Sokolov furrowed his brow in confusion. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that sometime in the next hour, I think there will be some visitors coming and they’ll want to see me.”
“Visitors? From where?” Sokolov demanded.
“The FSB,” Kyra replied. I hope, she thought.
Grigoriyev stomped ahead of his security detail, much to his protective officers’ frustration. Cooke and Barron kept pace twenty feet behind. The deputy DNI looked over at her subordinate. Barron was smiling, happier than she’d ever seen him. “You’re enjoying this?”
“Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to see the inside of this place when I was the station chief here? Getting here would’ve been like walking into the holy of holies. Besides, I think we’re about to see one wild show from the expensive seats.”
Grigoriyev pushed the main doors open to GRU headquarters and stormed the building, his detail behind. Cooke and Barron stepped inside. The front lobby was brightly lit, with white marble walls and a marble parquet floor. The center of the floor was decorated with the GRU seal, which looked for all the world like Batman’s symbol.
The guards at the entry post rose in confusion. “You men will sit down,” Grigoriyev ordered, pointing a leathery finger at the junior officers. “I am Anatoly Maksimovich Grigoriyev, director of the Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti. Where is General-Major Arkady Lavrov?”
They had recognized Grigoriyev before he’d identified himself. The head of the FSB, like his KGB predecessors, was always an infamous figure among his countrymen. “Sir,” one of the guards replied, “I… we do not know. We are not privy to the general’s schedule. But if you could wait here, we can try to—”
Grigoriyev marched over to the security desk and stared down at the young guard, a boy of twenty perhaps. “You will call upstairs to the general’s staff and determine his location in the next five minutes. You will not report who has made the request.” The FSB director pulled a set of photographs out of the inside pocket of his overcoat and laid them on the desk. “Also, these Americans are being detained somewhere in this facility. You will find out where they are being held, also in the next five minutes. If you do not meet my deadline, I will have you arrested and dragged in chains to Lubyanka, and then I will give the same order to your replacement and we will try again. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Director!” the guard said, trying desperately not to stammer out the words.
“Very good. When you have fulfilled my request, you will then escort me to the general, and you will provide an escort for a detachment to wherever the Americans are being held. Do all of this and you will go home free men tonight.”
“Yes, Director!”
“I’ll say this for the Russians,” Barron whispered. “Intimidation is an art form over here.”
“First lesson, don’t bluff,” Cooke said. “I don’t know what he just told that boy, but I’m sure he meant every word.”
“He did,” Barron confirmed. “If this was the warm-up, it was worth blowing my cover to see what’s coming when he finds Lavrov.”
“I do not think that General Lavrov will wait so long for me to call,” Sokolov said. “He will call others to come and see why—”
An insistent pounding on the door interrupted the interrogator’s apology. Sokolov frowned, moved to the door, and opened it. A conscript stood in the hallway outside, looking nervous. He saluted the senior officer. “Colonel Sokolov! The director of the FSB is at the main entrance. He is demanding to see the American.”
Sokolov’s eyes grew larger and he looked over his shoulder at Kyra. “Neveroyatno!” he muttered. “I am under orders from General Lavrov himself to expedite the… the interrogation.”
“I… I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” the conscript stammered. “General Lavrov is our ranking officer… but the FSB!”
“I know,” Sokolov replied. “Very well. Bring Director Grigoriyev here.”
“Yes, sir!” The conscript saluted again, then fled down the hallway as fast as he could run.
Sokolov turned back to Kyra. “I think you have gotten your wish,” he told her. “I think I will not have to kill you after all. This makes me very happy.”
You and me both, Kyra thought.
Grigoriyev and his entourage made the walk to the interrogation room in five minutes almost to the second. The FSB director stormed into the room without announcing his arrival, paying no attention to Sokolov. Kyra’s clothing and restraints made it clear what role she was playing. She saw Kathy Cooke and Clark Barron stride into the room, surrounded by Russian officers, and she exhaled long and slow with relief.
“I am Anatoly Grigoriyev, director of the FSB,” the man said to her in English. “You are the American, Kyra Stryker?”
“I am, Director,” she replied.
Grigoriyev muttered a curse and turned his gaze on Sokolov. “Under what authority is this woman being detained by the GRU?” he demanded in Russian.
“I cannot answer that question,” Sokolov admitted. “She was detained and brought to me under direct orders from General Lavrov. I have been following his orders. One does not question orders.”
“I want to see any effects that were on her person when she was detained.”
Sokolov pointed at the nearby table. “Her equipment is there.”
Grigoriyev leaned over and examined the contents of Kyra’s pack. “This is everything?”
“No, Director. There were two other items, a letter and a considerable quantity of euros.”
“And why are they not here?” Grigoriyev demanded.
“General Lavrov took the euros and burned the letter,” Sokolov said. “But our photographer documented everything. He can show you a digital picture of the original letter.”
“I want to see it. Bring it to me now.”
“Yes, Director.” Sokolov stepped out of the room.
Barron and Cooke stepped over to Kyra’s side. “Good to see you,” Barron said. “You’re in one piece?”
“More or less,” Kyra confirmed.
“Have you seen Jon?” Cooke asked.
“No,” Kyra replied. “They brought me straight here and I haven’t been out of this room. The colonel there was under orders from Lavrov to execute me. He wasn’t anxious to do it, but I don’t think he was going to wait much longer.”
“Lavrov was here?” Barron asked.
“Yeah,” Kyra confirmed. “He pitched me to work for him again. I turned him down.”
“Good choice,” Barron said. “After Grigoriyev is finished tonight, I don’t think Lavrov’s people are going to have much job security.”
Sokolov reentered the room, a tablet computer in his hand. “This was the letter,” he announced in Russian.
Grigoriyev took the tablet, pulled reading glasses from his overcoat, and put them on using one hand, then stared at the screen. He said nothing for almost a minute. “And Lavrov burned this letter?”
“He did.”
“You handled it?”
“Da,” Sokolov confirmed.
“In your opinion, was it genuine?” Grigoriyev asked.
Sokolov looked at Kyra, a look of concentration on his face. If you want to switch sides, now’s the time, Kyra thought. Back me up if you want to get out from under Lavrov.
The colonel turned back to the FSB director, still thinking. Then he straightened his spine and looked Grigoriyev in the eyes. “Da, Director Grigoriyev. I believe it was.”