here,” she said quietly. “I may have a nice surprise for you.”
Chapter 27
Malko abruptly lost all interest in sex, a fact that Lynn Marsh immediately noticed.
“You really are a coldhearted bastard!” she cried, kneeling on the bed. “Does it always take a twisted spy story to give you a hard-on?”
She was glowering at him, almost with contempt. The Steinhäger had clearly had its effect.
“Three people have already died in this business, Lynn,” he said. “Including Alexei, the man you loved.”
“You know, I’m not sure I really was in love with him. I was bored when we met, and he excited me, opened up a world I didn’t know. But as a lover, he was a bear.”
She rolled onto her back, smiling to herself.
“There’s something you aren’t telling me,” said Malko after a moment. “What is it?”
She smiled more broadly.
“Alexei wasn’t as naïve as he appeared,” she said. “He didn’t trust the Russians. So he gave me the key and access code to his safety-deposit box, in case something happened to him. It’s at Crédit Suisse, on rue du Rhône.”
Malko needed a moment to absorb this.
“What do you plan to do about it?” he asked carefully.
Lynn looked at him ironically.
“If you’d dumped me at the Imperial, you would never have known about it. I wouldn’t have said anything, just gone on with my life. Now, things are different.”
“Are you prepared to give me access to those documents?”
“Yes.”
Malko felt as if he had sprouted wings and was touching the sky.
“All right!” he said. “We’re leaving for Geneva tomorrow.”
“Let’s not go too early,” she said with a sigh. “I want the fun and games to last a little longer.”
Without waiting for Malko’s response, she bent her head to resume her interrupted fellatio.
—
After an uneventful flight, the Falcon 2000 came in for a smooth landing at Geneva Airport. Glancing out the window, Malko saw a black limousine flying an American flag, followed by two black minibuses with tinted windows. The CIA agents he assumed were inside would supplement the four case officers who had flown with him and Lynn Marsh from Vienna. The Agency wasn’t taking any chances this time.
Chris Jones and Milton Brabeck weren’t along, however. They’d been kicked out of Austria and had returned to the United States.
The Falcon left the main runway and rolled to a stop on a strip far from the main terminal, where it was met by the three embassy vehicles, led by a Swiss police car. As Malko stepped down the ladder, the first person he saw was Richard Spicer. The London station chief shook his hand warmly.
“Well done!” he said.
Their group left the terminal by an exit off-limits to the public and headed downtown. They were driving along the lake when Spicer turned to Malko and said:
“We’ve alerted the bank. They better not make a fuss.”
—
The bank made no fuss at all, and the sealed documents about the Russian spy ring were soon in a CIA safe at the American embassy. Not long afterward, Malko, Lynn, and Spicer were eating Peking duck at the Tsé Yang, the Hotel Kempinski’s Chinese restaurant.
Now that she had helped produce the envelope, Lynn’s mind seemed elsewhere.
“What would you like to do now, Dr. Marsh?” asked Spicer.
“I’ve decided I want to go home to London after all. The sooner the better. And never think of any of this again.”
“That’s easy enough. You can fly back with me in the Falcon. We’re leaving at four.”
Malko spoke up.
“Lynn, there’s a chance the Russians are going to seek revenge. Wouldn’t you rather go somewhere other than London?”
“We’ll provide Dr. Marsh protection for as long as it takes,” said Spicer. “Besides, our friend Sir William has warned the Russians that touching a hair on her head would be seen as an act of war against Great Britain. The Russians aren’t crazy. They’ll go to any length to stop something from happening, but not to take revenge.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” said Malko dubiously.
Lunch was over. Taking no chances, they rode an elevator down to the underground garage, where they went their separate ways. Without meeting his eye, Lynn gave Malko a long handshake, then got into the embassy Cadillac.
The London station chief was practically glowing.
“You can go back to Austria with a light heart!” he said. “The ball’s in our court now. But I think the Agency is going to call on you again. Very soon, in fact.”
“To do what?”
“You’ll
see, it’s a surprise. A good one.”
Spicer climbed into the Cadillac in turn, and Malko took the elevator back up. There was a flight for Vienna at 6:50.
