The Moscow Code

by Nick Wilkshire

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean, maybe it’s not such a good idea. You could stay here and we could stay in touch by —”

  “Are you kidding?” Sophie had assumed a combative pose, her spine arched and her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t there for Steve when he was still alive, and there’s no way I’m going to let him down now, not when we’re finally getting close.”

  “I’m just saying —”

  “I know what you’re saying, and I appreciate your concern, but this isn’t negotiable.”

  Charlie held up his hands and picked up his phone from the tabletop. “Then I’ll book us two seats to Frankfurt.”

  Chapter 36

  Charlie sat on the sofa in Martineau’s office while the ambassador gave her assistant some instructions. The flight to Frankfurt and on to Moscow after a brief layover had been uneventful. Charlie had received Martineau’s email — confirming receipt of a diplomatic note from the Russian MFA that effectively freed Charlie from any connection to the investigation into Sergei Yermolov’s death — while he and Sophie were waiting in the lounge in Frankfurt. Though he still had some lingering doubt about whether the Russians would honour the arrangement, it was as clear an indication as he could expect that they would. The drive in from the airport had taken twice as long as usual, due to a multiple car pile-up on the highway, and it was already dark by the time they hit the Garden Ring. He had insisted on dropping Sophie off at her hotel, and they had agreed to circle up once his debrief was over.

  He fidgeted on the sofa as he heard Martineau wrapping up outside the open door, and he wondered if he looked as nervous as he felt. He was not looking forward to the meeting. As if on cue, she walked into the office and shut the door behind her, then took a seat opposite him.

  “Glad to have you back,” she began with a thin smile.

  “It’s good to be back,” he lied.

  “I imagine it’s been a stressful time for you. I know I’ve been worried sick about this whole business.”

  Charlie nodded. “I’m really sorry for causing you all this trouble. I really didn’t …”

  Martineau held up a hand to silence him. “I’m more interested in getting to the bottom of this whole thing, starting with your visit to Yermolov’s apartment. Why on earth were you there in the first place?”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “I thought he might be able to shed some light on why Liepa was the only one the police detained on that night.”

  Martineau frowned. “And you did this because?”

  “I had met with him at his office, but he seemed reluctant to talk. I thought he would be more forthcoming at home.”

  “You realize it goes well beyond your role as a consular officer. I mean, you’re a lawyer, so I don’t have to tell you the consequences of acting outside your scope of work — the risks to yourself, not to mention the Department.”

  Charlie nodded. “I know all that, but I felt like I needed to try.”

  “Look, Charlie, I know you’re committed, and you’re just trying to get to the bottom of the Liepa case — and I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that whitewash the prison dared to call an official report, but this is Moscow, and there are real dangers here.”

  “He was a Canadian citizen, Brigitte. He deserves to have someone asking questions on his behalf, doesn’t he?”

  “On his behalf or his sister’s?”

  Charlie didn’t respond. He didn’t want to lie to Martineau, but he knew he was on shaky ground. He wasn’t exactly objective when it came to Sophie.

  “I’m going to be honest with you, Charlie. One of the reasons I lobbied to get you here is that I like the way you operate. I don’t want another drone who follows the rules and punches out at four. And I’m happy to cover your back if you happen to bend a few rules along the way. But I don’t want my next call from the Russians to be a request to identify your body at the morgue. Do we understand each other?”

  Charlie sighed. “You know as well as I do that Liepa didn’t commit suicide. That prison report was a joke — you said so yourself.”

  “So what do you think happened?” Martineau asked, causing Charlie to stop and look at her. He knew he should just say nothing or say he was going to toe the line. But he saw something in her eyes that made him want to level with her. What did he have to lose at this stage?

  “I think he was working on some sort of exposé — investigative journalism. He was a novelist wannabe, and we found a bunch of true crime and investigative-reporting books with the stuff he kept in Berlin.”

  “An exposé on someone here in Moscow?”

  “I think it had something to do with Dmitri Bayzhanov.”

  “And who’s that?”

  “He’s the guy behind BayCo, the developer of Petr Square.”

  “Petr Square? The big one that just got its permit?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yes, it’s worth millions, but I think there’s more to it than that.”

  Martineau paused. “Did Yermolov work for BayCo?”

  “No,” Charlie said, about to mention the fact that he worked for United Pharma, but something about Martineau’s question struck him. He held his tongue.

  “So what did you intend to find out from him?” Martineau asked, moving on.

  Charlie didn’t respond for a moment, just shrugged. “I don’t really know. He was the only person I knew of who was with Steve Liepa the night he was arrested. I guess I was hoping he might give me a lead — anything — to go on.”

  Martineau proceeded to outline her discussions with the Russian MFA and her superiors back in Ottawa, whose initial reaction had been to get Charlie on the next plane to Canada.

  “How this plays out is up to you, Charlie,” she said as they neared the end of their meeting. “But I don’t have to tell you, you’re on a short leash. A very short one.”

  “I’ll try to keep a low profile.”

  “I’m serious, Charlie. I don’t want you sticking your neck out. Do you hear me?”

