to be used unknowingly. It was only when he spread the reflection to honesty and integrity, trying to imagine any conceivable situation in which she’d be prepared to sacrifice either, that Charlie felt the first real flicker of unease. He didn’t doubt that Natalia would abandon honesty and integrity-even contemplate breaking the law-to protect Sasha. And the risk to Sasha-the upheaval to their daughter more than anything that might happen to her-had been Natalia’s constant, corrosive fear ever since she’d moved into Lesnaya. Still not enough; still unthinkable. There wasn’t even circumstantial evidence.It was circumstantial-
It was past nine when he finally got home, going directly to the drink’s tray when he entered the apartment.
Natalia said, “I could have kept something. Waited so we could have eaten together if you’d called to say you were on your way.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“A development?”
Charlie shook his head. “Complete review for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s only a formality, surely?”
It was obvious she’d know that, Charlie accepted. “Lawyers wanting to know we’re prepared for the unexpected.”
“Are you?”
Charlie hesitated, wondering if he were good enough to make their conversation a test, remembering he’d once before been able verbally to trick her. “We don’t know enough to be prepared for anything, expected or otherwise. What happened with you today?”
Natalia said, “I came closer than I ever want to come again to being washed away,” and Charlie’s feet twitched and he wished they hadn’t.
Charlie listened with a divided mind, assessing her account as she wanted him to but at the same time unsuccessfully searching for any nuance that might resolve the doubt created by Anne Abbott. When Natalia finished he said, “Did you think you could manage it?”
“Not at first.”
“Now comes your report,” said Charlie. Would there be any indication now?
“Filitov and Trishin said they needed time to read all the statements, which is ludicrous. There’s only Karelin.”
“What’s your opinion?”
“Serious maladministration within the FSB.”
“But not complicity?”
“Someone with access has to be part of it.”
She’d personally gone to the Lubyanka, supposedly to pressure Spassky, had actually talked to him afterwards about how lapse internal security was. And she’d knew her way around the building. “You going to say that?”
“It’s obvious. We’d make ourselves look stupid not to.”
“What if Filitov and Trishin don’t agree?”
“I don’t see how they can disagree. If they do I can record a dissenting opinion.”
“Will you?”
Natalia frowned. “What else can I do?”
How would she confront the actually suspicion? “Something curious came up during our review.”
“What?”
“The thought that someone connected with the investigation might be part of the conspiracy: misleading or blocking things.” Charlie spoke looking directly at Natalia who looked directly back.
“Who?” she demanded.
“It was a general remark. You’ve probably got the widest overview of anyone. What do you think?”
Natalia shook her head. “I don’t see it. If we chase that we’ll confuse ourselves even more than we’re confused now.”
Charlie decided he knew her too well-had spent his entire life spotting deceit-not to have detected something in that reply, which he hadn’t. And yet..
21
Two planes were needed in addition to Air Force One to carry the number of Secret Service personnel, the travelling White House, Surgeon Admiral Max Donnington’s mobile hospital facilities and virtually every nationality of every accredited White House journalists, television as well as print. A carefully selected group of correspondents- the TV majors, commentators as well as political reporters from what was considered America’s national press and all the Texas media-travelled on the president’s aircraft. Anandale, word perfect from the secretary of state’s briefing papers, spent a full thirty minutes in the back of the presidential jet talking unattributablyon the European Union trade protectionism scheduled for discussion with British and French leaders. Despite limiting to hours the amount of time he would be in Moscow, he also intended to meet acting president Aleksandr Okulov. Because of the circumstance of the visit, it was inappropriate to go into any detail of the Star Wars treaty negotiations but as they all knew Secretary of State James Scamell had remained in Moscow, apart from this short trip to London. It was, quite naturally, a difficult personal return to Moscow for him. He had no safety concerns whatsoever, having complete confidence and trust in the joint security measures of the American Secret Service and the Russian presidential protection service. As its former and forever proud governor he deeply regretted the pointless time, money and effort being wasted by the politically hostile Texas legislature, time, money and effort that would these past months have been spent better and more properly governing the best state in the Union. He was pleased to say that the First Lady was responding to treatment and there was every reason to hope she would make a full recovery.
Back in his separate, private section of the aircraft, Anandale said, “OK?”
“You gave them enough for a whole month’s coverage,” judged Wendall North.
“I’ll have public affairs circulate it to the media on the other plane,” said Scamell. “Don’t want to leave anyone out.”
“You know what they’d rather see?” demanded the president, rhetorically. “They’d rather see me shot by the sons of bitches who missed me last time because it’s a better story.”
“They’re not going to get it,” assured North. “You’re coming back like this is good enough.”
“You speak to Donnington?”
“He talked to people in England, before we left. We’ll have names when we get back tonight.”
Jeff Aston, the head of the Secret Service detail, appeared from the flight deck. “We’re on our way down. The advance planes are already there. Everything’s set up.”
Anandale looked out of the window as the aircraft descended through the clouds and the flat, tree-tufted plain came into view.He said, “God awful place. No wonder no one smiles.”
They landed as before at the same military installation on the eastern outskirts of the city. There were three television positions, none elevated, and five still camera places. Between them and the arriving aircraft was an outwardly facing wall of Secret Servicemen through whom there were minimal gaps for unimpeded pictures. The specially-flown in bullet and blast proof Cadillac was hard topped, with darkly tinted windows, and drew up to within ten meters of the steps even before they were secured into position. At the same time Aleksandr Okulov and Boris Petrin emerged from their waiting, smoke-windowed Zil, to make their way forward in a greeting line with individual interpreters. There was a second, shielding line made up equally of Russian and American protection officers.
Walter Anandale emerged the moment the doors of Air Force One opened for the required, top-step photo opportunity but was dwarfed almost at once by Jeff Aston. Two more similarly-sized Secret Servicemen covered the president from the back and side, making awkward the crowded descent to the ground. Okulov was several inches shorter than Anandale and appeared even smaller against the American guards when he came forward to embrace Anandale, Russian bear-hug style. Anandale barely responded, anxious to be released.
