He sat thinking about it, and then, using GRU operational passwords, accessed prisoners' lists and files at Station Gorky. When he tapped in the name of Tania Kurbsky, however, the screen said Code 9 Restriction. He turned to Ivanov, busy at his own computer, and asked, "What's a Code 9 Restriction?"
"Ah, you've got to Tania Kurbsky. I ran into the same roadblock. It means above most secret, which, when I inquired of Major Levin out there in the end office, means you can't have it, whoever you are and whatever it is."
"We'll see about that. Let's go and have a word."
Major Levin was impressed enough when faced with a full colonel of GRU to get to his feet. "Can I assist in any way, Colonel…?"
"Lermov. I'm engaged in an essential intelligence matter, and my inquiry is blocked by the words Code 9 Restriction."
"I'm afraid it would be impossible to help you, Colonel."
Lermov took the envelope from his pocket, extracted Putin's letter, and passed it across. Levin read it, eyes bulging.
"Of course, you could phone through to the Prime Minister's Office in the Kremlin or you could simply unlock the information. Right here on your own screen would do."
"Of course, sir, I'm most happy to oblige. If you would be kind enough to show me what it is you seek, I can insert the correct password."
"Excellent." Lermov turned to Ivanov. "You will oblige me, Captain? I wouldn't look if I were you, Major."
Ivanov's fingers flew expertly, the prisoners' lists at Station Gorky appeared with Tania Kurbsky's name, again blocked. Major Levin scribbled a password and passed it over, and Ivanov tapped it in. The screen was filled with the sad, haunted face of a wretched woman looking about a hundred years old. It read: "Tania Kurbsky died of typhoid, aged 28, on March 7, 2000."
"Have you got what you wanted, gentlemen?" Levin inquired.
"Yes, I think so."
He got up, and Levin said, "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Yes, make sure you forget about this. It would seriously displease the Prime Minister if he heard you'd been uncooperative at first."
They returned to the office, and Ivanov said, "I don't think I'll forget that face in a hurry. She was only seventeen when she went in. That means she endured that place for eleven years."
"I agree. So Luzhkov was lying when he said she was still alive."
"Do you think the Prime Minister knew?"
"I'd like to think he didn't, but who knows? The real question is this: what would Alexander Kurbsky do if he found out? The fact that his old bastard of a father had lied when he said she was dead in the first place must have deeply shocked him, but to discover the awful truth about his sister and realize how cruelly he had been duped…" He shook his head. "I don't think angry would be strong enough to describe how he would feel. And how he would react is anyone's guess."
"Do you think that perhaps he did find out?" Ivanov asked.
"That's what we need to discover. Did you come across anything else?"
"Just one thing. You remember the Big Four meeting the other month?"
"Of course." The American Vice President had unexpectedly flown in from Paris for top secret talks with the Prime Minister, the Israeli Prime Minister, and the President of Palestine to broker a deal on Gaza.
"You remember they met on a large boat on the Thames? Well, according to some reports, it got a little dangerous out there in the mist. Some small riverboat exploded, an overheated gas tank or something."
"And the point?"
"It was the last day anyone at the Embassy saw either Luzhkov or Bounine."
"Interesting," Lermov said. "You think it was related?"
"You said to look for anything odd," said Ivanov. "And here's another thing. Apparently, Luzhkov knew the Vice President was flying in. I found a message about it from the Paris Embassy at approximately midnight on the night before. It was received by a junior lieutenant named Greta Bikov-and signed for by Boris Luzhkov."
"Hmm. That doesn't really tell us anything, though. Tell me, who's been holding the fort for GRU in London since the disappearances?"
"A Major Ivan Chelek. They sent him over from Paris."
"I know him, he worked for me in Iraq some years ago. Slow but sound. You speak to him, explain you're acting under my orders. Find out what he's been doing to investigate, and inquire about Greta Bikov."
"Any special reason?" Ivanov asked.
"Because she was there, Peter, received that transcript as night duty officer and conveyed it to Luzhkov. What was his reaction? Was there anyone with him? Bounine could have been there, for all we know. You were right to bring this matter to my attention."
"At your orders, Colonel." Ivanov produced an encrypted mobile, and Lermov got up and wandered outside.
There was something here, just below the surface of things, he was certain of that, and that feeling tantalized him. An old woman with her head in a scarf and wearing a white coat pushed a tray along the walkway as he leaned on the rail and smoked an American Marlboro. There was a samovar on the trolley that looked as old as her, and sandwiches and pies. She paused and looked at him, a leftover from another age.
"You're not allowed to smoke here, comrade."
"Just give me a hot cup of tea with lemon, babushka, and a currant bun, and you can have these. They're American. I shouldn't be smoking them anyway."
She smiled. "You're a good man, I like you." She pocketed the cigarettes, gave him what he'd asked for, and pushed her trolley away. Lermov ate the bun, which was excellent, and was drinking the tea when Ivanov found him.
"You might have got me one."
"Never mind that. What did he say?"
"No sign of any of them. He's even had assets we can rely on in the London underworld to check the morgues, but they've gotten nowhere. He congratulates you on your elevation to Head of Station and says please come soon, as he misses Paris."
"And Greta Bikov?"
"It seems she was very upset by the whole business of Luzhkov and Bounine. She took it badly, cried a lot, and went round looking stressed and anxious. Other staff said she was a favorite of Luzhkov, and the general opinion was that he was having it off with her."
"How delicately put," Lermov said. "Did you speak to her?"
"I couldn't, she wasn't there. She got very depressed, so the Embassy doctor decided to place her on sick leave."
"And when was this?"
"Four days ago. She's right here in Moscow. Her mother is a widow. Lives in an apartment on Nevsky Prospekt, overlooking the river."
"Some fine old houses there," Lermov said. "Okay, let's say she was a naughty girl and Luzhkov's bit of skirt, as her colleagues seem to think. She was used to being overfamiliar with her commanding officer, in and out of his office, putting up with the older man's indifferent kiss, the quick grope."
"I think I see where you're going with this," Ivanov said. "Bad things happen, the boss disappears, a lot of pressure and questions coming your way."
"Leading to considerable stress of the sort induced by fear, so you show that face to the doctor, who puts you on sick leave."
"And sends you home to Mummy and all the comforts of home." Ivanov grinned. "But what is it she's afraid of?"
"I would imagine her overfamiliarity with Luzhkov led to her sticking her nose into things she shouldn't. She may have enjoyed having him on a string, leading him on, if you like."
"Taking advantage of an aging fool who couldn't keep his fly closed?"
"And now with this strange business of his disappearance, she's seriously worried about her misdeeds, whatever they are, surfacing."
"Then it's time to find out what they are." Lermov took the Putin letter from his pocket and passed it to him. "Go down to the cell block, order the commanding officer to provide you with two military police sergeants, women, but the type who look like prison officers. Proceed to Lieutenant Greta Bikov's home. You will remind her she is still an officer in the GRU and that duty calls. The sergeants will assist her into her uniform, if necessary."