The Moscow Code

by Nick Wilkshire

  Charlie felt his chest deflate. He was trying very hard to think of an explanation as the phone rang and Edwards answered.

  “Charlie, are you there?”

  “Hello, Brigitte. I’m really sorry if I —”

  “You damn well better be!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea what’s been going on here in the past twenty-four hours? I’ve been on the phone with the MFA all morning, trying to respond to their inquiries. Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, running off to Berlin without telling anyone? And why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

  Charlie groaned. He was going to have to tell her sooner or later. “I lost it.”

  “You lost it? Again?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can explain.”

  “That’s the least of your worries, trust me. I’ve talked to HQ and I think it’s best that you don’t try to return to Moscow until we’ve sorted this thing out. I’ve got to talk to the Legal branch, but frankly, regardless of what they say, I don’t think anyone can guarantee anything when it comes to what the Russians have in mind for you if you return.”

  Charlie felt relief at the news that he might stay in Berlin for a little longer, though it really wasn’t due to a fear of the Russians. Martineau seemed to guess his thoughts at the other end of the line.

  “Where are you staying, anyway?”

  “Just across the street.”

  “And the Durant woman?”

  “Same hotel,” Charlie replied quickly, wondering whether he should specify that they were in different rooms.

  “Charlie, I hope you haven’t forgotten this is a consular case. I don’t need to tell you that —”

  “Please. We’re at the same hotel, but that’s it. And I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong, either in relation to the Liepa case or otherwise. The only thing I didn’t do was report my presence at a crime scene, and I’m sorry about that, but I wasn’t thinking straight. To be honest, I was pretty shaken. I promise you, I had nothing to do with Yermolov’s death.”

  “Nobody is saying you did.” There was a long pause while Martineau seemed to be collecting her thoughts and Charlie tried to avoid eye contact with Edwards. “Can we get Charlie a temporary BlackBerry, Tom? I want to able to reach him on an urgent basis.”

  “Not a problem,” Edwards said. “I’ll set him up before he leaves this afternoon.”

  “And you’re going to give a statement now, Charlie, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Charlie said.

  “Good, that will be helpful in my discussions with HQ.”

  “And after I’ve given my statement? What do you want me to do?” Charlie glanced across the table but Edwards was giving nothing away.

  “Stay close to your BlackBerry, though it’ll probably be Monday before we know for sure what approach to take.”

  When the call ended, Charlie stared at the saucer phone in the middle of the conference-room table, as Edwards turned over a fresh sheet of paper and clicked his pen.

  “Let’s get started.”

  It was after five by the time Charlie walked out of the embassy into Leipziger Platz and headed around the corner toward the hotel. Anyone examining his posture could easily tell he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders as he shuffled along the sidewalk, his hands jammed into his pockets and his collar pulled up against the cold wind. He crossed the road by the S-Bahn station and made his way into the lane leading to the hotel, his mind preoccupied with deconstructing the statement he had just given, as well as the conference call with Brigitte Martineau. Just how pissed off was she, exactly? He wondered whether it was enough to have him shipped back to Ottawa on the next available flight.

  Then it occurred to him that even if his employer did decide he’d done nothing wrong, that didn’t mean the Russians would come to the same conclusion. And if they didn’t, he would have no choice but to return to headquarters. Official status: early termination of posting. Actual status: pariah.

  He rode the elevator up to the fifth floor and headed for his room. As he opened the door, he saw an envelope on the carpet just inside the entrance. He stooped to pick it up and made his way over to the bed, where he tossed his coat. He was opening the envelope when he noticed the message light on his hotel phone flashing. He ignored it for now and focused on the contents of the envelope, pulling out a sheet of hotel stationery on which a message was scribbled in pen: Come by my room when you get back. He stared at Sophie’s signature and for a moment, he imagined what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a message if the motivation were for something other than the need to get to the bottom of her brother’s death. He moved to the phone and dialled the message service to discover he had three. He went through them one by one, all from Sophie and all saying basically the same thing, with increasing urgency — get in touch with her ASAP. He dialled her room and she answered after the second ring, a distinctly frantic tone in her voice.

  “Charlie? Where were you? My God, I was so worried.”

  “Why? I told you I had to go to the embassy for a meeting.”

  “But that was hours ago. I thought something had happened to you. Is everything okay?”

  “That’s a tough one.”

  “You’re not in trouble for leaving with me, are you?”

  “No, it’s not that,” he said, wondering what her reaction would be if she knew Martineau had suggested that the two of them might be intimately involved. “Is everything okay with you?”

  “I found something in Steve’s stuff that I’d like to get your take on. Can you drop by?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up the phone and caught his reflection in the mirror as he passed it. He looked like shit. After a quick detour to splash some cold water in his face in the bathroom sink, he felt a little revived and set off for Sophie’s room.

  The first thing he noticed when she opened the door was that she had let her hair down. He was used to seeing it in a braid or a ponytail, and the effect was unfamiliar, though she looked no less beautiful. Quite the opposite, in fact. The second thing he noticed, as she led him into her room, was how big it was compared to his own.

