‘I understand – really, I do. But I’m baffled and I don’t know which way to turn. One moment Denis is being criticised and investigated for offering relief to people bombed out of their homes, starving and brutalised. The next he’s poisoned and we’re locked up in this hospital and he’s on the point of dying and you’re here asking me questions as if I had the whole damn picture in my head.’ She stopped and looked at them in turn. ‘Why is it in this country victims are treated as perpetrators? Why is that?’
‘Mr Hisami and Mr Harland, did they ever meet?’ asked the CIA man who was leaning against the wall.
‘My husband flew to Tallinn to thank Mr Harland for all that he did to get me released. At the time, he didn’t tell me because, well, I wasn’t in great shape. I had a lot of problems, and I guess he didn’t want to remind me of that terrible period.’
‘That’s understandable,’ said Agent Berg. ‘But we’re trying to understand both the criminal aspect to this event as well as the intelligence implications, and you’re all we got.’ She took a folder out of her bag and flipped it open. ‘This here is a photograph taken three years ago of the men who attempted to kill Mr Samson and your husband. They were best buddies and they tried to kill the two men in your life on the same day.’
‘That is a remarkable coincidence, is it not?’ Reiner said.
After the incident at Narva, and the long debriefing in Estonia, it wasn’t surprising they knew about Samson and her, but it made her angry. What possible relevance could it have now? ‘Again, it seems like you’re accusing me of something,’ she said angrily.
‘No, ma’am,’ said Reiner, smoothing the air with his hand. ‘We’re just trying to figure it all out and ensure that the American public and their legislators are never exposed to something like this again. It’s as simple as that.’
The room was silent. All four investigators looked at her expectantly.
The lead CIA man leaned forward in his chair with his hands on his thighs. ‘There’s an answer here, and it lies somewhere between three men – your husband, the late Robert Harland and your close friend Paul Samson, who was once also a member of the British intelligence services. Two of them can’t speak to us. That leaves Samson, but British intelligence say he knows nothing. Is that likely?’
‘We haven’t been in touch for nearly two years. I can’t tell you anything about him.’
‘He seems a difficult character to make out. They describe him as a loser and kind of dismiss him. They say he’s got gambling issues and has taken to low-grade security work to pay off his debts. That sound right to you?’
It didn’t, but she shrugged noncommittally.
‘He’s the only other person who can help us. We need to talk to him. Can you fix that for us?’
‘You can arrange that for yourselves, surely. He’s got a restaurant – Cedar. Just pay him a visit. Paul is not some kind of criminal. He’ll help if he can.’
‘You see, Mrs Hisami,’ continued the older man, ‘the Bureau here have already made clear to you the seriousness of the situation. We at the Agency have a responsibility to track down the source of this material that was used against your husband and make sure that the supply line and the people who commissioned this act of terror are neutralised. We’ve deployed a lot of resources in that endeavour. But you’ll appreciate that at the very beginning of that process must come an understanding of motive. Why did someone want to kill your husband in such a dramatic manner – in Congress, in front of the media and all these people? Why? This is, literally, unprecedented. Large numbers of people could have been hurt, including Members of Congress from all over the country. That is a big deal.’
‘I saw what it did to Mr Steen and my husband. I do not take this lightly, sir.’
‘Let’s be frank,’ he continued. ‘If someone wanted to kill your husband, why not shoot him? A hit on the way to his office?’
‘I suppose that’s a good question, yes . . .’
‘The people who ordered this thing wanted to create a spectacle of your husband collapsing in the middle of the congressional hearing. There’s a gigantic message in that, either to your husband and his associates, or to our country. Which do you think it is?’
‘How am I meant to answer that? I don’t know – I simply don’t know.’
He sat back. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what we think. We believe that this was a message to your husband and his associates, and that would include you.’
‘I really can’t say.’ She looked up. A nurse was signalling through the glass door. ‘Excuse me.’ Anastasia got up and went to the door.
The nurse looked inside. ‘Hope this is okay, but I wanted to tell you that he squeezed my hand a little. He knew I was there. He responded when I spoke to him. He’s still very sick, but the doctor told me that I should tell you.’
‘Thank you, I’ll come now.’ Anastasia turned to the room. ‘I understand why this is so important and that you have to go over everything, but I don’t know how to help. Right now I need to be with my husband. I’m sorry.’
The four agents rose. Reiner said he would be on hand if she thought of anything, or if, pray to God, her husband came round.
Since being detained in New York’s Metropolitan Correctional Center by ICE on false charges and, as a result, losing a great part of his fortune, her husband had become an obsessive gatherer of intelligence. He needed to know who his enemies were and what they were
