He lit a Russian cigarette, leaned back and said to his driver, “The Kremlin.”
There was nothing certain in this life, except that the President would not be pleased.
He sat in his office for quite some time until the secret door opened and the President stalked in. “We’re going to look like fools!”
“Mr. President, we can always say he’s ill, so the ceremony has to be postponed. Maybe he’s had cancer all along. That would explain his generosity to the State. And then after an appropriate period of time… maybe he’ll die. Willing it all to the State, of course. We can still do this.”
Putin stood lost in thought. “Maybe. For your sake, I hope so, Volkov.” He glowered at the General, then stalked back out, the secret door closing behind him.
Volkov sat there, still feeling uneasy. Perhaps more could be done here, there were loose ends. He lifted his coded phone, checked on his list of numbers and called Ashimov.
At Drumore Place, Ashimov was seated by the fire with Liam Bell, enjoying a drink, and he jumped to attention. “I’ve bad news for you, Ashimov.”
He told him all abut it, and emphasized, “You’re in deep shit as well. We’ve been outfoxed by Ferguson and Dillon over and over again. The business in Algiers, the loss of Major Novikova, all those botched attempts in London, in Drumore, and now this debacle in Moscow. And the final insolence – Dillon masquerading as Levin. The President is mad as hell.”
Ashimov was choking. “What can I say, General?”
“I think you’d better come home, Major. We’ll discuss your future when I see you.”
He switched off, smiling, but Ashimov wasn’t smiling at his end. A return home and a discussion of his future could mean anything from a bullet in the head to a one-way trip to some Gulag. On the other hand, if he could recover the situation, dispose of Max Zubin and his mother, for example, perhaps even Dillon… The rage boiled up in him. Always Dillon.
He poured a large vodka and slopped it down. Liam Bell said, “What’s your problem?”
And Ashimov poured it all out.
At the same time, Volkov phoned Levin, who had moved back to the Dorchester and the delights of the Piano Bar. He was at a corner table indulging in iced vodka and beluga caviar, like a true Russian, but as Volkov spoke, Levin was all attention.
Afterward he said, “You’ve got to give it to him. It was a stroke of genius, the whole caper.”
“You don’t need to exaggerate. I wish he worked for me. I’ve spoken to Ashimov, pointed out his blame in the matter, and suggested he return home. He knows what that means, so I suspect he’ll try to come up with some scheme to eradicate the Zubins in London. Something to make him look good to me. He’ll probably try to recruit the Irishman, Liam Bell.”
“He’ll certainly try to recruit me,” Levin said.
“Exactly. I’m not sure I can rely on you, but do what you can.”
When Ashimov was finished, Liam Bell shook his head. “You’re in more than a tight corner, my friend. Go back home and God knows what Volkov will have done to you.”
“Where else can I go?” Ashimov said. “But if I can go back with some sort of victory, knock off Zubin, his mother, even Dillon…”
There was a madness about him now, Liam Bell saw that. He shrugged. “How in the hell could you achieve that?”
“Igor Levin is still in place at the London Embassy. If he’ll join me, he’ll have all the GRU intelligence sources we need to find out what Ferguson’s done with Zubin and his mother.”
“I suppose that’s possible.”
“You could help. You’ve still got London contacts.”
“Oh, no,” Bell said. “I’ve had enough on this one.”
“I’ve got a fortune in the contingency fund in the safe in my study. I’ll call in a company Falcon, we land at Archbury. A couple of days should do it. I’ll give you twenty-five thousand pounds in advance, another twenty-five when we get back.”
And as usual, greed won the day. “Two days?” Bell said. “And I want the fifty in advance.”
“All right.” Ashimov didn’t even argue.
“Well, phone Igor Levin, set it up and let’s see the color of your money.”
After Volkov’s call, Levin had been waiting to hear from Drumore Place, had been wondering how to handle Ashimov when he was contacted, which he was in his suite at the Dorchester.
Ashimov said, “We’ve had problems in Moscow.”
Levin had decided on the direct approach. “I know all about the whole bloody mess.”
“God, if I could get my hands on Dillon,” Ashimov said.
“Well, you can’t, old stick. So, Volkov’s told you to come home, is that it?”
“Yes!”
“We all know what that means.”
“I’m coming over,” Ashimov said, and his desperation was plain. “If we could find where they have Zubin and his mother, I could deal with them.”
“Get them back to Russia, you mean? I think it’s too late for that.”
“They can end up in the Thames as far as I’m concerned,” Ashimov exploded. “Just find out where they are. Dammit, you’ve got all the resources of the GRU – find out! I’ll be flying into Archbury.”
“Alone?”
“No, Bell has agreed to accompany me.”
“Out of loyalty or for money?”
“Money, of course.”
“Always the best way. I’ll see what I can do.”
He sat there, thinking about it. There had been a disturbing edge of madness about Ashimov, but maybe there always had been. Still, he had a certain duty in this matter, so he found his coat, called for his Mercedes and drove to the Russian Embassy in Kensington.
In his office, Luhzkov sat and listened as Levin made certain demands.
“But this is really asking too much, Igor. You ask for full cooperation from us at every level. How can I agree to it when I don’t even know what is so urgent that you request this?”
Levin produced his mobile, made a call and said, “It’s good to speak to you, General. I’m having problems with Colonel Luhzkov at the London Embassy. He questions the importance of my mission.” He listened, then passed the phone across. “General Volkov would appreciate a word.”
Volkov said, “You’ve got a good record, Luhzkov, you’re a fine officer. I’m amazed at your attitude in this matter. I’m sure Levin misheard. Ask him to speak to me again.”
Luhzkov did, already trembling. Levin listened, then said, “Of course, General.”
He took the Putin warrant from his pocket and laid it before the Colonel. Luhzkov read it, remembering when Levin had first shown it to him in the pub, and Volkov said, “Would you dispute an order from your President, Colonel?”
“Of course not, General, anything I can do, anything.”
“This is a matter of the highest state security, Colonel. Captain Levin acts not only with my total authority, as head of the GRU, but under direct order from the President himself.”
“I understand, General.” Luhzkov was in deep water and he realized it.
“In this matter, Captain Levin has total control. I’ve already spoken to the Ambassador. Until the present emergency is solved, Captain Levin is in charge and will be offered every assistance.”
“Anything I can do, you may rely on me, General.”
He handed the phone to Levin, his face very pale. Levin said, “Look, General, I don’t know what you expect all this to achieve, but I’ll do what Ashimov wants. You do realize he’s a madman, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m not.”
“Actually, that’s what I’m relying on.”
Volkov switched off and Levin put the mobile in his pocket. “The first thing you do, Luhzkov, is speak to Ferguson and ask for any news he has of the whereabouts of Major Greta Novikova. You will tell him you have information that she’s being held at Holland Park. As a diplomatic attaché at our Embassy, she is entitled to diplomatic immunity and the right to be returned to Russia.”