  “I was going through a couple of books that were among his things,” she said as she sat on the edge of the king-size bed and picked up a book, “when I found this.” She flipped the book open to the last page and pulled out a brochure with a picture of what looked like a Mediterranean villa. The caption was in French.

  Charlie took the brochure and scanned it quickly.

  “It’s for a French school in a place called Villefranche,” he said, remembering that someone at HQ had tried to get a six-month training stint approved there a few years ago. It was rejected out of hand because of the cost, a lot of which had to do with the location in the south of France. “I thought Steve already spoke French.”

  “He did.” She shrugged. “Maybe it was a refresher course.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, though it seemed unlikely. He couldn’t think why else Liepa would have the brochure among his things, unless …

  “What?” Sophie seemed able to see the wheels turning in Charlie’s mind.

  “I checked my secure email account before leaving the embassy,” he said. “There was a message from one of the trade guys I’d asked to look into some offshore accounts — you remember all that stuff that’s been in the news?”

  “The tax dodgers?”

  “Exactly. I asked them to check out other shareholders of the companies that Dmitri Bayzhanov held stock in. It turns out that Alexander Surin had shares in one of the same companies — Kvartal.”

  “You mean the guy on the planning committee,” she said. “The one that just approved Petr Square?”

  Charlie nodded. “Which just happens to be Bayzhanov’s project.”

  “That must be it. Stev
e must have found the connection between Bayzhanov and Surin and then …” She paused, noticing his frown. “You don’t think so?”

  “Petr Square was only approved yesterday, so how could Steve have known if Surin was in Bayzhanov’s pocket a month ago? Besides, it doesn’t add up that someone would want to kill Steve for that — I mean, corruption’s not exactly uncommon in Moscow.”

  Now it was her turn to frown. “But what does that have to do with this?” she said, gesturing at to the brochure.

  “Maybe nothing,” he replied, pulling out the new BlackBerry he had just been issued and searching the internal employee directory for Drew Landon, his former colleague in Havana.

  “What are you doing?” Sophie looked on.

  “Playing a hunch,” he said, selecting Landon’s email from the list and thumbing a quick message. He looked at his watch and noted the time. “What’s your cell number?” Sophie gave it to him without asking why and he sent his message. “I’m asking a former colleague to give me a call. I’d rather it not be on this.” He indicated his BlackBerry. “His name’s Drew Landon. He’s posted in Paris now.”

  They were still discussing the Surin-Bayzhanov connection a few minutes later when her cell rang and she snatched it up.

  “Hello? Yes, he is,” she said, passing the phone to Charlie.

  “I figured you’d be watching your emails, but I didn’t think you’d be back to me that quick.”

  “How the hell are you? I’ve been meaning to touch base with you.” Landon’s voice had the same enthusiasm Charlie remembered. “I knew you were in Moscow. How’s it going?”

  “It’s going well,” he lied. “How about you? Paris, eh? Sounds rough.”

  Landon laughed. “It’s not all croissants and Côtes du Rhône, you know.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.” Charlie continued the banter for a minute before broaching the subject of the call. “Listen, I was hoping you could do me a favour.”

  “Name it, and I’ll do my best.”

  “Can you check passport numbers at French entry points?”

  Landon paused to consider the question. “I’m pretty sure we can get that from the French, sure. This a consular case?”

  “Yeah, the only wrinkle is it’s a Russian national, not a Canadian.”

  “Oh,” Landon said, and Charlie’s spirits sank. “That might be different, but I’ll give it a try. I’ll have to talk to someone in immigration, but it’s gonna be Monday now before I’ll get a chance. When do you need this by?”

  “As soon as you can.”

  “What’s the name?”

  “Krasnikov, Mikhail,” Charlie said, noticing Sophie’s puzzled reaction to the name.

  “Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do. You want me to call this number back?”

  “Yeah, that’d be best. I’m having some issues with my phone.” He hated lying to Landon, but he didn’t want to get into the details, or even the fact that he wasn’t actually in Moscow at the moment. They said their goodbyes, disconnected, and Charlie handed the phone back to Sophie.

  “Krasnikov?” she said. “The guy whose obituary and picture showed up at your office the other day?”

  “He was in an accident abroad, but we don’t know where. Maybe it was France.”

  “I guess it’s worth a shot,” she said, though she didn’t seem convinced. “How did your interview go, anyway?”

  “Looks like I’ll be staying in Berlin, for a while, at least. They don’t want me going back to Moscow tomorrow, after all. They say they can’t predict what the Russians will do with me.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  Charlie laughed humourlessly. “I’m not sure what it means, to be honest. But the embassy here didn’t lock me up, so I guess things could be worse.”

  “Well, I’m glad of that, at least.” She looked at her watch. “I’m starving. Do you want to go get something to eat?”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Chapter 30

  “So, do you think you’re in trouble?” Sophie asked as they sat in the corner of the bustling restaurant, the remnants of a heavy Bavarian meal on the plates in front of them, along with an empty bottle of a very nice red wine. Charlie swallowed the last bit of it from the bottom of his glass before answering.

