“Did the gift box have a name on it?”
“Bulgari. The bracelet must have cost a fortune.”
“And the note? Was it Grigori’s handwriting?”
“It certainly looked like his.”
“What did it say?”
“It said he never wanted to spend another birthday apart. It said he wanted me to come to London with the man named Anatoly. It said not to worry about money. Everything would be arranged and paid for by Viktor.”
“No last name?”
“No.”
“But you knew it was Viktor Orlov?”
“I’d read about Grigori and Viktor on the Internet. I even saw a photo of the two of them together.”
“Did Anatoly describe his relationship to Mr. Orlov?”
“He said he worked for him in a security capacity.”
“Those were his exact words?”
“Yes.”
“And the letter? I take it you were moved by it?”
Irina gave an embarrassed nod. “It all seemed real.”
Of course it had, thought Gabriel, gazing at Irina in the monitor. It had seemed real because Anatoly, like Gabriel, was a professional, well versed in the arts of manipulation and seduction. And so it came as no surprise to Gabriel when Irina said she and Anatoly had spent the rest of that evening in pleasant conversation. They had talked about many things, she said, moving from topic to topic with the ease of old friends. Anatoly had seemed to know a great deal about Irina’s marriage, things he couldn’t possibly have known unless Grigori had told him-or so Irina believed at the time. Over dessert, almost as an afterthought, he had mentioned that the British government was prepared to grant her asylum if she came to London. Money, he had said, would not be a problem. Viktor would take care of the money. Viktor would take care of everything.
“And you agreed to go?” asked Lavon.
“I agreed to pay a brief visit, but nothing more.”
“And then?”
“We talked about the travel arrangements. He said because of Grigori’s circumstances, great care would have to be taken. Otherwise, it was possible the Russian authorities wouldn’t allow me to leave the country. He told me not to speak to anyone. That he would be in contact when it was time to go. Then he drove me home. He didn’t bother asking my address. He already knew it.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Not a soul.”
“When did he make contact with you again?”
“The ninth of January, as I was leaving my office. A man came alongside me on Tverskaya Street and told me to look in my bedroom closet when I got home. There were suitcases and a handbag. The suitcases were neatly packed with clothing, all my size. The handbag had the usual assortment of things, but also a Russian passport, airline tickets to London, and a wallet filled with credit cards and cash. There was also a set of instructions, which I was to burn after reading.”
“You were to depart the next day?”
“Correct.”
“Tell me about the passport.”
“The photograph was mine, but the name was false.”
“What was it?”
“Natalia Primakova.”
“Lovely,” said Lavon.
“Yes,” she said. “I rather liked it.”
28
SHE DID not sleep that night. She did not even try. She was too nervous. Too excited. And, yes, maybe a bit too frightened. She paced the rooms of the little apartment she had once shared with Grigori and pondered the most trivial of keepsakes as if she might never see them again. In violation of Anatoly’s strict instructions, she telephoned her mother, a family tradition before a trip of any magnitude, and she slipped a few personal items into the suitcases of Natalia Primakova. A bundle of yellowed letters. A locket with her grandmother’s photo. A small gold cross her mother had given her after the fall of Communism. Lastly, her wedding band.
“You thought you might be leaving Russia for good?”
“I allowed myself to consider the possibility.”
“Do you recall your flight number?”
“Aeroflot Flight 247, departing Sheremetyevo at 2:35 p.m., arriving London Heathrow at 3:40.”
“Very impressive.”
“It is what I do for a living.”
“What time did you leave your apartment?”
“Ten o’clock. Moscow traffic is terrible that time of day, especially on the Leningradsky Prospekt.”
“How did you travel to the airport?”
“They sent a car.”
“Was there any trouble with your new passport?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Your travel was first class or economy?”
“First class.”
“Did you recognize anyone on the flight?”
“Not a soul.”
“And when you arrived in London? Any problems with the passport there?”
“None. When the customs official asked me to state the purpose of my visit, I said tourism. He stamped my passport right away and told me to have a pleasant stay.”
“And when you came into the arrivals hall?”
“I saw Anatoly waiting along the railing.” A pause, then, “Actually, he saw me. I didn’t recognize him at first.”
“He was wearing eyeglasses?”
“And a fedora.”
“Would you describe his mood, please?”
“Calm, very businesslike. He took one of my bags and led me outside. A car was waiting.”
“Do you recall the make?”
“It was a Mercedes.”
“The model?”
“I’m not good with models. It was big, though.”
“Color?”
“Black, of course. I assumed it was Viktor’s. A man like Viktor Orlov would only ride in a black car.”
“What happened next?”
“He said Grigori was waiting at a safe place. But first, for my protection, we had to make certain no one was following us.”
“Did he say who he thought might be following you?”
“No, but it was clear he was referring to Russian intelligence.”
“Did he talk to you?”
“He spent most of the time on the telephone.”
“Did he place calls or receive them?”
“Both.”
“Was he speaking English or Russian?”
“Only Russian. Very colloquial.”
“Did you make any stops?”
“Just one.”
“Do you remember where?”
“It was on a quiet road not far from the airport, next to a pond or reservoir of some sort. The driver got out of the car and did something to the front and back of the car.”
“Could he have been changing the license plates?”
“I couldn’t say. It was dark by then. Anatoly acted as though nothing was happening.”
“Do you happen to recall the time?”
“No, but afterward we headed straight into central London. We were driving along the edge of Hyde Park when Anatoly’s telephone rang. He spoke a few words in Russian, then looked at me and smiled. He said it was safe to go see Grigori.”
“What happened next?”
“Things moved very quickly. I put on some lipstick and checked my hair. Then I saw something from the corner of my eye. A movement.” She paused. “There was a gun in Anatoly’s hand. It was pointed at my heart. He said if I made a sound, he would kill me.”
She lapsed into silence, as if unwilling to go on. Then, with a gentle nudge from Lavon, she began speaking again.
“The car stopped very suddenly, and Anatoly opened the door with his other hand. I saw Grigori standing on the sidewalk. I saw my husband.”
“Anatoly spoke to him?”
She nodded, blinking away tears.
“Do you remember what he said?”
“I will never forget his words. He told Grigori to get in the car or I was dead. Grigori obeyed, of course. He had no choice.”