“Your cousin speaks highly of you,” the Arab said in Russian, extending his hand. “I am Yusuf.”
Grigory couldn’t pretend he was a brave man. Nonetheless he screwed up his courage. “Yusuf. This thing you propose to take. what will you do with it?” Even now, Grigory could not make himself say
Tajid frowned. “Cousin, you’ve only just arrived and already—”
“Let him ask,” Yusuf said. He looked at Grigory. “Truly I don’t know. But I promise you this. We won’t use them inside Russia. Part of my job is to get them out.”
“Them?”
“We need two.”
“Madness.”
“Madness or no, we need two.”
“Let me ask you something else, then.” Grigory spoke with bravado he did not feel. “Since we are friends now, speaking frankly as friends do.”
“Go on.”
“You understand these devices have locks? What the Americans call permissive action links? They cannot be used without the proper codes, and the codes cannot be broken. Not even by the most skilled cryptographer. So you must know that whether you steal one of these, or two, or a hundred, they’re useless to you. Unless you have some way of breaking into the Kremlin for the codes.”
“Grigory, you’re very smart. I’m merely a technician. I have a shopping list. And I would like your help in filling it.”
“I don’t think it’s possible, Yusuf. I would tell you, I swear.”
Yusuf patted Grigory’s shoulders. Despite himself, Grigory flinched. “Consider all the alternatives. There’s always a way. Meanwhile—”
Yusuf reached into his jacket and slid a thick white envelope across the table. Grigory peered inside. A wad of green hundred-dollar bills, the new kind, counterfeit-proof, secured with a red rubber band. Grigory tried to hand the envelope back to Yusuf but the little Arab raised a hand.
“Yours,” he said. “Whatever you decide. If you help us I promise ten times more.”
“Very generous of you,” Grigory said. “Now I can buy all the vodka I like.” His tone was ironic, but Yusuf didn’t seem to notice.
Yusuf stood, touched Grigory’s arm. His fingers were as weightless as the devil’s. “We’ll meet again soon. I hope you can work with us.”
SURE ENOUGH, A WEEK LATER, Grigory heard the knocking on his door, a light rapping, so soft that at first he hoped he was dreaming. But the knocking continued, and Grigory opened the door, knowing what he’d see.
“Cousin,” Tajid said. Yusuf stood beside him, holding a leather satchel.
They came in and sat around the plastic table in the kitchen. “Would you like coffee?” Grigory said. He poured himself a glass of vodka. Let them watch him drink.
“Your cousin says you’re an excellent chess player,” Yusuf said.
“Mediocre at best.”
“I’m sure you’re lying. We must play.”
“Whenever you like.”
“So have you given any thought to my proposal?” Yusuf opened his satchel and extracted two oranges and a long curved knife with an ebony handle in a leather sheath. He slid the sheath off, revealing the sharpest blade Grigory had ever seen. Under the fluorescent kitchen lights the blade gleamed silver.
The devil, Grigory thought. Truly, he’s the devil.
“Tajid tells me you like oranges,” Yusuf said.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not me,” Yusuf said. “They’re too fleshy. Something almost human about them.” He worked the blade through the first orange, slicing it in half, then quarters, his movements fine and careful.
Then a frenzy seemed to come over him and he cut faster and faster, turning the fruit into a pulpy mess, not recognizable as an orange at all, its juice dribbling off the table onto the crackled linoleum floor. “I get excited,” he said. “It was the same with your neighbor.” He stood and moved behind Grigory, the knife poised in his hand.
“Please,” Grigory said.
“May I use your sink?”
“I’ll help. I promise.”
“I can do it myself.” Yusuf washed the blade gently, humming to himself.
“I mean with your project. I’ll help.”
Yusuf dried the knife, sheathed it. “This is wonderful news.”
“You don’t have to pay me.”
“Of course we’ll pay, Grigory,” Yusuf said. “We keep our word.”
“But—” Grigory hesitated. “Shall we talk about this now?”
“Why not?”
“So. I don’t want to disappoint you”—Grigory looked at the knife—“but this isn’t as simple as you imagine. We’ve tightened security, switched to the American system. No one enters the warehouses alone. Ever. Always two men, with a third watching on a camera. And you need a reason to enter.”
Yusuf swept up the mess of the orange, threw it in the sink, and sat down beside Grigory. “Even you? Your cousin says you’re very senior.”
“Not so senior. Why do you think I live here? Anyway, the president himself must have a partner when he visits the depot.”
“Depot.”
“What we call the warehouses where we keep the weapons.”
“Do you always have the same person with you? Someone for me to talk with?”
“To improve security, the pairings are random. Also—” Again Grigory hesitated. He didn’t think he’d ever feared anyone as much as this man.
“Yes,” Yusuf said.
“I work nights now. Along with Tajid. I audit the work we’ve done the previous day. It’s paperwork. The plant is basically closed. There’s no reason for anyone to be inside the depots. The guards check them at the beginning and end of each shift. Otherwise they’re not touched. We figure the less they’re entered, the better.”
“But you could go inside. If you had a reason.”
“Perhaps. But I’d be watched.”
Yusuf idly peeled the second orange. “Surely there’s another way.”
Tajid coughed. “What about when the convoys come, cousin? Didn’t you say—”
“I know what I’ve said. But the convoys never arrive at night.”
“But if they did?” Yusuf popped an orange slice in his mouth.
“I thought you said you didn’t like oranges.”
“Who doesn’t like oranges? Especially in this miserable cold.”
Now the devil can laugh about his joke, now that he’s won, Grigory thought. Aloud he said, “The same rules are supposed to apply when a convoy arrives and we move warheads in or out of the depots. Always two men. But sometimes we get sloppy. The pairings aren’t always random. The convoy commanders want to hand over the material and be gone.”
“So if a convoy came late, you would receive it?”
“It’s not my job. But the man who would, he’s a drunk. He sleeps all night.”
“So you could receive it. And you could pick your partner.”
Grigory drank down his vodka and poured himself another glass. “But none of this matters, you see. The convoys arrive during the day. Always.”
“The convoys, do they always take the same route?”
“In theory, no, for security reasons. But effectively, yes. In winter there’s really only one road they can use.”
