'You should,' he said, wagging a finger. 'We do good things. We bring the twenty-first century to the black masses. Others look to China for the next big thing, but me, I'm an optimist. I see our future in our past, in the dark continent from which we all crawled. Africa has potential. Natural resources-minerals, oil, open terrain. It should be dictating its own terms. But it's not. Why do you think that is?'
Milo wasn't sure if Ugrimov was being serious. 'Corrupt governments?'
'True, yes. But that's not the cause; it's an effect. At the root of Africa 's problems lies a single word: ignorance.'
Milo rubbed his nose and sat up straighten 'Roman, I'm not interested in your racist views.'
The Russian laughed loudly at that, then quickly settled down. 'Don't turn politically correct on me. Of course they're not stupid. Ignorance is the lack of objective knowledge, which is an African curse. Why do villagers believe condoms will not prevent the spread of AIDS?'
'Because Catholic priests tell them so.'
'Very good. In that case, the Catholic Church encourages African ignorance. And why do some believe that sex with a virgin will kill the HIV virus?'
'I get your point, Roman.'
'I see you do. Ugritech-and, please, I do know the egomania the name suggests-is one effort to break the gridlock of African ignorance. We start with computers, hooked into the Internet. Last year, we installed two thousand computers in Nairobi schools and community centers.'
'How many in Khartoum?'
'About the same amount. I don't remember.'
'Is that why the energy minister visited you here?'
Ugrimov looked at his empty daiquiri glass. 'Nikolai!' he called, and the bald man appeared. 'Do you mind?'
Apparently, Nikolai didn't. He took the glass and went back inside.
'Well?' said Milo.
Roman Ugrimov put his palms together in front of his lips. 'You, Milo Weaver-there are stories going around now that you're on the run. Is that right?'
A pause. 'Yes.'
'A man on the run from his own people suddenly shows up on my doorstep. It's strange, isn't it?'
'Are you going to answer my questions, or not?'
'Please. You're in such a rush. You really should try a daiquiri.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“Did you kill someone?”
“No.'
'But of course I shouldn't believe you, should I? You never believed that I didn't kill my dear Ingrid, even though I told you that she took her own life.'
'Fair enough.'
A sudden smile flashed across Ugrimov's face. 'Remember when we last talked? You were upset, of course. I mean, you'd been shot, hadn't you? Anyone would be upset.'
'I was upset because you wouldn't answer my questions,' Milo remembered aloud. 'You wouldn't tell me why Frank Dawdle had visited you. You might as well tell me now.'
'You ask a lot.'
Milo shrugged.
'It was simple, Mr. Weaver. Franklin Dawdle wanted a new identity. South African. He knew I had contacts who could make this happen quickly.'
'That's why he was there, to ask for it?'
'He asked for it several days before. The day you people killed him, he was coming to pick it up. I suppose you found the passport on his body. Yes?'
Milo had been too out of it back then, and no one had told him a thing. 'How did Ingrid come into it?'
Ugrimov's expression changed. 'Ingrid Kohl. She was a beautiful girl-you never met her, but… you saw her pictures?'
'I saw her on the terrace-the night before.'
The Russian swallowed loudly. 'Your Frank Dawdle was a cretin. I expect that of CIA men, but not to this level. He came with a simple business transaction-yes, he was paying for the passport. But he had to sully it with a threat. He had evidence that I was more than just a guardian to my beloved Ingrid. Photographic evidence, apparently.'
'She was very young, Roman.'
'Thirteen,' Ugrimov admitted, then chewed his lower lip a moment, gazing past Milo at the glass doors, perhaps at his own reflection. 'Pregnant, too. With my… our…' He closed his eyes, cleared his throat, and finally looked directly at Milo: 'It would've been bad for business if that got out. No one cares about the circumstances or the nature of your love. They only see numbers.'
Milo, thinking of Stephanie, wanted to point out that thirteen-year-old girls could be manipulated into believing anything, even love. He quickly cut the connection. 'You killed her to show him he had no control over you anymore.'
'She jumped,' he whispered.
Milo wondered if, over the years, Ugrimov had convinced himself of that lie.
'Anyway, that was a tragedy. A tragedy compounded perhaps by Dawdle's death seconds later-then overshadowed by what happened soon after in New York City.' A sudden smile. 'And happiness! You met your wife in the midst of tragedy, didn't you?'
It disturbed Milo how much this man knew, but he didn't show it. He needed Roman Ugrimov. 'Yes, and we're still together.'
'I heard.'
'From who?'
Another smile.
Milo said, 'Do you remember Angela Yates? She was with me in Venice.'
'Indeed I do. She's the pretty one who took care of the cretin Dawdle. I read that she committed suicide recently. Then I heard you were wanted in connection with her murder. Which, then, is true?'
'She was killed, but not by me.'
'No?'
'No.'
The Russian pursed his lips. 'These questions you're asking, about my Africa company-do they have to do with her murder?”
“Yes.'
'I see.' He smacked his lips together. ' Milo. The same day pretty Angela Yates killed that cretin, the world we knew suddenly stopped, didn't it? Now, people who couldn't even spell it before have actually read the Qu'ran. Or,' he said, smiling, 'they at least claim to know its message.'
'And you've changed with the world?'
Ugrimov rocked his head from side to side. 'You could say that. My priorities have evolved. My friends are now many shades.”
“Are you supplying computers to terrorists?”
“No, no. Not that. Never that.”
“How about China?' A puzzled frown; a shake of the head.
Milo was getting tired of beating around the bush, which was de rigueur when talking to Russians. 'Tell me.”
“What'll you give me in return?'
Milo wasn't sure he had anything a man of Ugrimov's reach and influence could want. 'How about information?”
“About what?'
'Anything you want, Roman. If I know it, I'll answer the question.'
