‘It was automatic: I didn’t realise I was doing it,’ Danilov answered, honestly.
‘They were interrogated, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s been said? Admitted?’
‘Bits and pieces,’ said Danilov, intentionally vague.
Kosov sighed. ‘Sufficient for a case?’
‘Enough for a murder prosecution in Italy.’
‘I mean here, in Moscow!’ said Kosov impatiently.
Danilov realised they were driving on the edge of Tatarovo, close to the intended apartment. He had the bribe money ready in his pocket. Larissa would be waiting for him when her shift finished.
He made an uncertain rocking movement with his free hand. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. There’s got to be a lot of discussion.’
The sigh this time was even more profound. ‘So let’s start talking properly! Why are we going around in circles!’
‘I want to meet your friends. Face to face,’ declared Danilov. Kosov didn’t have any real choice in how the encounter went, but Danilov did not want to alienate the man too much. It would all come soon enough.
The head shake was patronising. ‘Just tell me everything that happened in Italy. And what you want. I’ll arrange it all.’
Pompous, arrogant bastard, thought Danilov. He shook his head in return. ‘Tell them I want to meet personally.’
‘You think you’re in a position to make demands?’
‘I’m the one who knows about Italy.’
‘It’s got to be through me!’
‘That’s not the way it’s going to be,’ refused Danilov.
‘Dimitri Ivanovich! Why are we fighting?’
‘We’re not fighting. We’re avoiding the sort of misunderstandings that occurred before.’
‘Just tell me!’ implored Kosov. ‘I’ll pass it all on. And fix whatever you ask for.’
Kosov wanted desperately to restore his credibility with his paymasters, guessed Danilov: maybe he even felt physically threatened. Repeating Kosov’s earlier complaint, Danilov said: ‘If I deal direct, there can’t be any misunderstandings. You won’t be endangered.’
‘I’m your friend! You can trust me. I’m willing to take the risk! I want to help you!’
‘Face to face,’ said Danilov, adamantly. Was it possible Kosov hadn’t passed on the information about his compromising past? It was hardly a reassurance, one way or the other: Kosov would tell the world and his brother when he learned about him and Larissa.
‘Somebody did say something in Sicily, didn’t they?’ pressed Kosov, trying to bring the conversation back on the course he wanted.
‘There are leads to follow,’ allowed Danilov.
‘ Are you going to follow them?’
‘I could.’
Kosov seized the intentional ambiguity. ‘But you needn’t?’
They reached the outer ring road and joined the circle. ‘There’s a lot to be gone through.’ Lying easily, he said: ‘It depends what I present to the Federal Prosecutor.’ Whose decision, upon whatever I present, I already know, thought Danilov.
‘What about Cowley?’ said the other man. ‘He surely heard all you did: would know if something was…’ He smiled, conspiratorially. ‘… overlooked?’
‘Cowley’s interested in resolving the murders in America. What happened here in Moscow is secondary: peripheral, providing he can close the cases at home.’ Danilov chose the words carefully, wanting them relayed accurately to defer any use of the compromising photographs. He’d watched Kosov closely, mentioning the American, and didn’t think Kosov knew of the pictures. If he had, he would have surely referred to the whore’s murder by now: he’d actually held back, waiting for Kosov to talk about it.
‘Let me handle this,’ said Kosov, renewing his plea.
‘No,’ persisted Danilov.
‘Without any indication of what happened in Italy they might think it’s a trap.’
‘ I’m going to them. What sort of trap can I set?’
‘They’ll want guarantees.’
‘ You give guarantees: you’re their man, aren’t you?’
Kosov gave a self-satisfied smile, and Danilov felt the revulsion move through him. Kosov said: ‘They’re going to ask me what you want.’
‘To talk about things of interest to both of us,’ said Danilov, almost embarrassed by the gangster-movie talk.
‘What if they refuse?’
‘Tell them they can’t refuse: that they’ll regret it, if they do.’
‘They don’t like threats.’
‘I’m not making threats. Just being direct.’
‘We’re going to make a great partnership, Dimitri Ivanovich!’ said Kosov.
He had briefly forgotten Kosov’s absurd belief they would ever work together. ‘A great partnership,’ he agreed.
Danilov was conscious of immediate attention the moment he entered the Druzhba hoteclass="underline" some hotel staff came from the reception area to look at him and smile familiarly, and Danilov was glad he and Larissa weren’t going to use one of the unoccupied rooms. She came quickly around the hidden part of the curved counter, where she normally waited. He guessed she was enjoying the recognition.
‘Aren’t you going to kiss me?’
‘I feel I’m on display!’
‘You are. You’re famous.’
Danilov hurried her from the hotel, wondering why he felt uncomfortable at the recognition, but not at coming directly from his meeting with Kosov to finalise his living arrangements with the man’s wife. He waited until she was seated beside him in the Volga before kissing her. ‘I’ve got the dollars for the apartment.’
‘Good,’ she said briskly, as if there had never been any doubt he would be able to obtain them.
‘Before we commit ourselves, you should consider very seriously that Yevgennie could expose me, because of the past.’
‘We talked about it already.’
‘Don’t we need to talk about it again? Life with me is going to be very different from what it is with Yevgennie Grigorevich.’ She had the comparison of riding in the shuddering Volga against the smoothness of the BMW as a very real example.
Larissa reached across for his hand. ‘My darling! I want it to be as different as it possibly can be. I love you!’
‘There’s something else. I won’t just abandon Olga. I want to be able to help her – not just with money: if she has any problems. She… she isn’t very good with things.’
Larissa squeezed the hand she was holding. ‘Wasn’t I the one to say it would be nice if we stayed friends?’
‘I love you,’ Danilov returned finally.
At the Tatarovo apartment, he handed over the money and signed the leasing agreement, and the landlord took them around for another tour of inspection, for Larissa to itemise the things they would need. She did so in a notebook, making reminders to herself where she intended to put individual pieces of furniture.
‘I hope you’re happy here,’ the landlord said.
‘We will be,’ said Larissa, positively.
The Secretary of State had agreed at once to one of their breakfast meetings, but cleared his diary for the entire morning.
It took Henry Hartz a full hour to go completely through what Cowley had sent from Moscow. Finally he looked up to the FBI Director and said: ‘So there’s a definite government connection!’
‘I think we should date it from the coup that didn’t work,’ warned Ross.
‘Serov was a currently serving, accredited diplomat at the Russian embassy,’ argued Hartz. ‘There are three other names here who are members of the current government!’
‘Haven’t we ever found a rotten apple in a diplomatic barrel?’ asked Ross gently.
‘Not a whole goddamned orchardful setting up ten-million-dollar drug deals with Mafia organisations right around the goddamned world!’ erupted Hartz.
‘Serov wasn’t,’ pointed out the FBI Director. ‘By then he was dead. I’d like to go along with what Cowley suggests: wait a little to see what comes out of the enquiries that are left.’
‘I’m definitely waiting for Moscow to come to us,’ agreed the Secretary of State. ‘They’re the ones who’ve got to do the explaining.’
Two miles away, at the FBI headquarters in downtown Washington, Rafferty looked up from one of the overnight cables from Cowley directed specifically to them, together with all the other additional evidence and specimens. ‘Son of a bitch!’ he said. ‘All the time, we were looking for the wrong face in the pictures, with Michel Paulac.’