  “You bet.”

  “And, Charlie,” she added, stopping him as he reached the door, “that goes for the Durant woman, as well. I don’t want her to turn into another consular case either, okay?”

  “Understood.”

  He left her office, then bolted down the stairs and outside across the courtyard to the other building and the consular section. Once there, he flicked on the light, fell into the chair behind his desk, and clicked his computer to life. He tapped his fingers on his desktop as he waited for his web browser to open. He was supposed to meet Sophie in fifteen minutes and it would take him at least twenty to walk to her hotel. He entered United Pharma into the search window and waited for the company’s web page to load, then clicked through the main page until he was on the list of the company’s directors. As he printed the page he scanned the list onscreen, but didn’t recognize any names.

  Next, he found the link he had saved on his desktop to the list of individuals and companies whose shareholdings in Panamanian and Cypriot companies had been disclosed as part of the online tax-haven leak, which had first hit the news a couple of weeks earlier. One by one, he searched through the list for the names of the United Pharma directors, but halfway through, none of them had appeared on the other list. He sighed and was about to close the browser when it occurred to him to reach into his top drawer and pull out the list of names that Bill Halston, the trade officer, had come back with after they had searched Kvartal’s shareholders. He glanced at the United Pharma CEO’s name and went down through the Kvartal list, finding it halfway down. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized the CFO’s name, as well. He tore through the rest of the names, growing more and more excited with each new hit. By the time he was done, he had confirmed that twelve of the directors of UPI were also shareholders in Kvartal. He typed a mark next to each name and printed the list, gra
bbing both sheets of paper off the printer and flicking off the light as he headed out the door.

  “So how did it go with Martineau?” Sophie said as she greeted Charlie in the lobby of her hotel. She pecked him on the cheek and added, “You look like shit, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Actually, it was better than I thought.”

  “They’re not shipping you to Antarctica?”

  “Lucky for me, we don’t have a mission there, or I have a feeling I might have been first on the list. Let’s just say I’m on a very short leash.”

  “You want to get a drink?” She pointed toward the lobby bar.

  “Sure.”

  They took a table near the door and ordered a couple of drinks, then Charlie pulled out the printouts he had made back at his office.

  “What’s this?”

  “Martineau asked me whether Yermolov worked for BayCo, and it got me thinking about what Steve’s notes said about the kickbacks the senior execs were getting, so I did a little research.”

  “Wouldn’t kickbacks be in cash?” Sophie looked from the lists to Charlie. “I mean, it would be pretty risky to have a paper trail.”

  “That’s true, unless the kickbacks were in offshore stock. Here.” He pointed to the first printout. “This is the list of United Pharma’s directors. When I compare it to this other list, twelve of the twenty names show up.”

  “And the second list is?”

  “The list of shareholders in Kvartal.”

  “That’s the Cypriot company that Alexander Surin also has shares in?”

  Charlie nodded. “And Bayzhanov. And don’t forget we wouldn’t have known about any of this if it weren’t for that big tax leak.”

  Sophie rubbed a finger over her top lip. “That’s true. Even now, all we know is that they’re all shareholders in the same company — Bayzhanov, the UPI directors, and Alexander Surin — one big happy family.”

  “But we have no idea what the shares are worth or how Kvartal gets its capital.”

  Sophie released a breath. “I have a feeling it’s got plenty of capital.”

  “Me, too,” Charlie said, frowning. “But I don’t know how to find out for sure.”

  “I might know,” Sophie said as her eyes turned to the revolving door at the main entrance of the hotel. Charlie followed her gaze and watched as Natalia Povetkina crossed the lobby toward the bar.

  “Jesus, Sophie, we don’t even know if she’s reporting back to Bayzhanov. You could have told me …” Charlie trailed off as Povetkina arrived at the table and Sophie stood to greet her. Charlie did the same and then Povetkina settled in her seat.

  “Can I get you a drink?” Charlie asked, to which Povetkina gave a dismissive wave.

  “No, thank you. I have another appointment across town. I don’t have much time.”

  “I was surprised to hear back from you so soon,” Sophie said as Povetkina zipped open a sleek leather portfolio and slid out a glossy four-by-six photo of a woman they both quickly recognized as the blonde from the hotel in Nice.

  “Tatiana Evseeva,” Charlie said.

  “She’s SVR, right?” Sophie asked.

  Povetkina shook her head. “Not anymore. She’s been freelancing for the past several years. She’s worked for a couple of different private security firms based in Moscow.”

  “I don’t suppose you know who hired her to try and kill us, do you?” Sophie said.

  Povetkina returned a grim smile. “These are not the types of question I can ask, you will understand. But I did find out something else about her past.” Sophie and Charlie glanced at each other. “You mentioned Alexander Surin was of interest to you,” Povetkina continued. “Surin was Evseeva’s rezident in Almaty,” Povetkina said. Seeing Sophie’s puzzled expression, she explained, “Her handler.”

  “Almaty? What was she doing there — or Surin, for that matter?”

  Povetkina shrugged. “I don’t know, but whatever their assignment, it seems that it was a success.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie was on the edge of his seat now.

