“No, not at all. At first, I thought you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But when you survived the attack and saved Olga, that caused Ivan a serious problem. I almost lost you during your detention in Lubyanka. Ivan Kharkov himself was on the phone to the chief. He knew your real name and your real job. He wanted you taken out into a field and shot. The top floor ordered me to do just that. I pretended to go along and started stalling for time. Then, thankfully, your service made such a stink, you became too hot, even for the likes of Ivan Kharkov.”
“How did you convince them not to kill me?”
“I told them that it would be a public-relations disaster if you died in FSB custody. I told them I didn’t care what Ivan did to you once you left the country, but they couldn’t lay a hand on you while you were on Russian soil. Ivan wasn’t happy, but the top floor finally came around to my way of thinking. I put you in the van and got you to the border before they could change their minds. You came very close to dying that night, Allon-closer than you’ll ever realize.”
“Where’s the dossier now?”
“Most of it’s up here,” he said, tapping the side of his forehead. “Whatever documentation we could copy was scanned and stored in e-mail accounts outside the country.”
“How did you end up in that warehouse tonight?”
“I’ve been plying my trade on both sides of the street.”
“You’re on Ivan’s payroll?”
Bulganov nodded. “It made it much easier to gather information about the FSB’s shady dealings if I actually took part in some myself. It also gave me protection. The real rotten elements thought I was one of them. I know a great deal about Ivan’s operation. Who knows? Maybe we know enough together to track down those missiles-without going back into the House on the Embankment. Even I get the creeps going into the place. It’s haunted, you know. They say Stalin roams the halls at night knocking on doors.”
“I’m not leaving Russia without Ivan’s disks.”
“You don’t know if there’s anything on them. You also don’t know if they’re even still in the apartment.”
Elena intervened. “I saw Arkady put my handbag in the vault before we left.”
“That was a long time ago. Ivan could have ordered someone to move them.”
“He couldn’t have. Only three people in the world can access that vault: Ivan, Arkady, and me. Logically, the disks have to be there.”
“But getting them is going to cost valuable time. It also might mean another dead body. There’s going to be a new guard in the apartment. He might even have a helper or two. In the old days, the neighbors were used to the sound of a little late-night gunfire, but not now. If we have to do any shooting, it could get ugly quickly.”
“You’re still a colonel in the FSB, Grigori. And FSB colonels take shit from no one.”
“I don’t want to be an FSB colonel anymore. I want to be one of the good guys.”
“You will be,” Gabriel said. “The moment you present yourself at the Ukrainian border and declare your desire to defect.”
Bulganov lowered his eyes from the mirror and stared straight down the Leninsky Prospekt. “I already am a good guy,” he said quietly. “I just play for a very bad team.”
69 BOLOTNAYA SQUARE, MOSCOW
The Russian president frowned in disapproval as Gabriel, Elena, and Grigori Bulganov hurried across the street toward the House on the Embankment. Bulganov placed his FSB identification on the reception desk and quietly threatened to cut off the porter’s hand if he touched the telephone.
“We were never here. Do you understand me?”
The terrified porter nodded. Bulganov returned his ID to his coat pocket and walked over to the private elevator, where Gabriel and Elena had already boarded a car. As the doors closed, the two men drew their Makarovs and chambered their first rounds.
The elevator was old and slow; the journey to the ninth floor seemed to last an eternity. When the doors finally opened, Elena was pressed into one corner, with Gabriel and Bulganov, guns leveled in firing positions, shielding her body. Their precaution proved unnecessary, however, because the vestibule, like the entrance hall of the apartment, was empty. It seemed Arkady Medvedev’s highly trained security guard had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room while watching a bit of pornography on Ivan’s large-screen television. Gabriel woke the guard by inserting the barrel of the Makarov into his ear.
“If you are a good dog, you will live to see the sunrise. If you are a bad dog, I’m going to make a terrible mess on Ivan’s couch. Which is it going to be? Good dog or bad dog?”
“Good,” said the guard.
“Wise choice. Let’s go.”
Gabriel marched the guard into Ivan’s fortified office, where Elena was already in the process of opening the interior vault. Her handbag was where Medvedev had left it. The disks were still inside. Bulganov ordered the guard into the vault and closed the steel door. Elena pressed the button behind volume 2 of Anna Karenina and the bookshelves slid shut. Inside, the guard began shouting in Russian, his muffled voice barely audible.
“Maybe we should give him some water,” Bulganov said.
“He’ll be fine for a few hours.” Gabriel looked at Elena. “Is there anything else you need?”
She shook her head. Gabriel and Bulganov led the way back to the elevator, Makarovs leveled before them. The porter was still frozen in place behind the reception desk. Bulganov gave him one final reminder to keep his mouth shut, then led Gabriel and Elena out to the car.
“With a bit of luck, we can be across the border before dawn,” Bulganov said as he shoved his key into the ignition. “Unless you have any more errands you’d like to run.”
“I do, actually. I need you to make one final arrest while you’re still an FSB officer.”
“Who?”
Gabriel told him.
“It’s out of the question. There’s no way I can get past all that security.”
“You’re still a colonel in the FSB, Grigori. And FSB colonels take shit from no one.”
70 MOSCOW
An Orion’s Belt of lights burned on the north side of the House of Dogs; red lamps blinked in the transmission towers high atop the roof. Gabriel sat behind the wheel of Colonel Grigori Bulganov’s official car. Elena sat beside him, with Colonel Grigori Bulganov’s mobile phone in her hand. The colonel was not present. He was on the eleventh floor, arresting Olga Sukhova, crusading journalist from the formerly crusading Moskovsky Gazeta.
“Do you think she’ll come?” Elena asked.
“She’ll come,” said Gabriel. “She has no other choice. She knows that if she ever sets foot outside that apartment, your husband will kill her.”
Elena reached out and touched the bandage on Gabriel’s right eye. “I did the best I could. It needs stitches. Probably more. I think that beast managed to break something.”
“I’m sure he regretted his actions when he saw the gun in my hand.”
“I don’t think he ever saw your gun.” She touched his hand. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“May I make a confession?”
“Of course.”
“I’m glad you killed them. I know that must sound terrible coming from the wife of a murderer, but I’m glad you killed them the way you did. Especially Arkady.”
“I should have waited until you were gone. I’m sorry for that, Elena.”
“Will it ever go away?”
“The memory? No, it will never go away.”
She looked at the mobile phone, and checked the strength of the signal.
“So is your name really Gabriel or was that a deception, too?”
“It’s my real name.”
Elena smiled.
“Is there something humorous about my name?”
“No, it’s a beautiful name. I was just thinking about the last words my mother said to me before I left her this afternoon: ‘May the angel of the Lord be looking over your shoulder.’ I suppose she was right after all.”