No Time for Heroes (49 page)

‘I had to sign as well, as a witness,' said Yasev.

‘How was the transfer to the Chechen to work?'

‘When the investigation died down and it became safe to access the
anstalt
I was to instruct a Swiss lawyer to substitute what I'd signed over for what already existed there. They'd sent someone to Geneva to find out how to do it.'

‘Giving the Chechen the whole thirty million?'

‘And us relief, at last,' said Yasev.

The man appeared content to remain subservient, Danilov thought. Had Raisa Serova dominated her husband as completely as she clearly dominated her lover? It was a passing reflection, leading to another. Dominant or not, he was going to have to adjust his attitude towards the woman, if what she'd said was true. And he had no way of proving she hadn't intended to return the money, before being terrorised into parting with it.

The questioning continued for a further two hours, coming down largely to filling in dates and details. Raisa Serova produced the telephone number of the Ostankino leader, Yuri Ryzhikev, and Yasev gave the exact day when the
Svahbodniy
documents had been signed over, which was only one day before the Swiss authorities froze the account, supporting Danilov's guess there had been insufficient time to plunder it. Yasev volunteered the relationship between himself and Raisa dated from their overlapping posting to the Russian embassy in Paris: Raisa volunteered that if they had been able to return the money, she had intended divorcing her husband to marry Oleg.

‘Putting something else right, as it should have been a long time ago,' said Yasev.

‘What's going to happen to us now?' demanded Raisa. ‘The blind man, Yerin, said we would be killed if we ever told anyone.'

‘I think, for the moment, you should come into protective custody.'

‘I think so, too,' agreed Yasev anxiously.

‘You'll arrest them, both gangs, won't you?' said the woman, just as anxiously. ‘We won't be safe, Oleg and I, until they're locked up.'

‘We'll arrest them,' assured Danilov. Against how many charges would be possible?

Yasev and the woman went together into the bedroom, to collect clothes to take with them.

‘That didn't turn out at all like I expected it to,' admitted Cowley.

‘Nothing in this case turns out like we expect it to,' reminded Danilov.

It took most of the remainder of the day to go through the protective custody formalities and prepare a full report, accompanied by a transcript of the statements of Raisa Serova and Oleg Yasev, for the Federal Prosecutor. Because the Deputy Interior Minister had taken over the ultimate authority for the Organised Crime Bureau, Danilov duplicated to him, as well.

‘I wish you wouldn't go ahead with this other thing,' said Cowley. ‘It has no purpose.'

‘We don't know that, yet.'

‘Any more than we know your people are going to cover up as much as you suspect they will.'

‘Trust me,' said Danilov glibly.

‘I do. And I think you're taking too much of a chance. In any court that even admitted in evidence the tape of you and Kosov in the car, a clever lawyer could make you sound the crookedest cop in the history of corruption.'

Danilov conceded that at the moment the American was right. ‘I want to
see
them: know what they're
like
. I need to be ready, in advance of whatever the official decisions are.'

‘If it's an official decision, it's an official decision!' argued the exasperated American. ‘You've solved a case. They decide how to take it from here.'

‘We've solved an embezzlement case, which we didn't know we had. We haven't solved four murders. Which we knew we
did
have. The Italian convictions will be theirs, not ours.'

‘Where else is there to go?' exclaimed Cowley, in despairing cynicism.

‘Maybe where I'm going.'

‘If they'll see you,' cautioned Cowley.

‘They'll see me. They can't ignore me.'

‘You'll be as exposed as hell!'

‘I'll cover myself.'

‘Nobody knows where the hell you're going,' objected the American. ‘You're totally at their mercy.'

‘The car's bugged,' reminded Danilov. ‘You can listen.'

‘Maybe to the sound of the gun going off,' completed Cowley.

‘We'll hear what he's got, before we show him how we can hurt him,' said Yerin.

‘He'll deal,' predicted Gusovsky.

‘We've got to have Zimin killed,' said Yerin conversationally. ‘It doesn't matter whether he's talked or not; he's got to be killed.' He paused. ‘We should have done it a long time ago.'

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

It was the Metropole again, but the man wasn't waiting to intercept him in the foyer, nor in the bar itself, when Danilov arrived, a few minutes ahead of the arranged time. The waiter peremptorily tried to move him from the booth, until Danilov said he was waiting for guests and didn't intend occupying it alone: he deliberately ordered beer, the cheapest drink on the list.

