“Did he say anything to you about being wanted in Russia?” asked George.
“He did, but we weren’t able to confirm the information. That,” he hurried to say, “shouldn’t be taken conclusively either way, you understand. Even today, they have some things they don’t tell us on inquiry. The Russian mafia, as an example, isn’t always freely acknowledged in communiques.” There was humor in his voice.
“Did you know Skripkin personally? Have you met him?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed I did know him. I conducted the interviews with him, and with some of his friends.”
“Was he such a compulsive liar then, too? “asked George.
“Oh, my, yes. Yes, indeed. Quite the ladies’ man, too, according to others.”
“Still is,” said George, grinning at Hester. “Look, we’ll let you go now. Thank you very much for the information.”
“I’m sorry there’s not more. If you do turn up anything you need, though, be sure to let us know.”
“Just a sec…could you forward a list of his group in London?” asked George. “The names, and if you have any idea where they are now?”
“I’ll send a complete list just as soon as we can pull the files.”
Hester held up a note.
“And…and, can you tell us anything about a Vladimir Nadsyev, in connection with Skripkin?”
“Just a moment… now, there’s a name I haven’t heard since…but yes, Vladimir Nadsyev was living in the same flat with Skripkin, now that you mention it.”
“Skripkin refers to this Vladimir Nadsyev as his boss. Can we believe him on that?”
“I don’t believe I can verify that either way,” replied the Metropolitan Police detective. “I can check for you.”
“Please,” said George. “We’d really appreciate being able to verify some of what he tells us.”
That produced a chuckle in London. “Would you be so good as to send a photo of him telling the truth? We’d very much like to see that one.”
“It looks like everybody agrees Skripkin’s a liar, then,” said Hester, when George hung up the phone. “So, just what do we believe?”
That was the real problem. We had a major step about to be taken by several federal agencies, because Volont believed he had seen through the lies. Thus far, we had confirmed that he was a liar. We had no specific information as to just where the lies actually crept in. We really needed to talk to Linda Moynihan.
CHAPTER 19
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21, 2001 19:27
Sincewe couldn’t talk to Linda, we did the next best thing. We talked to Skripkin again. This time, things were a little different.
As soon as he saw Hester, he smiled and said, “Hello, lady agent. I dream about you.”
“It’s the jail food,” said Hester. “Trust me.”
“Deputy,” he said, acknowledging me. “And who is…?”
George said, “Special Agent Pollard, FBI Counterintelligence.”
Just a tiny flicker of surprise showed on Skripkin’s face. “How do you do.” He was definitely more alert.
“Just fine,” said George. “You know you have the right to an attorney…”
After the second Miranda, George just leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re a very interesting fellow.”
“Thank you.”
“As soon as I heard that you were wanted in Russia, I thought I’d like to talk with you sometime.”
“I am glad.”
“Then, when I found out you were really wanted in the U.K., I thought I’d better talk to you right away.”
“What is this U.K.?” The tension was back.
“You lie too much to be of any real use to us,” said George. “Maybe the English will want you back. I’ve talked to someone who knew you when you lived in ‘a tatty little flat in Lambeth.’ With your friends the Kalashnikovs.”
“I do not think I want to talk any more with you,” said Skripkin.
George began rummaging through his file folder. That was my prearranged signal to ask a wild-card question.
“When did they start to call you ‘Cheeto’? Way back then? Or is it more recent? “We’d decided that was to be tossed into the line of questioning because I remembered that Hector had referred to one of Rudy’s acquaintances by that nickname. It was a question that could serve two purposes. First, if Cheeto wasn’t Skripkin, it might be just enough to distract him and cause a little worry about what false information we had about him that he hadn’t supplied. A liar always wants to be in control of the lies. Second, if he was Cheeto, then he could worry about what truth we knew about him, and just where we obtained it. For us, there wasn’t a downside.
“Who told you that? “It was an indefinite response.
I put on my reading glasses, took a paper out of my folder, which happened to contain a bunch of throwaway teletypes regarding God knew what that I’d pulled off the dispatch desk, and pretended to read. Keeping my head slightly down, I looked up at him over the top of my glasses. “Three days ago, when you came up during an interview,” I said.
I had a feeling that he was a lot less accustomed to getting evasive answers than he was to giving them.
“Three days ago? “asked Skripkin.
“The day Rudy was shot,” I said. “That was three days ago, wasn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
I gave as genuine a chuckle as I was able, all things considered. “I’ll bet that all along, you thought it was Linda we were looking for, didn’t you? “I mean, it was Linda, of course. I never said it wasn’t. But he sure as hell didn’t know that.
Like they say, silence is golden.
I figured I was on the right track. “Well, you’re sure right about one thing. You really don’t know much about women. I’ll bet you also thought Rudy was the only one she told about the two of you.”
“You are such a smart person…who else did she tell, then? “I had to give him credit, he didn’t give in easily.
We’d talked about this beforehand and had decided that the second, and last, wild card we had to hit him with was the name of Mustafa Abdullah Odeh. We’d agreed to make it an indirect reference, to be used by any of the three of us, at our discretion.
“I can’t give you the name of the other person she told,” I said. Dangle the worm.
He leaned back, beginning to smile.
“But I can tell you that the other person subsequently told one…one”-and I looked at my bogus folder again-”told one Mustafa Abdullah Odeh.” I looked up and was able to watch the blood drain from his face. When you’re on a roll, you might as well go as far as you can. “And I guess he’s pissed,” I said. “From what I’m told. You happen to know him?”
The question produced a first, as far as my history of interviews went. Skripkin got a funny look on his face and just said, “I must use rest room. Hurry, please.”
He was serious. Hester hit the buzzer on the desk, and a jailer stuck his head in the room.
“He’s gotta go,” she said. “Rest room.”
Skripkin was on his feet and halfway to the door before she finished speaking.
As our suspect disappeared down the short jail hallway, Hester said dryly, “Think he might know him?”
“Nice job, Carl,” said George. “Volont’s going to be sorry he missed this.”
It was fifteen minutes later that Skripkin finally reentered the interview room. He didn’t look too good. We went at him gently at first, with Hester taking the lead. He told her that Mustafa Abdullah Odeh was a very bad
