Islamic freedom fighters in Chechnya, he decided to pawn you off as well. The CIA became involved, and Michael Cerny became the point man for the operations. They tried to assassinate you two or three times but it didn’t work. Then the US president was going to Ukraine, and I was sent to keep tabs on you and see where and when you might be vulnerable. I’m sure there was a plan to take you out in Kiev, but with the presidential visit going on, there was too much activity, so it wasn’t possible to do anything at the time.”
She paused.
“I noticed that you went underground after Kiev,” she said. “You pulled out of your businesses in Russia and Kiev completely and rarely set foot in either place. In fear of your life?”
“I live in Switzerland and never go back to Ukraine,” he said. “I’m forty-nine years old and do you know what my goal is? I’d like to celebrate my fiftieth birthday.”
“And I can’t imagine why.”
“Can’t you?”
“That’s irony, Yuri. You say one thing to mean the opposite.”
“Like when Putin says uvidimsia. The word means, ‘I’ll see you.’ But when he says it this actually means he wants to cut your throat.”
She paused again.
“Who called in the rocket attack on the presidential visit?”
“Filoruski,” he said again. “Pro-Russian dissidents in Ukraine who feared an alliance with the West.”
“Your answer hasn’t changed from last time. Is that it?”
“That’s it,” he said.
“Then answer two more things for me,” she said.
“Sure.”
“History as I related it from 1999 to present, vis-a-vis you and Putin and the gas crisis in Ukraine. Do I have it correctly?”
“Yes,” he said.
“And your relationship with Putin,” she said. “You did business, you knew each other well, you both profited from the gas crisis in your own way. But then you were too big for Putin’s liking. So you needed to be taken down. I’m correct?”
“It’s a good theory,” he said.
“So I can take that as a ‘yes’?” she asked.
He made an expansive gesture with his hands.
“It’s a ‘yes,’ ” Federov said.
She leaned back. “Excellent, Yuri,” she said. “Our business is concluded for the day. Now we can relax and have dinner.”
Federov seemed relieved that the inquisition was over.
“Oh! And, sorry, there is one more thing,” she said as an afterthought.
She extended a hand to help Federov to his feet. In the doorway, Nick loomed. She reasoned he had been listening the entire time. But it didn’t matter.
“This propensity for poisoning people with radioactive material,” she said. “That seems particular to Putin.”
“It is,” he said. “Very!”
Steadied, he used his cane to take a first step toward the dining area. Nick appeared close by, offered an arm and shielded him from a potential fall.
“So it would only be done on Putin’s orders?” she asked.
“You would need access to the materials,” Federov said. “Even in Russia that would be difficult without the help of officials. But you see, look at the bigger picture. Nothing like that happens without the say-so from the top man,” he said. “So if you have some radioactive poison, you follow it back. It all leads to the same place.”
“So if poison were planted against someone, the order would have come straight from the top,” she said, not as a question but as a statement. “And whoever was doing it would be linked to Putin.”
“That’s how it works,” he said. “Hey?”
“Hey,” she said softly.
The aroma of a roasted chicken filled the downstairs. Obviously, Marie-Louise earned her keep in more ways than one.
“Thank you, Yuri,” she said. “You’ve been more than helpful. That really is all.”
“Then I have one question for you,” he said.
“What’s that?”
He paused. Fatigue was all over him. “What is your favorite color?” he asked.
“My favorite color?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
A moment. Then, “Blue,” she said. “Why?”
“I’m like you,” he said. “There are things I have always wanted to ask.”
FORTY-NINE
Alex awoke early the next morning to the vibration of her cell phone. She answered it while still in bed and found herself talking to “Fitzgerald,” who was still in Egypt. He gave her a moment while she sought to clear the early morning mist from her brain.
Then, “How did your visit go?” he asked.
“I got what I needed,” she said.
“I hope you didn’t bother to unpack,” he said.
“I’m traveling today,” she said.
“You’re not the only one, we think,” he said.
“Uh-oh,” she said, sitting up in bed. “Do tell.”
She looked at her watch. It was 7:36 a.m. in Geneva, an hour later in Cairo. Across her bedroom her overnight bag hadn’t been touched, and beyond the window was another cold, gray Swiss morning.
“One of the license plates we discussed the other day,” Fitzgerald said. “The car is apparently out of the shop. It’s moving again.”
By license plates, he meant passport numbers. One of the five. And by car, he meant Michael Cerny.
“I believe it’s one of those old Zil limousines belonging to a Mr. Constantine,” he said. “That would be one stop before delivery here.”
The Zil meant that the voyager, Cerny, was flying on a Russian passport. Constantine was code for Constantinople, meaning he was most likely on Aeroflot, stopping in Istanbul before continuing on to Cairo.
“Do you happen to know the color of the vehicle?” she asked.
“Blue and white,” he said.
Blue and white meant El Al.
“Was he unable to find a buyer on his trip?” Alex asked.
“It appears unlikely. Not sure here that he had any actual buyers for a blue and white vehicle,” Bissinger said. “It’s like the art market in New York. Russian buyers all the way.”
“Understood,” she said.
All of that meant that Cerny had most likely taken the bait from Boris and Colonel Amjad. The timing suggested it. The Israelis were out of the picture and probably had never been in it. It had been a feint to entice his Russian buyers, or so it looked.
“Moving as part of a larger shipment?” she asked.
“It would appear so,” he said. “We checked all the manifests. No other items connecting, but there’s always the chance of acquiring more merchandise along the way. Constantine is like that.”
“Constantine is, indeed,” she agreed.
She had the context. Cerny was on an Aeroflot flight out of Tel Aviv to Istanbul. Fitzgerald explained further that the old car would then be shipped to Cairo via Kuwaiti Air.
“Very good,” Alex said
“I’ll see if some of our inspectors can give it a look in transit,” Fitzgerald said. “There’s always the chance that more merchandise will be gathered. But I know you’ll wish to be here for delivery.”
“Absolutely,” she said.
“Do you think you can make it?” he asked.
“If I take an earlier train,” she said. “Yes.”
Train, of course, meant plane. And merchandise suggested that Cerny could pick up a bodyguard or two as he connected in Istanbul. The passenger manifests would be closely watched for any indication of that.
“That would be good,” Bissinger said. “You are, after all, the only one among us who can tell the real item from a counterfeit. So we’re relying on you to be here.”
