"There is evidence."
"False evidence. But of course it will look real enough."
"There are pictures of you and your aide in bed together."
"False."
"If there is something you have to tell me, you had better do it now," Alexei said. "Save your denials for your trial."
Vishinski gave Alexei a hard look. "Orlov is getting ready to start a war that will destroy us. But it's not him who is leading us into the fire. He's being manipulated by Golovkin."
Golovkin! "Go on."
"Golovkin has been moving money into accounts under Orlov's control. A lot of money. Much of it has been used to speed up modernization of our military. He's encouraging Orlov to begin a war with the West. We both know that we can't win such an encounter."
"Where's the money coming from?"
"From the West. I traced it to a bank in Germany. Golovkin found out that I was looking into his affairs." Vishinski waved his hand at the cell. "This is the result."
"I have only your word that this is true," Alexei said.
"Have you moved into my old office?"
"What of it?"
"There's a bookcase there. Are the books still in place?"
"Yes."
"There is a copy of War and Peace on the third shelf. Look inside the book. On page 386 is a short notation of letters and numbers. Access the restricted section on your computer and search for them. It will bring up a file with the proof you need. I was about to move on Golovkin when I was arrested."
"If what you say is true I will find a way to get you out of here," Alexei said.
"You must be very careful, Alexei. If Golovkin suspects you are looking into his activities you will join me in this fine hotel."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Do you have a cigarette?"
Alexei reached under his tunic and withdrew a package of Golden Fleece cigarettes. The cigarettes were a nostalgic revival of a brand wildly popular during the Soviet era. He handed the packet to Vishinski, along with a small box of matches.
"Spasibo," Vishinski said.
Alexei banged on the metal door with his fist.
"I will visit you again. After I have confirmed what you told me."
The guard opened the door. Alexei stepped out into the hall and the cell door boomed shut behind him, a harsh, metallic sound that sent echoes down the hallway.
Alexei returned to SVR headquarters and went straight to the bookcase. He hadn't paid much attention to it. Since he'd moved into Vishinski's old office he'd been too busy with his new responsibilities to think about changing the furniture, with the exception of bringing in Beria's desk.
The copy of War and Peace was on the third shelf as Vishinski had said. Alexei had read Tolstoy's epic as a young man but remembered little of the story. He turned to page 386. Penciled on the side of the page was a series of numbers and letters. Alexei took the book over to his desk and sat down in front of his computer. He entered the password that allowed him into the restricted area reserved for the director and entered the coded string. Vishinski's hidden file appeared on the screen. Alexei began reading.
Half an hour later he closed the file and reached for the vodka in his desk drawer. He poured a drink and thought about what he'd just learned. Vishinski had been thorough. He had identified a German named Kepler as the source of money used to boost Orlov into power and purchase new equipment for the military. The large transfers were broken into manageable sums and concealed in false accounts. Golovkin had siphoned off millions of euros into a personal account in a Swiss Bank. That was enough to arrest him but Alexei knew it wasn't going to be that easy.
He's corrupt. I never suspected him of corruption. Arrogance and ambition but not corruption.
Corruption had always been part of Russian life. But this was corruption on a different level, operatic in scale.
Why? Alexei asked himself. Why would this Kepler give Golovkin control of so much money?
There was only one way to find out. He couldn't very well ask Golovkin to explain. The only other person who would know was Kepler. The man had to be interrogated. Vishinski's file noted that Kepler was a recluse, an invalid who lived in a guarded compound near Leipzig. A man that wealthy was certain to have the best kind of security. It would be difficult to get to him.
He would send Valentina.
CHAPTER 39
Jaques Dupree followed the team out of the city. They drove to an exclusive enclave some distance from town and stopped on a street dominated by a large mansion. Satisfied his prey had reached their destination, Dupree parked where he could see his targets when they left. He'd decided to eliminate them when they were away from the hotel. Like now, when they were all together in their vehicle. There was a long stretch of highway between here and the city that was perfect for the ambush.
A Heckler and Koch MP7 lay on the seat next to him, hidden under a blanket. The weapon was compact and efficient, an upgrade to the aging MP5. Modern body armor had made the standard pistol cartridges used by the MP5, the Uzi, the Czech Skorpion and the others obsolete. The MP7 announced a new day in personal warfare.
The MP7 fired armor piercing, high velocity rounds that could drill through twenty layers of Kevlar. An armored vest made no difference. They could just as easily punch through the steel door of the Mercedes his targets were driving. The one on the seat had a 40 round box magazine extending out of the pistol grip, an innovative feature. Like they said, you could never be too thin or too rich or have too much ammo. Dupree liked having the extra ten rounds ready to go.
He leaned back in the seat and waited. Dupree was in a good mood, thinking about what he'd do with the money he'd get for taking them out of the picture. It was hard to beat his occupation. Where else could you earn a million euros for a few minutes' work?
The temperature outside the car hovered just above freezing. Selena had on a dark blue jacket lined with fleece, a matching wool hat and a colorful scarf. They all wore winter jackets and warm clothes. Nick didn't like winter much. The thick jackets could get in the way when reaching for a weapon. It was one thing in the military, where weapons were always accessible. It was another when you were dressed as a civilian.
Gutenberg's house was set on several acres of land away from neighbors. Big and sprawling, four stories high with dormers and steeply pitched roofs, the house had a solid look of respectability. The exterior was white stucco framed by dark timber accents. A large portico shielded the entrance from the weather. A railed veranda ran along the front on the second floor, past a row of tall windows. The building was set back from the road at the end of a long drive. The landscaped grounds were covered with snow. The drive had been plowed.
A stone wall bordered the property. Elaborate black iron gates blocked entry. An intercom and camera were mounted on the wall next to the gate.
"No guardhouse," Ronnie said. He scanned the property through binoculars.
"He doesn't need one." Selena pointed.
Two large German shepherds were playing in the snow on the other side of the gate. A third sat nearby, watching.
"Big dogs," Lamont said.
"That's just for openers," Nick said. "He'll have guards up there at the house and sensors covering the grounds. There will be cameras everywhere."
"Going to be tough to get him in there," Ronnie said.
"But not impossible. I'm not going in there blind. He could have fifty men inside."
"There's someone," Ronnie said.
He handed Nick the binoculars. A tall man in a winter parka and a dark blue watch cap pulled down over his ears came around the far corner of the building. He had a submachine gun slung over his shoulder. The dogs ran up to him, scattering snow in the air as they vied for attention. He reached down and patted the leader and said something. They ran off toward the back of the building.