Lee was a large, dour, nasty-looking man with a big head, long fingers, and remote blank eyes in a fleshy face. He was in his mid-forties and had a Marine Corps dishonorable discharge look to him. He came across as an articulate thug. She wondered if he had been assigned to her with some subtle physical intimidation in mind, the coarse six-four male debriefing the overeducated five-seven female.
Well, she decided quickly, if that was the game plan, if her own government was turning on her and holding her up to unnecessary scrutiny, she was having none of it. She would dish it right back.
The questions from Lee were interminable. He worked without notes or an assistant, which told her that they were being recorded. One grim debriefing session focused entirely on the subject of Ukrainian energy power plants, nuclear and otherwise, something that had hardly come up at all in the discussions Alex had had with Federov.
Q (Lee): Alex, do you feel he was avoiding the subject?
A (Alex): How could he avoid it if it didn’t come up?
Q: Was there a reason you didn’t steer things in that direction?
A: Yes. No one from this or any other department had asked me to.
Q: But you knew he had brokered a submarine to the Cali drug cartel.
A: What in God’s name does that have to do with Ukrainian electricity?
Q: It’s in the realm of exports.
A: So is vodka. So is caviar.
[Pause noted]
Q: Alex, you seem defensive. If there’s something you may have neglected previously to mention, some scrap of information that might have seemed meaningless at the time, now would be a good time to-
A: [Interrupting, manifesting anger] Look! I was told to pursue him as a tax cheat. Those were my instructions. If there was another agenda-
Q: There was no other agenda. But we feel you may have learned or seen more than you realize you might have. [Pause] Did he mention anything about business with Asia?
A: Nothing of merit.
Q: Japan. China. Either Korea. Vietnam.
A: You’re wasting your [expletive deleted] time! Am I under suspicion for something?
Q: Should you be?
A: Of course not!
Q: Then why would you be?
A: [Expletive deleted]
Q: What about his bodyguards? Kaspar and Anatoli?
A: What about them?
Q: Did they seem loyal to him, men he relied on?
A: I’m not sure he trusted anyone.
Q: Really? Why not?
A: If you were Federov, would you trust anyone?
Q: That’s not the point of the question.
A: Then what is?
Q: Did he mention any attempts on his life?
A: Only in theory.
Q: Did he think the US was trying to kill him?
A: He gave me that impression.
Q: Why do you think he thought that?
A: Because he might have been right. I don’t know.
Q: How was his health?
A: It seemed pretty good, even though he drank a lot and smoked a lot. But I’m not a doctor.
Q: By the way, what is Federov?
A: What do you mean, “what is he”?
Q: Russian? Ukrainian?
A: Don’t you read your own files?
Q: I’m asking you. Set me straight.
A: [impatience noted:] The difference between being Ukrainian and Russian in Ukraine is one of ethnic identity. In the eastern provinces, everyone, Russians and Ukrainians alike, speaks Russian and the people live intermingled. But of two neighboring families, if one is ethnically Ukrainian and the other ethnically Russian they know it. That doesn’t mean they can’t be friends or intermarry. In Soviet times people had to carry “internal passports” and these listed one’s ethnic nationality. I don’t think this is listed on Ukrainian ID cards, but I’m not sure. So Federov would be an ethnic Russian but Ukrainian citizen.
Q: That’s how he would describe himself?
A: Why don’t you find him and ask him?
Q: You’re making this more difficult. Why are you hostile to questions about Federov?
A: I’m not.
Q: Then answer mine.
A: How he would describe himself would depend on the circumstances of the question. If a foreigner asked, “Where are you from?” Federov would probably say, “I’m from Ukraine.” If he wanted to stress his ties to Ukraine he might say, “I’m a Ukrainian.” Presumably he would be aware that the answer, “I’m Russian” without more ado would mislead the interlocutor into thinking he was a Russian citizen. If the question was ethnically focused, “I understand there are Russians and Ukrainians in Ukraine, Mr. Federov. Which are you?” he would presumably say, “I’m Russian, though a Ukrainian citizen.”
Q: So even you aren’t sure which he is?
A: [pause, angrily] That’s my answer.
Q: I’ll note that you didn’t answer the question and we’ll move on…
And so it went, the logic of the questions elliptical and constantly turning back upon itself, Alex’s patience a thing of memory.
Lee pressed further on the subject of Anatoli and Kaspar. Who were these two associates who had turned up at her embassy meetings with Federov? Any unusual mannerisms? Were they cleared-eyed gunmen, or did they hide behind dark glasses? How did they sound? Like Russians? Ukrainians? Something of other origin?
She had no idea. Federov’s humanoid bookends barely grunted, much less spoke, and aside from the fact that one seemed blinky from the dry air in the embassy, they seemed to see as well as anyone.
Who had she seen at the nightclub? What were the women like? Did they carry weapons to go with their Donna Karan suits and their Jimmy Choo shoes? By chance, had Alex gone to the ladies room and seen anything there of note?
No, Alex answered with an increasing edge, there was nothing special in the ladies’ pissoirs unless unusually located tattoos or the latest in European lingerie was of interest to the interrogator. Or how about the fact that the ladies’ room was dim and stank of Lysol? And as far as the clientele of the club, it was as unremarkable as that to be found at any other velvet-roped mob joint.
Was it a sex club? Lee wanted to know. Dancers? Topless?
It was nothing of the sort, Alex answered sharply. It was music, dining, and drinking, not necessarily in that order. Topless in this joint meant some Slavic wise guy wasn’t wearing a shoulder holster.
“Did Federov try to seduce you?” Lee asked.
“Is the pope German?” she answered.
Could she look through some surveillance photos taken by contacts in Kiev?
She could and did.
Did she recognize anyone?
She didn’t.
Not even Kaspar and Anatoli, Federov’s two bodyguards?
Not even them.
Did she have last names on the bodyguards? Anything extra she might remember?
Nothing.
Did she see them the day of the RPG attacks?
No.
“So Federov would have been out without his bodyguards that day?” Lee pressed. “That seems strange.”
“I can’t say that I saw his two hoods that day,” she retorted. “They might have been there, they might not have been. They may have been part of the attack, but so might have two million other people in Kiev. Why do we keep going over this? You’ve asked me the same question seven times! What is it with these two guys that you keep harping on?”
Lee declined to answer. Instead, he wanted to know her theory about the RPG attacks. Who had been behind them?
She had no special theory to accompany her, no special knowledge.
“Did Federov ever mention anything about an American couple named Peter Glick and Edythe Osuna?” Lee asked out of the blue late one afternoon.
The reference startled Alex.
“Yes. I think he did,” she said after a moment’s thought.