  “They were both there for approximately three years. By the time they left, they had both been promoted several times. Surin ended up as a colonel before he left the SVR. He was a very successful — how do you say? — bureaucrat, and Evseeva was by all accounts also very successful. Her services were widely sought, and she had considerable assets, including a large apartment on the Arbat. She owned property in the south of France, also.”

  “How did you find all this out in the couple of hours since we spoke?” Sophie said, amazed.

  “I have many contacts in the FSB and SVR. They are eager to share information, for a fee.”

  Charlie pulled out his list of Kvartal shareholders on the off chance that Evseeva was on it, but it wasn’t. He looked at Povetkina. “You said Surin was a successful bureaucrat. Do you mean his recent appointment to the Moscow planning committee?”

  Povetkina laughed. “That is a job he was given for a single purpose, which we all know.”

  “You mean to give Petr Square the green light?” Sophie said.

  Povetkina nodded.

  “So what were some of his other positions since leaving the FSB or the SVR or whatever?” Charlie persisted.

  Povetkina shrugged. “He held several high positions, including deputy chair of GasCom — a highly coveted pos­ition. And also the chief of the Anti-Drugs Committee.”

  “Which does what, exactly?” Sophie asked.

  “It directs resources to confront illegal importation and distribution of drugs in the Russian Federation.”

  “So he was, like, the drugs czar? Sorry for the expression,” Charlie said, eliciting a flat grin from Povetkina.

  “Yes, this was also a very powerful position.”

  Charlie looked at Sophie for a moment, then back to Povetkina. “And you say he was appointed to these positions because of his work in Almaty.”

  Povetkina shook her head. “The work was no doubt helpful, but you are not appointed to these positions without very powerful sponsors.”

  “You mean … the Kremlin?”

  Povetkina said nothing, and Charlie wondered whether he had crossed the line. Sort of like mentioning Castro’s name in Havana, where everyone referred to him by stroking their imaginary beards.

  “I will try to find out more for tomorrow, but I must go now,” Povetkina said, pushing the photo of Evseeva across to Sophie. “Please keep it.”

  “Thank you, Natalia. Stay in touch,” Sophie said. She and Charlie watched her go, then Sophie folded the photo in half and tucked it into her purse.

  “I’m not sure I want to keep it,” she said. “It gives me the creeps.” She studied Charlie, who seemed absorbed in thought. “Well, what did you make of all that?”

  “It just gets more and more intriguing,” he said, pulling out a file folder with a half-inch stack of paper in it. “I printed Steve’s notes.” He waved the server over for their bill. “I think we need to go over them again. Come on.”

  Chapter 37

  They sat around the coffee table in Sophie’s hotel room, the remnants of a room-service meal sitting on a tray in the corner. Charlie had re-created the diagram they had started on the mirror of the hotel room in Berlin on a sheet of legal-size paper, and he was adding circles to connect Alexander Surin and Tatiana Evseeva. Sophie took a sip of her beer as she watched him draw in the circle for Evseeva.

  “Don’t you think Kazakhstan’s a strange place to make a career for yourself if you’re a Russian?”

  “What do you mean?” Charlie looked up.

  “It’s a bit out of way, isn’t it? I would have thought if you really wanted to get ahead in the KGB, or FSB, or whatever, you’d want to do it in Moscow.”

  Charlie frowned as he considered the question, then reached for his BlackBerry and thumbed t
hrough the Departmental contact list until he found Doug Cullen’s name.

  “What are you doing now?” Sophie asked as he hit the button to dial Cullen’s number.

  “Just calling my counterpart in Astana — the guy I had lunch with last week. He’s probably gone for the day but —” He stopped when Cullen came on the line.

  “Doug? Charlie Hillier.”

  “Charlie, what’s up?”

  “Working late?”

  “Damn report for Ottawa on regional security,” Cullen replied. “You don’t know how good you have it in Moscow. When you’re in a backwater like this, you end up being a jack of all trades. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to ask you about a journalist who died about a month ago. He might have something to do with that case we were talking about last week.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s the name?”

  “Piotr Zhibek.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” Cullen said distractedly. “How’s he connected with your guy?”

  “I’m pretty sure they met while he was in Astana, but I’m not sure why.”

  “I can ask one of the locally engaged guys and see if he’s heard of him, but I’m in a bit of a time crunch right now.”

  “I understand,” Charlie said, trying not to sound disappointed. “If anyone’s heard of him, let me know. I’ll let you get back to your report.”

  “I’ll ask around. Talk to you soon.”

  Charlie tossed the phone onto the bed. “It was a long shot, anyway.” He turned his attention back to the chart, started drawing a dotted line between Bayzhanov and a blank circle, then tossed the pencil down on the table. “We’re still missing something. Whatever it is, it connects Bayzhanov and Surin and their time in Almaty somehow.”

  Sophie nodded, then got up and began to pace. “And whatever it was, we have to assume that Steve uncovered it and that it was important enough for him to be killed. Krasnikov, too.”

  Charlie frowned. “Maybe.”