The problem with these types of IED is the bulk and weight of the components, and mixing the fertilizer and fuel oil requires both care and a large container. Delivery of such bigger devices also presents problems, normally requiring a substantial vehicle. John Petrucci’s task was a lot easier, because everything he needed was inside the briefcase.
‘You want a hand with anything?’ O’Hagan asked, but Petrucci shook his head.
‘No. I’ll just grab a coffee in the bar, and then I’ll start.’
‘OK, we’ll aim to position it this afternoon at six, so work out your timing based on that. I’ll check the flights and book us a hotel in Cairo.’
Petrucci returned to his hotel room and locked the door. He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves — fingerprints on bomb components unaccountably seem to survive even the most powerful explosions — opened the briefcase and placed all the components in front of him on the writing desk.
He was methodical and experienced, and had plenty of time. He proceeded with small, simple steps, checking each component carefully before he attached it, and then each function as he completed it.
Fifty minutes later he made a final check of the connections and timer settings, then stepped out into the corridor and headed for the lifts, briefcase in hand.
‘You’re obviously a member of the Mafia,’ the interrogating officer snapped, as Borisov lowered his aching body onto a seat in the interview room.
The officer was dressed in civilian clothes and had introduced himself simply as ‘Investigator Litvinoff’, so Borisov had no idea what rank he actually held or even which branch of the police force he represented. The administrator’s worry was that Litvinoff might not be a police officer at all, but instead a member of the FSB — the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnost — responsible for domestic counter-espionage, anti-subversion and counter-terrorism. The pistol and the bank passbook were both red flags that would immediately suggest either criminal activity or some form of treachery.
‘How else can you explain these?’ Litvinoff demanded, confirming Borisov’s unspoken thought as he gestured at the unloaded Tokarev, and then the passbook, sitting on the table between them.
The room was small and square, with stained and grubby white-painted walls, a low ceiling, and a very solid door. The only furniture was a metal table, its legs bolted to the floor, and three hard wooden chairs.
For a few moments Borisov said nothing, wondering desperately what he could do to retrieve the situation. He’d been trying to work out what he should say ever since he’d stared at the unavoidable sight of the oncoming car on the road outside Kondal, but he still had almost no idea. His best option, he decided, was to play dumb and innocent, as far as he could.
‘The pistol is for my own protection,’ he ventured.
Litvinoff snorted. ‘Protection, Borisov? You work at the PO Start manufacturing plant in Zarechnyy. What enemies can a mere administrator’ — he sneered the word — ‘expect to make? Tell me that.’
‘I sometimes have to carry important documents outside the plant. These papers carry a high security classification, and I must be able to protect both them and myself.’
‘We found no such documents in your car,’ the investigator pointed out. ‘In fact, we found nothing of interest there apart from this bank book. Why do you have a foreign bank account?’
Borisov knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he wasn’t prepared to give in without a fight. ‘I work as a consultant,’ he replied, a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘The companies that employ me often pay in dollars, so that means I must have a bank account outside Russia.’
Litvinoff opened the bank passbook and studied the entry on the first page with exaggerated care. ‘It looks to me as if there has only ever been one deposit made into this account,’ he said. ‘One deposit only, of two million American dollars. Two million dollars. What sort of consultancy work pays you that well, Borisov? What skills do you have that can command that kind of remuneration?’
‘The work I do is confidential, so I can’t discuss it. That passbook is for a new account. I’ve only just opened it, and the money was transferred there from another bank.’ That, at least, was true.
The investigator looked at Borisov and shook his head. ‘Your story makes no sense,’ he snapped, ‘but let’s assume for the moment that this money, this two million dollars, which is more than most workers in this country could earn in several lifetimes, has indeed been paid to you for some work you’ve done. But look at you. Your car is at least fifteen years old and your clothes are shabby and worn. If you had been acting as a consultant and getting paid these sums of money, you would be well able to afford a decent car and good clothes. And you certainly wouldn’t still be working at Zarechnyy as an administrator.’
Litvinoff leant forward across the table, and Borisov moved back slightly.
‘There are only two ways you could have acquired this money,’ Litvinoff hissed. ‘You’re either involved in some kind of criminal activity or you’ve sold something to a foreign power. You’re already in deep trouble for carrying a concealed and unlicensed firearm. What I have to decide is whether you’re a traitor, or just a criminal, and whether you’re going to prison for the rest of your life or if we should just take you outside and shoot you now.’
Borisov stared back across the table, wondering whether to try to buy his way out of the situation. He had adequate funds — that was abundantly clear to both him and the investigating officer — and he could afford to be generous, even split the balance down the middle. What worried him was that any attempt to offer a bribe might backfire.
There could be surveillance devices hidden in the interview room, though he could see no indication of a microphone or camera lens. If he tried to persuade Litvinoff to let him walk out, he might find that his troubles were only just starting. But he had to try, because the alternative simply didn’t bear thinking about. What encouraged him was that he was talking to only one investigator, and he knew that usually two officers conducted such interrogations, often playing ‘good cop, bad cop’ roles. The fact that Litvinoff was questioning him alone might mean he was hoping for an offer.
‘You’re wrong,’ Borisov insisted. ‘I do work as a consultant, and it pays very well. I could even employ an assistant for some jobs.’ That should be enough to bait the line.
For a moment or two Litvinoff stared at him, then dropped his eyes to the passbook. ‘Two million dollars is a lot of money,’ he said. ‘If you were to employ someone, what sort of payment would you expect to offer him for his services?’
Borisov felt he could breathe again, knowing he’d set the hook. All he had to do was negotiate a figure. He’d start as low as he dared, and hope Litvinoff wasn’t too greedy.
‘Probably about twenty-five per cent of the gross remuneration,’ he said casually. ‘For this job I’ve just done, that would mean half a million American dollars. A very substantial payment for very little work.’
‘That’s true, but you must appreciate the nature of what’s involved here. A more reasonable payment would be half the total — one million dollars each for you and your assistant.’ Before Borisov could reply, the investigator continued. ‘Think of the problems you face. If you can’t walk away from here, you’ll never see any of this money. You’ll spend the rest of your life behind bars, or even face a firing squad. Now, if somebody could arrange for all charges to be dropped, I think you’d agree that service was worth rather more than five hundred thousand dollars. But, of course,’ Litvinoff finished, ‘it’s entirely up to you.’