In his opinion she couldn’t do without his help, but he could do without hers, judged Natalia. “There isn’t a score to even, Charlie.”
“I’m not balancing scores,” persisted Charlie, unhappy at her response. “This hasn’t anything to do with your not talking to me before now ….” He waved the London fax still lying between them. “You think the Americans got the same?”
“Positive.”
“So,” Charlie said patiently, although still with some urgency. “We’ve got fifty-year-old unreported, totally unknown murders of apparent English and American officers. We’ve got a hostile, probably obstructive local authority. We’ve got a resented Moscow intrusion. Without doubt someone involved from America. And in effect, I’m working under monitor ….” He paused, trying to imagine anything he’d left out. Unable to, he went on, “Each and every one of whom-with the possible exception of whoever America sends-will be trying to discredit each and everyone else. There’s no way, from a distance of three thousand miles, you could or can anticipate what will be going on. Not in a way to help me ….” He gulped at his whiskey, needing the pause. Who the fuck was going to help him, then? It was the worst possible scenario, a bunch-a committee-of disorganized, fractious, warring people. And committees-working with them, for them, being part of them-ranked on Charlie’s hate list equal to tight shoes, ice in single malt and the need constantlyto justify his expenses. Maybe, even, a little higher than all three.
“I wasn’t thinking of three thousand miles away,” said Natalia, quietly. “I was thinking about back here, in Moscow.”
Charlie drank some more whiskey, matching her seriousness. “I’d be grateful. And need it.”
Maybe she needed it more than him, thought Natalia. “I’m frightened, Charlie. Nothing’s working out as it should.”
“It hasn’t started yet!”
“I’m worried how it’s going to finish.”
Charlie responded before Natalia when Sasha cried out. He was back within minutes from the child’s bedroom, after resettling her. “She had a bad dream.”
“I’m having them, too,” said Natalia. “And they don’t go away when I’m awake.”
It was Charlie’s idea for he and Natalia to test their intuition one against the other by refusing any prior opinion of the Russian group with whom he would be going to Yakutskaya, not even to be told their names. It meant his going to the Interior Ministry totally unprepared, because there hadn’t been the prior contact he’d half expected from the American embassy and Charlie hadn’t called Saul Freeman: there was no benefit-not yet at least-and he certainly didn’t intend conveying even an impression of a joint operation, despite Sir Rupert Dean’s assurance that London and Washington had agreed on complete cooperation.
Charlie’s initial surprise on entering Petr Travin’s office was that it was Miriam Bell, the FBI chief’s deputy, and not Saul Freeman himself who was already there. She had a yellow legal pad on a primly crossed leg, the skirt of her severe business suit covering her knee. The blond hair was in a tightly coiled chignon. She gave the barest response to Charlie’s greeting. So, too, did the Russian pathologist and the forensic scientist at Travin’s introduction, but Vadim Lestov stood, smiled and insisted in experimental English that he was delighted to meet Charlie. Seemingly reminded, Travin said there was an interpreter available if necessary. Miriam said it wasn’t, ahead of Charlie.
“That, at least, might make things easier,” commented Travin. “At the moment very little else does.”
“I’d appreciate knowing what else there is, beyond what was sent to my State Department,” said Miriam.
The Ice Maiden Meets the Ice Mummies, thought Charlie, sitting back contentedly. Except that was hardly Miriam Bell’s reputation. According to Freeman, who enjoyed not only kissing but telling, she swore like the devil and was more than willing to use the body of an angel to each and every advantage. Although she did have a figure made for underwear commercials, it was in other ways he needed to know a lot more about her, decided Charlie. He wondered, idly, if Miriam had been as disappointed in Freeman’s fuck-by-numbers technique as Irena.
To the side of the huge room there were two stenographers and an operator at a recording machine. International crime-fighting cooperation, like justice, had to be seen to be done, Charlie supposed. During Alexei Popov’s unsuspected tenure of an office very similar to this there’d been vodka as well as tea from a traditional samovar for such encounters. But then Popov had hidden deceit behind friendliness.
“There were some belongings on the bodies but nothing that could identify them,” offered Travin.
“What?” demanded Charlie, bluntly, for the benefit of the record. When it was necessary Charlie was capable of Oscar award performances.
“Personal items: we don’t know what,” admitted the Russian, tightly.
“They’re not here?” persisted Charlie.
“No,” conceded the man, tighter still.
The first publicly recorded indication of difficulties to come, judged Charlie. Making his own intentionally awkward contribution, Charlie looked between Travin and Lev Denebin and said, “So you’re quite confident of the forensic facilities in Yakutsk?”
Denebin actually looked toward the note-takers before saying, “I don’t think I can say that at all! I don’t know … I mean I need to see … what’s there ….”
Charlie was conscious of Travin looking very intently at him. Charlie said, “I would have thought your facilities were better here in Moscow?” Until Denebin’s startled reaction, the three chosen Russians had been sitting relaxed, too obviously observers. So there’dbeen a separate, earlier blame-apportioning session. They should have been better rehearsed to prevent the preparation being so obvious.
Travin said, “The Yakut authorities appear to think it’s better for what was recovered to remain there.”
“So you did ask for it?” pounced Charlie.
“The inquiry is at a very early stage,” floundered Travin, trapped. “The concentration has been upon assembling an investigation team … advising your respective governments ….”
It was sufficient, decided Charlie, allowing the pause which Miriam Bell hurriedly filled. “Have the files been checked here for any records of an American or a British officer being in that region, which I understand to have been a closed part of the old Soviet Union?”
“Yes,” said Travin, grateful to escape. “Both Foreign and Interior Ministries. There is nothing officially recorded.”
“What about photographs of the bodies?” said Miriam.
Travin shifted uncomfortably. “Yakutsk have said there are some, with the other material.”
Colonel Lestov should have been asking questions, thought Charlie. More bad rehearsal. “What about prison records? Virtually all of Yakutskaya was a prison colony, wasn’t it?”
Travin’s face began to color. “It was. But the records are very inadequate. What do exist are being examined, naturally. There can be no question of British and American nationals being sentenced to this or any other region ….” His face began to clear, in realization of escape. “And as our advice to both your governments made clear, these officers were dressed in their military uniforms and carried some personal items, which would not have been allowed had they been prisoners ….” Too forcefully in his eagerness, the man finished, “So a search of records would be pointless.”
“But you are still looking?” insisted Charlie. “That’s what you said …?”
“What I’m trying to make clear is my government’s total commitment to investigate these murders.”
That very definitely was rehearsed, recognized Charlie.
Just as rehearsed, Miriam said, “I’ve been authorized to offer every facility on behalf of my government.”
Might as well go for broke with those busy little pens and recordingtapes scratching away, decided Charlie. “I appreciate, as I’m sure my American colleague does, the cooperation you’re offering. I, for my part, want it to be understood that I see my role as an observer-although prepared at all times to contribute in any way that I am asked-to a Russian investigation ….” He allowed a long pause. Come on! Come on! he thought, although not looking at Miriam.