“I have proof,” Scorpion said.
“What proof?” Akhnetzov said. “You have something on Li Qiang?”
“The Chinese were a red herring, what we in the trade call ‘black info,’ ” Scorpion said.
“Still, you made a govno mess. I heard somebody found Li Qiang’s bodyguard, Yang Hao, in a car with three bullets in him.”
“Kyiv’s a dangerous city.”
“So long as you’re around. Why did you want to see me?”
“I know who killed Cherkesov and I can prove it.”
“I’m not sure it matters anymore,” Akhnetzov said. “Things are moving too fast.”
“The Russians have no pretext for war. It rips away their fig leaf.”
“Maybe they don’t care.”
“They’re not a monolith. This whole thing is pure SVR. Who are you going to talk to in Moscow?”
“Trust me, they are plenty important. Why?”
“You can bet there are people outside the SVR, people in the FSB and the president’s office, who might love an excuse to get out of this mess if they can show they got something for it.”
“And tell them what?”
“Cherkesov was killed by a man named Dimitri Shelayev. He was head of security for Gorobets.”
Akhnetzov looked sharply at Scorpion.
“The man behind Davydenko?”
“The man who tells Davydenko what to do. Gorobets runs things. The Chorni Povyazky are his private army.”
“It may be too late,” Akhnetzov said thoughtfully. “What makes you think this will stop the Russians?”
“Because I’m going to put it on TV,” Scorpion said. “When we met on the yacht, you told me you own a TV station.”
Akhnetzov nodded. “We own Inter. The biggest in Ukraina.”
“I want you to put Iryna Shevchenko on in primetime. It’ll be a sensation.”
“To do what? To say she’s not guilty. So what?”
“I have a video of Shelayev confessing he killed Cherkesov on Gorobets’s orders. He was in charge of security that night at the stadium. It made it easy for him to plant the bomb. The whole thing was a power struggle inside Svoboda.”
For the first time, Akhnetzov looked genuinely interested. “He actually says it? He accuses Gorobets?”
“Better than that. After he admits it, he commits suicide,” Scorpion said.
Akhnetzov tapped his finger on his lips. Scorpion watched him work it out. He was reminded again how intelligent Akhnetzov was. He had created a business empire, almost an entire industry, from nothing, from an idea.
“You’ve got the whole thing, the confession, the suicide, everything on the video?” Akhnetzov asked.
Scorpion nodded. “If we prove this all happened within Svoboda, the Russians have no excuse to intervene.”
“No,” Akhnetzov said. “It’s better than that. It’s good television. We’ll put it on Liniya Konfliktu. It’s the top- rated show, primetime.” He spoke rapidly to Evgeniya in Ukrainian. She got on her cell phone and made a call. Akhnetzov turned to Scorpion. “I’ll have Evgeniya send you a text to let you know when to be at the studio.”
The limousine pulled into a park with government buildings and broad expanses of snow. Militsiyu guards stopped it and peered inside. The driver said something to them and the guards waved them on. They drove through the park toward a helipad near a big columned building topped with a dome; the Verkhovna Rada, the parliament building. There were squads of soldiers and two SAM missile batteries parked in front, and a private helicopter was just landing on the helipad. The limousine stopped and the two shaven-headed men jumped out and checked to see that it was clear, then stood by the door as first Scorpion, then Akhnetzov and Evgeniya got out.
The day was gray and cold, the wash from the helicopter blowing against them. From where he stood, Scorpion could see the Puppet Theatre on a snow-covered hill in the distance. The image of Alyona and the bodies hanging in that room beneath the stage flashed in his mind. He hoped it wasn’t an omen.
“Here,” he said, handing Akhnetzov the flash drive from the button camera. “If what I’m planning doesn’t work out, show it to the Russians.”
Akhnetzov nodded. As he and the others started toward the helicopter, Scorpion shouted after him.
“If they don’t invade, you owe me the rest of the money!”
Without turning around, Akhnetzov waved to acknowledge that he heard and continued toward the helicopter. Scorpion watched them board and take off, heading high over the Dnieper River toward the airport. He took out his cell phone and called Iryna.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m with Viktor-and Slavo,” she warned. “We’re leaving for the front. It’s terrible what’s happening.”
“Don’t go. Meet me. We can stop this.”
“You found Shelayev? You have proof?”
“It’ll change everything,” he said. He heard her talking urgently to Viktor in Ukrainian. She came back on.
“Viktor wants to talk to you,” she said.
“Mr. Kilbane?” Kozhanovskiy said. “You found what you were looking for? You can prove we had nothing to do with Cherkesov’s death?”
“I have Shelayev’s confession on video.”
“He says he was acting under Gorobets’s orders?”
“It’s all Gorobets; all of it.”
There was a pause. He heard them talking urgently among themselves in Ukrainian. Kozhanovskiy came back on.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “This is-” He took a deep breath. “-good news.”
“Put Iryna on. We don’t have much time,” Scorpion said.
Iryna came back. He told her where to meet him.
“One moment,” she whispered. He waited until she came back on. She must have gone somewhere to get away from Slavo, he thought. “I’m worried,” she said. “I tried to call the clinic about Alyona. No one picked up.”
“All right,” he said, his teeth clenched.
“Except it’s not all right, is it?”
“No.”
Scorpion ended the call and got back into the limousine. As they headed toward the center of town, he called the Medikom clinic. The phone rang for a long time. He dialed again. Finally, on the third try, a woman answered. He asked for Dr. Yakovenko. The woman told him the doctor had left on vacation. He asked about a patient, giving her the name they had used to check Alyona into the clinic. The woman told him to wait. After what seemed like a long time, she came back on the line.
“I’m sorry, pane,” she said. “There’s no record of any such patient.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Shevchenkivskyi
Kyiv, Ukraine
Iryna was waiting for him at a counter at a snack bar in the Central Station. She wore glasses and the curly redheaded wig under her fur Ushanka hat and had ordered coffees and pampushky pastries for two. Scorpion had watched her enter the station’s main entrance from the McDonald’s across the street. It didn’t look like she was followed, but he watched for another ten minutes just to make sure.
