and carry out assassinations. Davidov served in it. He was simply ordered by Deputy Director Mittel to carry out the killing. Davidov
Charlie shook his head. “Davidov had the same tattoo. I saw it!”
“It’s not an arrow between two lines: it’s supposed to be a bullet, in the barrel of a gun. It’s traditional for marksmen, in Russian army sniper units, marks them out as an elite. Which I remember you getting close to unscrambling. Davidov was a sniper, although Sakov doesn’t remember him being a contemporary of Bendalls. He must have been ‘spotted’ by someone and brought into Department V when he left the army. His KGB records are lifted, along with everything else that was taken, probably to be embarrassingly ‘found’ when he’s identified from his army records.”
“Isakov and Sakov were both cameramen,” challenged Charlie.
“It was a love symbol for Isakov, when he and Bendall were together in the army. Made them elite-special- together. It was Agayan who insisted Sakov have it done, to make him part of the group-a blood brother-when they all got together at the TV station. Sakov had all the other shit put on his arms to make him one of the boys in the army: his father was actually a career office, a major in the KGB. It was Agayan who guided Sakov organizing their special evenings, drinking and singing that wailing song, which again was some fraternity crap they went in for in Afghanistan.”
Charlie was glad he had more Islay malt in the office closet. The bottle they were drinking was almost empty. “Mittel lifted all the missing records and files, totally to incriminate the FSB?”
“Every one, he and whoever else he’s working with at the Lubyanka,” agreed Kayley.
“Making it-and Viktor Karelin’s chairmanship-look ridiculous?”
“Karelin could never have survived.”
“Neither could Okulov,” recognized Charlie, remembering the recommendations of Natalia’s official enquiry. “Whatever the outcome of the commission-or whether Okulov accepted its findings or not-there would have been no way Okulov could have convinced anybody the assassinations weren’t orchestrated with the help of old KGB friends, to get his presidency confirmed. It would have been a walk-over for the communists.”
“Even with their problems with the commission, it was a brilliant game plan,” said Kayley, emptying the last of the bottle between them. “The communists win by a landslide, Okulov, Karelin and reforms vanish into oblivion and the communists regain the Kremlin and hold the Duma. Gennardi Mittel gets the chairmanship of the FSB and Leonid Zenin transfers as his deputy. Vladimir Sakov goes back into the fold, his field life over, to become chairman of whatever FSB Directorate he wants and Boris Lvov is appointed head of the militia. And finally Washington is given the stiff middle finger to its Son of Star Wars treaty in the hope of making things awkward for the American president, even if he’s not killed.”
Charlie heard the other man out but said at once, “What problems with the presidential commission?”
“Mittel apparently persuaded Karelin to let him represent the FSB, so he could really stir the shit. But the chairperson was a fiesty gal who sent him packing and insisted on Karelin appearing personally. And Zenin expected to get the commission chairmanship: imagine that as a destructive duo!”
Fiesty gal, picked out Charlie. Natalia was still in danger if the Grand Jury hearing didn’t evidentially produce everything Kayley had just told him. “They’ll run, make some move when they know Sakov’s gone!”
Kayley looked curiously at the bottom of his empty glass. “Anticipated it!” he said, triumphantly. “Mittel was Sakov’s direct contact. I had Sakov call him-recording it, obviously-to say he wasgoing out of town. Got Mittel on tape ordering him-a supposed television cameraman, don’t forget! — to stay in Moscow and wait to be told what to do next, that everything was under control. Sakov comes from Gorkiy: that’s where they’ll be looking for the next few days, not Washington.”
“How quickly will the Grand Jury return the indictments?”
“Sakov’s the only witness. It only took me about four hours to get what I’ve told you.”
“What’s the route then?”
Kayley shrugged. “Anandale talks to Okulov direct, to fix their simultaneous prime slot television appearances, giving Okulov time to brief Karelin to get everyone in the bag first. And you know the best bit?”
“What?”
“Okulov gets his sweeping election victory when the communists are exposed. And Anandale gets the sons- of-bitches that maimed his wife, maybe even the actual guys from Department V who pulled the trigger. But without having to suspend or cancel America’s missile defense system, which guarantees his second term, too. Ain’t that the prettiest thing?”
“And you?”
“I was called by the president into the Oval Office and with the acting head of the FBI and Wendall North as witnesses got told I could choose whatever internal Bureau division I want. You really have got me into the Hall of Fame, Charlie.”
“You’re welcome.” It might have been by proxy but he’d maintain the never lose, never be beaten philosophy. He got the second bottle from the corner cupboard.
“All we’ve got to do is keep up the frustrated act over the next few days,” said Kayley.
“It’ll be a walk in the park,” insisted Charlie. Who did he have to walk with? he wondered.
“That’s what both the American and the Englishman are saying?”
“According to Kayley, American newspapers are openly saying that it’s a conspiracy between Okulov and his old friends,” said Olga.
“What about official investigation?” asked Zenin.
“They say there’s nothing positive they can do, they’re waiting for the result of the commission, like we are.” Olga cleared the table while Zenin carried the remains of their dinner wine into the lounge.
“I’ve been talking to people,” said Zenin. “There’s no way Okulov or Karelin can survive.”
“Do you think a change of government will affect us personally?”
“Who knows?” smiled Zenin.
Olga sat at Zenin’s feet, her arm looped over his knees, her wine glass in her other hand. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“You’re not unhappy, are you: not thinking things aren’t working out between us?”
“Of course not! Things
“In the last few days you’ve just seemed … I don’t know … distant, I suppose.”
“A man can’t make love every night!”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“I’ve been considering a lot of options: trying to find a way to move forward. I want to get it over with. Finished.”
“It will be, soon,” said Olga, emptily.
Charlie waited four days before going to the Radisson Slavjanskaya hotel again, carefully allowing two hours from the end of Sasha’s schoolday. The immediate anger would have gone by now. He certainly wouldn’t lose his temper-he had nothing to lose his temper about-and hoped Natalia wouldn’t, either, certainly not in front of Sasha. If Natalia insisted, he’d even keep it a telephone conversation, although he’d have more chance of persuading her if they could meet, face to face. Alternatively she might agree briefly to leave Sasha in the room, so they could talk in the hotel lounge or bar, although he thought that unlikely. He didn’t want to leave Sasha alone in a hotel bedroom himself, no matter how briefly.
Charlie found the house phone in a corner of the foyer, glad it was an enclosed booth. The man who answered in room 46 said Charlie must have the wrong extension: he was a computer technician from Kiev who’d only arrived that morning. The receptionisttold him Natalia Fedova and the little girl had booked out the previous day, without leaving a forwarding address.
Back at Lesnaya Charlie walked aimlessly around the echoing rooms, as he had every night since Natalia left. That night, though, he stopped in Sasha’s room, properly seeing for the first time that there were still things of Sasha’s that Natalia hadn’t taken, particularly toys. Then he saw that the doll he’d bought back from London was
