Once more it was the rational Yerin who spoke. ‘You said, at the beginning, you were going to deal.’
‘I know and Cowley knows you kept copies of the photographs,’ said Danilov. ‘It was always inconceivable you’d part with something as usefuclass="underline" you must have thought us very naive, unable to think beyond the amount of money you were talking about. But the deal I offered then still stands, exactly as I set it out. I will ensure no prosecution against you. And you will never use those photographs. If you do, Cowley will in turn produce the original Swiss document, and no influence you think you’ve got could keep you out of jail…’ He paused, not wanting to show the fear but knowing how he had to finish, for his own safety. ‘And that is why I am going to walk out of here today, without any interference. Why I’m not in any personal danger. You’d agree about that, wouldn’t you? Understand now why Cowley isn’t here…?’
Gusovsky’s face blazed, and he had to grip the back of the other man’s chair to keep his control. Yerin said: ‘A standoff, this time. What about next time?’
‘I shall investigate as hard and as properly as I can. And bring whatever prosecution I can. And if you tried to fight me off by using the photographs, then I’d have a second prosecution with the Swiss case, wouldn’t I? Cowley would have to resign, but we’ve already gone through that. Like we’ve talked of how I’d respond to the pictures of Olga being released.’ The future was the weakest part of the whole bluff. And not just with future investigations into one of the major crime Families in Moscow: there was always the outside possibility the Justice Ministry and the Federal Prosecutor might change their minds, later, about bringing against these men precisely the prosecution they’d decided not to pursue. There was, he accepted philosophically, always going to be a nagging uncertainty. It was just another, to go with all the rest: he wasn’t sure in which order.
‘You were silly,’ insisted Yerin. ‘Of course we kept copies of the pictures. But I don’t think we would ever have used them. You would have been far too valuable. Worth the money and everything else we would have given you.’
‘I’m more comfortable this way,’ said Danilov, recognising the closeness to pomposity. ‘You know why it was so easy to trick you? You can’t imagine anyone being honest, can you? That’s what the director before Metkin said: that everyone in Russia is still too entrenched in the old ways…’
‘Leonid Andreevich Lapinsk certainly knew how to work the old ways in the old system,’ agreed Yerin. ‘We lost a good and grateful friend with his retirement. He managed to block your succession, but Metkin was never good enough to be the sort of director we wanted. He was far too stupid and far too greedy.’
Gusovsky’s control went completely after Danilov’s unopposed departure, the man’s fury fuelled by his impotency to orchestrate a situation of which he’d imagined themselves in charge. Yerin, no less furious but contemptuous of timewasting performances, said in rare impatience to the other man: ‘Stop it! It’s not achieving anything.’
‘I want him!’ insisted Gusovsky. ‘No-one treats me – no-one treats either of us! – like that!’
‘He’s got us, so that’s exactly what he can do,’ accepted Yerin. ‘He’s got protection, with the American, that we can’t touch. You know it and I know it but most importantly, he knows it. He’s fucked us. Absolutely.’
‘He can’t!’
‘He has,’ said Yerin flatly. ‘But he has to be reminded how vulnerable he’ll always be.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
It should have been pleasant – an enjoyable culmination, the farewell party – but it wasn’t. He’d achieved everything and more than he’d ever imagined possible. But too much was soured for Danilov to think of enjoyment. Leonid Lapinsk was the biggest disappointment: Lapinsk, whose admired protege he’d always imagined himself to be, and to whom he’d disclosed the progress of every case upon which he’d ever been engaged for Lapinsk to decide against whom to proceed and whom to protect, depending upon the bribe being offered: to realise – totally and for the first time – the real reason for Lapinsk’s head-down attitude that take-over day at Petrovka, when Metkin had been performing not to humiliate Lapinsk but to amuse the old man – to amuse everyone – at his expense. He tried telling himself Lapinsk had committed suicide from remorse and actually sent a letter of apology, but the cynicism was now so bomb-proof Danilov suspected the regret was probably more that he would eventually discover Lapinsk’s crookedness than belated penitence. Danilov was surprised Pavin hadn’t known, to warn him. Perhaps Pavin had known, all along. Perhaps, Danilov decided, he was everyone’s fool.
Another distraction was having not Larissa but Olga beside him for the ceremony. Not because he felt embarrassed by Olga and would have been prouder of Larissa, although the sweater Olga wore with the Swiss-bought skirt and shoes showed a moth-hole neither had noticed until too late, beneath the left arm. He wanted Larissa because it was all too cruel to Olga: she was moving around the American embassy dazed, smiling and nodding but not speaking because she was frightened, believing herself in surroundings to which she had still to become accustomed and in which she must learn how to behave in the future. And in just over twenty-four hours, when the confrontation was finally to be staged, Olga was to learn she was being discarded: that she was never again going to be in such a situation, never again have to worry about how to cope.
Danilov accepted he was moving around smiling and nodding and near dazed, like Olga, because he had never expected to receive the FBI’s Medal of Valour like this. He’d thought it would simply arrive: in the post even, a wrapped package – although if it had been delivered that way, with an American postmark, it would have been stolen. He certainly hadn’t expected a formal presentation ceremony in the American embassy, before a phalanx of Russian and American cameramen (which made him glad he’d taken the precaution of a short haircut) and with Sergei Vorobie and Vasli Oskin and Nikolai Smolin as invited guests, which was to prompt later comment in the media of both countries on the continuing investigative rapprochement between Moscow and Washington such an invitation indicated. There were legal restrictions about what could be said, so the press conference and television interviews were limited. Cowley participated in both but apart from that remained determinedly in the background, letting it be Danilov’s day: they had their own farewell plans for later.
The American ambassador made a speech of platitudes, the only highlight another relayed message from David Patton, and Danilov delivered a matching set of cliches. The objects of the toasts became confused, after four, and Danilov kept raising and lowering his glass automatically, although he was drinking very little. There was still the parting meeting with Cowley to come and after that the final arrangements for the following day to be made with Larissa, who was expecting him at the end of a split-shift duty at the Druzhba.
The event over-ran, although it still ended by mid-afternoon. When she realised Danilov was driving her back to Kirovskaya, Olga said: ‘I thought we might have gone on somewhere! Had a party.’
It was the last deceit Danilov would have considered, letting her imagine there was anything to celebrate. ‘I’ve still got a lot to tidy up. Cowley’s going the day after tomorrow: there are things to do. I’ll be late home tonight.’ For the last time, he thought.
Olga was hardly listening, still held by what had happened at the American embassy. ‘I was photographed ten times: I counted! Four times by myself.’
And once at a nightclub with a murdered hooker that doesn’t count any more, thought Danilov. ‘You’ll probably be in the papers tomorrow.’
‘I want you to buy every one. And I might be on television tonight.’
‘Make sure to watch.’
‘You going to wear the medal?’