Sea Fleet naval base at Sevastopol, with an easement in Crimea to supply the base for another fifty years. In exchange, Ukraine gets a discount on the prices we charge Europe for oil and gas.”
“So the crisis is over?”
“For today.”
“You know about Shelayev? That he killed Cherkesov?”
“I have the video. It proved quite useful within our own…” He hesitated. “… discussions. What will you do now?”
“You mean, am I leaving Ukraine?”
Ivanov smiled. “ Yei bogu, but it’s a pleasure doing business with someone who understands how the game is played.”
“You don’t want me dead because I give you leverage, but my presence here is a problem.”
“Let’s just say we have an understanding with Davydenko,” Ivanov said. They were driving on a bridge across the Dnieper. Scorpion looked out at the river, white with ice. He had the sense that he would never see it again. A ray of sunlight beamed through a crack in the clouds, making the snow and gold-domed spires look like a fairyland city.
“You mean with Gorobets,” Scorpion said.
“ Gospodin Gorobets is a friend and ally of Russia.”
“What if Kozhanovskiy wins the election?”
“He won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“We’ve done our own polling. If absolutely necessary, we’ll create another crisis, but it won’t be necessary.”
“Where are we going?”
“Boryspil Airport. You can use your Reinert passport. There won’t be any difficulties,” Ivanov said, tapping a cigarette on a slim crocodile-skin case. One of the FSB men leaned over from the front seat and lit it for him.
“I need to see Iryna Shevchenko first. I won’t leave without talking to her.”
“She’s waiting at the airport.” Ivanov spoke briefly with the FSB man who had lit his cigarette. The man made a quick call and nodded to Ivanov. “ Da, yes, she’s there.”
“Why did Gorobets intervene to let her go? The video?”
“You see how useful you’ve been?” Ivanov said. “That stupid charge against her was a liability. Anyone would have seen through it. She would have become a martyr-more dangerous in death or prison than she could ever be on her own. It would have given Kozhanovskiy a cause.”
“You want me out of Ukraine too, don’t you?”
Ivanov took a deep puff and exhaled. Through the window, Scorpion could see industrial sites and rows of apartment buildings. They were on the highway to the airport.
“I have something to tell you. Call it professional courtesy,” Ivanov said. He seemed uneasy.
“I’m listening.”
“You need to know who betrayed you. Who do you think tipped where you were to the SBU?”
“Kozhanovskiy’s aide, Slavo. Even though we kept changing, he got her latest cell phone number and they tracked it.”
Ivanov shrugged. “You are talking about a Joe. The real question is, who was running him?”
“The SVR. Gabrilov.”
Ivanov shook his head and exhaled smoke. “Gabrilov is back in Moscow.”
The fact that Ivanov was here meant that he had ordered it, Scorpion thought. Gabrilov was probably being beaten to a pulp in a Lubyanka cell by the FSB that very minute. The SVR had played with fire, and now the Kremlin was reining them back in. He looked at Ivanov, sitting there so calmly. The Russian was waiting to tell him something, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.
“All right, Checkmate. I know you want to tell me. It’s probably why you came to Kyiv. So let’s have it. Who set me up?” Scorpion asked.
Ivanov smiled. A tiny sign that he was enjoying their mental chess game and appreciated Scorpion’s having figured it out.
“It was the CIA’s Kyiv Station. One of yours. Somebody in the Company doesn’t like you.”
Scorpion didn’t say anything. He wanted to tell Ivanov to fuck off, but it made too much sense. Back when he was about to die, he had realized there was another player in the game. He didn’t want to believe it, but it had the feel of truth. But why? If the Russkies wanted Davydenko to win, Washington sure as hell didn’t. What the hell was going on?
“You could be feeding me black info,” Scorpion said.
“If I thought it would work, I would.” Ivanov smiled. “But it might bring you back to Moscow. Don’t come to Russia, Scorpion. After going to so much trouble to save you, I wouldn’t like to have to kill you anyway.”
“I wouldn’t be too crazy about it myself. What’s going to happen to them, to Viktor and Iryna, when Davydenko wins?”
“They’ll make noise, and when the noise dies down, they’ll be arrested. Not for Cherkesov; something else. Corruption perhaps.” Ivanov shrugged. “There’s a lot of corruption in this country.”
“As opposed to Russia?”
“Or America?” Ivanov grinned, showing his teeth. They both smiled.
“And Russia controls Ukraine?” Scorpion said.
“There are people who believe Ukraine is part of Russia. That someday we’ll get it back. I’ve heard people at the highest levels say such things.”
“Still, you opposed the SVR in this.”
“I opposed their tactics. Not necessarily their goal.” Ivanov glanced out the window at the traffic on the M03 highway and beyond to the buildings and the endless snow-covered plain. “Maybe they would be better off. Look at their history. This is a tragic country.”
Scorpion thought about Alyona and Babi Yar and Olena, the woman in the trailer-restaurant, and the millions starving to death in the Holodomor. He thought about Gorobets with his Black Armbands and what was coming.
“Yes, it is tragic,” he said, looking up. A highway sign up ahead read: AEROPORT BORYSPIL 6 KM.
T hey put him in a private airport holding room, empty except for bottles of Svalyava mineral water on a console and a few plastic chairs. The walls and everything in the room was white, even the plastic chairs. There was nothing personal there. It was a place where people waited, their lives elsewhere.
Even before he reached the center of the room, Scorpion spotted two hidden cameras. They were taking no chances, he thought. In addition to the cameras and bugs, they had a half-dozen FSB and SBU plainclothesmen and militsiyu stationed outside the door to make sure he got on the plane. He had less than an hour till his Lufthansa flight to Frankfurt.
He asked to go to the men’s room. On the way, he pickpocketed a cell phone from one of the SBU plainclothesmen. After asking the guards to wait outside and checking the stalls to make sure they were unoccupied, he called the Dynamo Club and asked for Mogilenko. A rough-sounding man’s voice got on the line.
“Idi na tsuy huesos,” he was told. Fuck off. “What do you want with Mogilenko?”
“Ya frantsoos,” Scorpion told him. I’m the Frenchman.
After a long minute, Mogilenko came on the line.
“ Tu es fou, salaud? Or should I call you Kilbane? I knew you weren’t French,” Mogilenko said.
“I need a favor,” Scorpion replied in French.
“When I cut off your head and balls, you’ll consider it a favor, fils de pute. Where are you? No matter how far you go, it won’t save you.”
“ Ecoutez, don’t be stupid. This is business,” Scorpion said.
“ Va te faire foutre,” Mogilenko said, telling him to fuck off. Then after a moment, “What do you want?”
“You know Kulyakov? Prokip Kulyakov.”
“Maybe. What about him?”
“Be too bad if someone did to him what you were planning to do to me,” Scorpion said.