Informed of Lynn Marsh’s stay at Liezen Castle by Krisantem, Alexandra had chosen to sleep elsewhere.
—
Malko had been reading the Washington Post and following the dismantling of the Khrenkov network for the last week. On June 27, 2010, the FBI arrested ten of the spies in simultaneous raids.
In Washington, the Russian ambassador swore to high heaven that it was all an FBI plot, that none of the Russian secret services and no SVR officer was involved. Which was perfectly true, since the network had been completely independent of the D.C. and New York rezidenturas.
No new arrests had been made in the last few days, and the spy story was fading from the front page.
Just then, Alexandra entered the library. She was dressed like a slutty winemaker, wearing pants so tight that the grapes would practically pick themselves.
“I’ve invited the Von Thyssens for dinner,” she announced. “Better warn Ilse.” Malko’s old cook could work wonders, but at her age she needed some advance notice.
Malko stood to kiss his fiancée, and she kissed him back. They hadn’t mentioned Lynn Marsh again. When Malko got back from Geneva, Alexandra greeted him as if nothing had happened. Krisantem alerted her that the English guest had departed, and she returned to the castle as soon as Malko left for Geneva.
In fairness, he hadn’t asked her any questions about her prolonged stay at Kittsee Castle, either.
All was for the best in the best of all possible worlds.
His encrypted BlackBerry began to beep. It was Richard Spicer.
“You have a meeting tomorrow morning at Boltzmanngasse,” he said.
“What’s it about?”
“Crowning your success.”
—
Two black Mercedes with diplomatic plates were parked in front of the Red Cross’s Vienna offices when the U.S. embassy Cadillac pulled up across the street.
Malko stepped out, accompanied by the American ambassador and his Russian interpreter.
A cheerful Viennese woman led them to a conference room normally reserved for inter-community meetings, its walls decorated with posters touting the Red Cross’s charitable work.
Three men who looked like clones were already in the room, and they stood as one when the new arrivals entered. With them was an interpreter, who addressed the American ambassador in English.
“I would like to introduce Vice Minister Vasily Yakushin,” he said, gesturing toward the man in the middle. “He and his two deputies came from Moscow this morning in order to resolve the difficulties that exist between the American government and ours. President Medvedev has given Gospodin Yakushin full authority to negotiate an agreement.”
The American ambassador’s answer was translated into Russian.
“We’re happy to be meeting you in this neutral space. I would like to introduce Mr. Malko Linge, whom the American government has designated to represent us in these negotiations. He also has been granted full authority to reach an agreement. Mr. Linge speaks Russian fluently, which will help avoid misunderstandings. We’ll withdraw so you can begin the discussions.”
The ambassador and his interpreter left the hall. The Russian interpreter stayed just long enough to offer everyone tea, and withdrew in turn. This left the three Russians on one side, and Malko and a stenographer on the other.
Malko spoke first.
“Gospoda, I’m sure you know that the Federal Bureau of Investigation has recently arrested ten people in various American states engaged in espionage for Russia. They were part of a network that the FBI broke up with the help of outside information.
“In view of the good relations between Russia and the United States, the American government doesn’t want to see this situation deteriorate. I have therefore been charged with resolving the problem.”
None of the Russians seemed to find unusual the fact that an Austrian citizen should be speaking in the name of the U.S. government. They were well aware of Malko’s role in uncovering the lastochkas network.
It was Vice Minister Yakushin’s turn to speak.
“Our government is in no way responsible for the actions of these people,” he said primly. “This so-called network is obviously a plot hatched by rogue members of the American espionage establishment to damage the friendship between our two countries.”
Nice example of double-talk, thought Malko to himself.
Ignoring the Russian official’s statement, he said:
“I’ve been asked to tell you some steps that the White House is considering. These people, who are currently in jail, would normally be charged with espionage and brought to trial in United States federal court. If found guilty, they could be sentenced to many decades in prison. Needless to say, the media would broadcast any revelations that came out during such trials. The FBI investigation has produced irrefutable evidence that the leaders of the network were in Moscow. In other words, this was a state-sponsored operation.
