«How long did you work for Ambassador Winthrop?»
«Eighteen months. What is it you want to know?»
«Did Ambassador Winthrop make any enemies when he was here?»
Lee Hopkins looked at Dana in surprise. «Enemies?»
«Yes. In a job like this, I imagine that sometimes you have to say no to people who might resent it. I'm sure that Ambassador Winthrop couldn't please everybody.»
Lee Hopkins shook her head. «I don't know what you're after, Miss Evans, but if you're intending to write bad things about Taylor Winthrop, you've come to the wrong person for help. He was the kindest, most considerate man I've ever known.»
Here we go again, Dana thought.
In the next two hours, Dana talked to five more people who had worked at the embassy during Taylor Winthrop's term.
He was a brilliant man…
He really liked people…
He went out of his way to help us…
Enemies? Not Taylor Winthrop…
I'm wasting my time, Dana thought. She went to see Ambassador Hardy again.
«Did you get what you wanted?» he asked. He seemed less friendly.
Dana hesitated. «Not exactly,» she said honestly.
He leaned forward. «And I don't think you will, Miss Evans. Not if you're looking for negative things about Taylor Winthrop. You have everyone upset around here. They loved the man. So did I. Don't try to dig up skeletons that don't exist. If that's all you came here for, you can leave.»
«Thank you,» Dana said. «I will.»
Dana had no intention of leaving.
The VIP National Club, directly opposite the Kremlin and Manezh Square, was a private restaurant and casino. Tim Drew was waiting there for Dana when she arrived.
«Welcome,» he said. «I think you'll enjoy this. This place entertains the cream of Moscow's high-society movers and shakers. If a bomb fell on this restaurant, I think the government would be out of business.»
The dinner was delicious. They started with blini and caviar and followed that with borscht, Georgian sturgeon with a walnut sauce, beef stroganoff ands'loukom rice, andvatrushki cheese tartlets for dessert.
«This is wonderful,» Dana said. «I had heard that the food in Russia was terrible.»
«It is,» Tim Drew assured her. «This isn't Russia. This is a special little oasis.»
«What is it like living here?» Dana asked.
Tim Drew was thoughtful for a moment. «It's like standing near a volcano, waiting for it to erupt. You never know when it's going to happen. The men in power are stealing billions from the country and the people are starving. That's what started the last revolution. God knows what's going to happen now. To be fair, that's only one side of the story. The culture here is incredible. They have the Bolshoi Theater, the great Hermitage, the Pushkin Museum, the Russian ballet, the Moscow Circus—the list goes on and on. Russia produces more books than the rest of the world combined, and the average Russian reads three times as many books a year as the average United States citizen.»
«Maybe they're reading the wrong books,» Dana said dryly.
«Maybe. Right now the people are caught in the middle, between capitalism and communism, and neither is working. There's bad service, inflated costs, and a hell of a lot of crime.» He looked at Dana. «I hope I'm not depressing you.»
«No. Tell me, Tim, did you know Taylor Winthrop?»
«I interviewed him a few times.»
«Did you ever hear anything about some big project he was involved in?»
«He was involved in a lot of projects. After all, he was our ambassador.»
«I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about something different. Something very complicated—where all the pieces had to fall into place.»
Tim Drew thought for a moment. «It doesn't ring a bell.»
«Is there anyone here that he had a lot of contact with?»
«Some of his Russian counterparts, I suppose. You might talk to them.»
«Right,» Dana said. «I will.»
The waiter brought the check. Tim Drew scanned it and looked up at Dana. «This is typical. There are three separate surcharges on the bill. And don't bother asking what any of them are for.» He paid the bill.
When they were out on the street, Tim Drew said to Dana, «Do you carry a gun?»
She looked at him in surprise. «Of course not. Why?»
«This is Moscow. You never know.» He got an idea. «I'll tell you what. We're going to make a stop.»
They got into a taxi, and Tim Drew gave the driver an address. Five minutes later they pulled up in front of a gun shop and got out of the taxi.
Dana looked inside the shop and said, «I'm not going to carry a gun.»
Tim Drew said, «I know. Just come with me.» The counters of the shop were filled with every type of weapon imaginable.
Dana looked around. «Can anybody walk in and buy a gun here?»
«All they need is the money,» Tim Drew said.
The man behind the counter muttered something in Russian to Tim. Tim told him what he wanted.
«Da.»He reached under the counter and pulled out a small, black, cylindrical object.
«What's this for?» Dana asked.
«It's for you. It's pepper spray.» Tim Drew picked it up. «All you have to do is press this button at the top and the bad guys will be in too much pain to bother you.»
Dana said, «I don't think—»
«Trust me. Take it.» He handed it to Dana, paid the man, and they left.
«Would you like to see a Moscow nightclub?» Tim Drew asked.
«Sounds interesting.»
«Great. Let's go.»
The Night Flight Club on Tverskaya Street was lavish and ornate and crowded with well-dressed Russians dining, drinking, and dancing.
«There doesn't seem to be any economic problem here,» Dana commented.
«No. They keep the beggars outside on the street.»
At two o'clock in the morning, Dana returned to her hotel, exhausted. It had been a long day. A woman was seated at a table in the hallway, keeping a record of the movements of the guests.
When Dana got to her room, she looked out the window. She had a picture-postcard view of soft snow falling in the moonlight.
Tomorrow, Dana thought determinedly, I'll know what I've come here for.
The noise from the jet overhead was so loud it sounded like the plane might hit the building. The man quickly rose from his desk, snatched up a pair of binoculars, and stepped to the window. The tail of the receding aircraft was rapidly descending as it prepared to land at the small airport a half mile away. Except for the runways, everything in the stark landscape was covered with snow as far as his eyes could see. It was winter and this was Siberia.
«So,» he said to his assistant, «the Chinese are the first to arrive.» His comment did not call for a reply. «I am told that our friend Ling Wong will not be back. When he returned from our last meeting empty-handed, it was not a happy homecoming for him. Very sad. He was a decent man.»
At that moment, a second jet roared overhead. He did not recognize the make. After it had landed, he trained his high-powered glasses on the men descending from the cabin onto the tarmac. Some of them made no effort to hide the machine pistols they were carrying.
