“Let’s hope to Christ that this is lift-off at last,” said Kayley.
That night Zenin took Olga to bed early and was more demanding than he’d been before and afterwards she lay exhausted beside him, wondering how much longer it could possibly last, unsure for the very first time how well-or badly-she would be able to cope when it ended. Whenever it did-again for the very first time-it wouldn’t be by her choice.
“It’s not proof,” he said, picking up the earlier dinner table conversation. “You’re reacting to instinct.”
“I know,” admitted Olga. “But I’m
“If he’s there, we’ll find him.”
“We should allow ourselves more time, not worry so much about media timing,” persisted Olga.
“You know the answer to that.”
“Will we share?”
Zenin was quiet for several moments.
“What if he’s still serving in the FSB? It’s more than possible.”
“But we’ve got the authority of the presidential commission.”
“Will we invoke it?”
“If we have to.”
“Be careful, darling. Personally careful, I mean.”
“How was it for you, going back today?”
“Better than I thought it would be.”
“You think the Americans, with all their manpower, will try to trace all the fifteen?”
“Without a doubt.”
“That could be our protection,” suggested Zenin. “Maybe we will share. Give the Americans the name, if we think we’ve discovered it, let them take on the FSB.”
Olga turned, moving her hand over his hair-matted chest. “Do that! It’ll be safer.”
“The FSB’s wrecked. And Karelin with it.”
“All the more reason-
“I’ll look after you,” said Zenin.
“For how long?” asked Olga, wishing she could have bitten the words back as she uttered them, stiffening beside him. She lay with her eyes closed, as if by not seeing she shut out the embarrassment. She felt him turn towards her.
“It’s something for us to talk about-think about-isn’t it?”
“Is it?” she said, breath tight in her chest.
“How would you feel about having me as a husband as well as a lover?”
“I’d feel very happy. How would you feel having me as a wife?”
“Very happy. And very proud.”
It wasn’t going to end! It was going to go on, forever and Olga couldn’t imagine anything she wanted more. “Now we’ve got even more reason to be careful. I don’t want to lose this, to risk anything.”
“You think you would have got more?” asked Natalia.
Charlie shook his head. “Bendall wasn’t lost in memories. It was an act, feeding us a bit at a time and making us dance to his tune …” he smiled at the unintentional pun. “And it’s a bloody awful tune, too.”
“You achieved a hell of a lot, though.”
“As much as Bendall wanted to give.” He hadn’t told Natalia-discussed with anyone-what he believed to have been Bendall’s recognition of the Davidov name. Totally unoffended by Charlie’s disbelief and anxious to earn the offered fifty dollars, the concierge of the dilapidated block on Fadeeva Ulitza had two hours earlier let Charlie into Davidov’s listed apartment address to prove the man was no longer there, unprotestingly watching Charlie explore the few pieces of furniture that allowed the place to be described as furnished. Davidov had lived alone and hadn’t been friendly, complained the man. Davidov had been about thirty-five years old and looked fit, as if he trained, running or swimming or something like that. On the few occasions the concierge even remembered seeinghim, Davidov had worn a suit, with a collar and tie, so the caretaker assumed he worked in an office. Three militiamen and some Americans who’d said they were detectives had already been there so he guessed Davidov had done something pretty serious. Charlie agreed it might have been and left with the promise of another fifty dollars if the man called his embassy number to tell him Davidov had reappeared, hoping he’d outbid the Americans to whom, along with the militia, he decided to leave the legwork involved in trying to trace Davidov further, at least until the following day.
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I’ve put to him the idea of the court being his stage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he kept a lot back until he appears in public.”
“You might not have to wait long,” said Natalia. “I ran into a brick wall arguing the court hearing should be postponed. Then this afternoon Okulov’s ordered the arraignment should be the same day as the funeral.”
“That’s in two days!” said Charlie.
“Can you imagine the media coverage?”
“Not when we enter a plea of not guilty, after everyone’s seen the television film,” said Charlie.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The Justice Ministry have decided there’s insufficient evidence of foul play for a militia investigation into Vera Bendall’s death.”
“Where’s the fix from, the Justice Ministry or the FSB?”
“Lefortovo is ultimately under FSB control,” reminded Natalia.
20
Natalia accepted she had been outmaneuvred with almost child-like ease but bruised pride was the least of her several concerns. Her need was to adjust Charlie’s don’t-get-sore-get-even philosophy, the only guide she had from all the half-remembered conversations andanecdotes to reverse the ambush Filitov and Trishin had trapped her into, just thirty minutes before Viktor Karelin’s arrival. She was on her own and in those first suspended minutes she couldn’t see a way to do it.
There were no smiles, wisped or otherwise, from Karelin. The face of the FSB chairman was as fixed as the way he sat, facing them, the only movement the slight tremor in the hand in which he held her initiated recommendation for militia involvement in the FSB internal investigations.
“We felt you should be advised in advance, as a matter of courtesy,” improvised Natalia. It had been Filitov’s insistence, backed by the chief of staff, that there should be a vote upon advising Karelin before forwarding the suggestion to the Kremlin, ridiculous though the pretense had been with the two men so determinedly against her. The point, as always, had been to establish a provable, safety net record. From which the most glaring, and worrying, inference was that the federal prosecutor-but more importantly Yuri Trishin-seriously doubted Aleksandr Okulov’s formal election chances and were taking out insurance against the overthrow of the new regime, with the inevitable resurgence of the omnipotent intelligence service of which the man himself had once been such an integral part.
“By a majority decision,” hurriedly added Filitov, in unnecessary confirmation of Natalia’s reasoning.
“I believe the problems that have been uncovered within my organization can be very adequately dealt with internally,” said Karelin. “One, in fact, already has been. Your recommendation there has been overtaken by events.”
She could come back to that later, gauged Natalia. A vague idea was formulating but she didn’t know how to carry it through to the end. “We’re not questioning the adequacy of your organization. The intention …” She paused,