“Obviously, this would lead to a deterioration in relations between the United States and Russia.”
The three Russians seemed to have been turned to pillars of salt.
Malko paused to take a sip of tea before continuing.
“However, another solution is possible, which would do much less harm to our relationship. The individuals involved would be charged with acting as unregistered agents of a foreign power.”
One of the Russians was feverishly taking notes. Malko gave him time to catch up, then concluded:
“As a criminal matter, this is a much less serious charge than espionage, and would be followed by the defendants’ expulsion from the United States.”
In other words, Russia would get its spies back.
Despite this apparently conciliatory offer, the Russians didn’t crack a smile. Seeing that Malko was finished, Yakushin spoke again, in a carefully neutral tone.
“We support the second approach, of course. When could it be put into effect?”
Malko found his seeming naïveté charming. He smiled slightly when one of Yakushin’s deputies chimed in.
“So these people would be allowed to fly home to Russia?”
Malko shook his head.
“Not directly, no. They would travel through Vienna first, here in Austria. The Austrian government has agreed to allow them short-term transits through the airport without visas.”
The Russian official pretended not to understand.
“Why the stopover?”
“To allow for an exchange,” said Malko.
“What kind of exchange?” asked the vice minister sharply.
Malko handed a sheet of paper to the stenographer, who placed it in front of the Russians, and continued:
“For humanitarian reasons, the American government wants to receive four Russian citizens who are currently serving long prison terms for espionage on behalf of the Western powers.
“In the framework of an agreement, these four people would be deported from Russia and brought to Vienna. From here, they could leave for any destination they chose.”
The three Russian officials gathered around to read Malko’s note. Their response was quick in coming.
“This is impossible!” barked Yakushin. “These individuals are criminals, convicted and sentenced under Russian law.”
Malko remained impassive.
“You have the right to refuse the offer,” he said. “The American government has set itself a deadline of forty-eight hours before bringing charges in federal court. If you decide to change your position, it would be advisable to alert the American embassy so we can schedule another meeting.”
Malko stood up, gestured politely to the three Russians, and headed for the door, followed by the stenographer.
—
His blood boiling, Rem Tolkachev studied the account of the Vienna meeting with disgust. He regretted
that the Khrenkovs had died so quickly. They deserved to rot in the gulag for years.
His prized lastochkas network was collapsing, a debacle sparked by one woman’s blind jealousy and a wildly unlikely set of circumstances. He snatched up the red telephone that connected him to the president’s office. An assistant answered immediately. The spymaster said:
“I would like to discuss a problem with President Medvedev before the end of the day.”
—
The Red Cross conference room was unchanged, as were the protagonists. Malko had cautiously decided to spend the night at the Hotel Sacher instead of returning to Liezen. That turned out to be wise. The American embassy phoned at nine in the morning to say that another meeting had been scheduled with the Russian delegation for noon, which was two p.m. Moscow time.
Malko entered the room with the stenographer and smiled at Yakushin. The smile was not returned. Instead, the Russian got straight to business.
“For humanitarian reasons, President Medvedev has decided to pardon the following three defendants currently in prison: Igor Sutyagin, sentenced in 2004 to fifteen years; Alexander Zaporozhsky, an SVR colonel, convicted of treason and sentenced to eighteen years; and Sergei Skripal, a colonel expelled from the GRU, later tried for espionage and sentenced in 2006 to thirteen years.”
Yakushin stopped talking while the American stenographer noted the information, then went on.
“These three individuals will be expelled from Russia and can travel to any country they like.”
“When?” asked Malko.
“When the people arrested by the FBI are expelled from the United States.”
Malko waited for a moment, then said:
“There were four names on the list I gave you. The fourth person is Gennady Vasilenko. He was arrested in 2006 and, according to his family, is serving fourteen years in prison.”
For the first time, Yakushin lost some of his calm demeanor.
“Gennady Vasilenko is a stain on the honor of the First Directorate!” he cried. “He was already identified as a spy in 1982 and imprisoned at Lefortovo. He had been working for the CIA for several years, but he was freed for lack of a confession. The FSB caught him red-handed spying again in 2004. The man deserves to die.”
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