  “I don’t see how,” he said. “And, anyway,” he added, perhaps emboldened by the buzz of alcohol, “I don’t really care what they do to me for doing my job.”

  “What about the Russians?”

  The question sobered him quickly. “That’s different. Spending the rest of my posting, if not my life, in a Russian jail is not an option. There’s no way I’m setting foot on a Moscow-bound plane unless this is sorted out.”

  “And how does it get sorted out?”

  “We have to talk to Justice. We might arrange for my statement to be taken by the Russians here in Berlin. Assuming they’re satisfied that I’m not their man, they could provide an iron-clad guarantee that they’ll respect my immunity and I could go back.”

  She frowned. “That sounds like it could take some time.”

  He nodded as the server arrived and offered dessert menus, which they declined.

  “I’m thinking a walk might be in order after that meal,” Sophie said. Charlie nodded his agreement, though he thought she had barely touched her food. They settled the cheque after a brief dispute, during which she tried to pay for it all, and headed outside. It was still cool, but the wind had gone, and it was quite pleasant as they headed off toward a nearby park.They had been walking and chatting for about twenty minutes when they came upon a large white tent with the sounds of music and people coming from inside. As they got nearer, they noticed the colourful banner by the front entrance.

  “Oktoberfest,” Charlie said. “I guess it’s that time of year.”

  “I thought that was only in Munich.” Sophie shivered as the wind picked up.

  “I guess this is the Berlin version. Appears to be on a much smaller scale. Want to check it out?”

  “Why not,” she said, rubbing her arms. “It’s probably a lot warmer in there.”

  They entered the noisy tent, paid the small admission fee, and made their way across the uneven wooden floor toward the crowded main space. Two rows of long tables covered the whole floor area, apart from a large open area for dancing in front of the stage and the bar off to the left. The tent was three-quarters full, and a twenty-piece band was on stage, pumping out what sounded like German drinking songs. The crowd was a mix of all ages, with the only common theme being everyone seemed to have an array of enormous beer mugs on the table in front of them.

  “Well, I guess I know what we’re ordering,” Sophie shouted over the music as they found a spot at the end of one of the long picnic-style tables. A woman in traditional dress walked by and said something in German. Charlie responded by pointing at the two full steins of beer she held in one hand and she was off, returning a few minutes later with their order.

  “Prost,” Charlie said, raising his stein. Sophie was wide-eyed at the size of hers, but she managed to hoist it without a problem. They sipped the cool, golden lager.

  “Mmm, it’s good,” she said, wiping a thin ridge of foam from her top lip.

  Charlie nodded his agreement, and they spent the next fifteen minutes shouting to each other across the table over the din of music, clinking glasses, and raucous toasts. Half of the crowd swarmed onto the dance floor in response to exhortations by the singer onstage. A few seconds later came the unmistakable first few notes of the bird dance.

  “Come on,” Sophie said, jumping up and grabbing Charlie by the hand. “We’ve got to give this a try.”

  Charlie went with her to the dance floor as the crowd did a pantomime of bird-walking. After an awkward first attempt, Charlie found himself catching on. Sophie seemed particu
larly adept, and they were both soon laughing and dancing in synch with the rest of the room. The dance went on for five minutes and concluded with an improvised conga line that weaved its way from the dance floor, between the tables, and toward the rear of the hall, then back again up the far side. When it was over, there was a roar of applause from the crowd and the band announced a short break.

  “That was great,” Sophie said when they returned to their table to gulp more beer. Charlie was amazed to see she was two-thirds done with her beer and he took a large gulp of his own to catch up. He put his stein down and sat back.

  “Where’d you learn that dance?” he asked.

  She laughed, and he saw her face in full glow, a broad smile curling the edge of her full lips and her eyes twinkling with genuine happiness.

  “I had a boyfriend from Kitchener. He turned out to be a jerk, but he did take me to Oktoberfest one year. I guess I can thank him for that.”

  “You looked like a real pro up there.”

  “Not so bad yourself, Charlie. You’re a quick study.”

  A passing server paused and looked at their glasses. Sophie glanced at Charlie before nodding at the woman.

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t know you spoke German.” Sophie was giggling as they boarded the hotel elevator and the doors slid shut.

  “I don’t think I do,” he said, referring to the garbled exchange with the smiling security guard out front. “Geez, is that the time?” He moved his wrist closer and squinted as the chime sounded to announce their arrival on the fifth floor. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this in the morning.”

  “The night’s still young,” Sophie said, with a wave of her hand as they walked out into the hallway and headed to their rooms. They reached his first and he fumbled in his pocket for his key card. He didn’t feel drunk — exactly — but he wasn’t sure how many of those giant beers he had consumed. Whatever the number, Sophie had been his equal and she seemed pretty normal, if a little giggly.