Danilov welcomed a few minutes by himself. He was about to try the biggest bluff of his life. Cowley, still not entirely knowing what he was attempting, had continued to argue against it. So had Pavin, who had come from their original office, where he still had his files, to announce the number deciphered from Kosov's car phone had been traced to the Kutbysevskij address. Pavin had wanted to order foot and motor patrols around Kutbysevskij and the restaurant on Glovin Bol'soj until Danilov pointed out both were in Kosov's Militia district, and that it was inevitable the man would learn about them. He refused, too, to have any squad personally imposed for protective surveillance. His most positive rejection was to Cowley's suggestion he wear a body microphone and transmitter.

Danilov did not seriously believe he was in any physical danger – not this first time at least – but it was not until after he'd made the final arrangements with Kosov that he realised how few precautions there were to take. He wrote a detailed statement, listing as much as he suspected about the man's links with the Chechen, to supplement the stack of incriminating tape transcripts. In particular, he itemised that day's date and included timings for a provable and continuing narrative implicating the man in the imminent Mafia encounter. He intended to supplement it even further with whatever identifying conversation would be recorded from the BMW.

Kosov was fifteen minutes late. The reluctant waiter became smilingly attentive when he bustled towards the booth, looked disgustedly at the beer, and ordered Chivas Regal, widening his thumb and forefinger to make it double. Danilov was aware of three men entering the bar at almost precisely spaced intervals after Kosov. They wore Western-style suits and upon one there was a glint of gold, from a bracelet and a ring on the same hand, but the features were Slavic. The one with the gold reminded him of Mikhail Antipov: Danilov was glad he had not agreed to a similar escort, which would have been not so well dressed but just as obvious.

‘So there's no hurry?' said Danilov, as Kosov began to drink.

‘There's time to talk. These men – the people you're going to meet – like respect. They're big … very big.'

‘Do I play the peasant or the kulak?'

‘Just trying to help,' said Kosov. He was subdued, close to being openly frightened.

It would be wrong to offend the man. ‘Who will I be meeting?'

‘They'll tell you their names, if they want to.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘It's quite close.'

Both Kutbysevskij and Glovin Bol'soj were quite close. For a few moments he sat regarding Kosov, not speaking. Kosov would definitely be as vindictive as possible. He'd try to ride out the exposure, Danilov decided: certainly not resign, unless it was demanded. And resist that demand, as strongly as possible. ‘What else should I know about them?'

‘They're very generous, to people they consider friends.'

‘I would have to prove the friendship, of course?'

‘Of course.'

There was nothing to be gained by pressing further. ‘They very worried about Italy?'

Kosov's face clouded. ‘They're still furious at being misled.'

‘Not by me. And you know how that happened.'

‘It would help if you explained again to them, in person.'

‘I'll make a point of it.' Danilov was suddenly caught by the irrational wish to play the car intercepts back to the man: particularly the one involving the sadly flattered Olga. He dismissed the fantasy, irritably, looking up in time to see two of the men who'd entered closely behind Kosov both looking at him: one turned away too quickly.

Kosov smiled at the assurance. ‘It's going to be very good, when you're connected like I am: when we're really a team, officially and otherwise.'

Danilov thought ‘connected' had some American Mafia connotation, but wasn't sure. He looked pointedly at his watch, which was a waste of time because it had stopped again. ‘Shouldn't we go?'

The BMW was parked prominently outside the hotel. Danilov didn't bother to check the three followers he was sure would be leaving directly after them, more concerned with feeding the incriminating tape. ‘How far do we have to go?'

‘I told you, it's quite close.'

‘Where do they meet, the Chechen? Are there special houses … restaurants … public places … what?'

Kosov, who was heading back in the direction of Red Square, looked sharply across the car. ‘Who said anything about the Chechen?'

Shit! thought Danilov, caught out. Quickly recovering, he said: ‘That's who the Americans think is involved.'

‘They move around,' offered Kosov, after a pause.

He had to give as much as possible of the route. Seeing the illuminations ahead, Danilov said: ‘I would have expected the Kremlin stars to be taken down, wouldn't you? It's a Communist symbol, after all.'

‘I haven't thought about it,' dismissed Kosov, impatiently. ‘You're not armed, are you?'

‘No.' Should he explore the demand? It hardly required an explanation, and he didn't want a too-persistent question-and-answer exchange.

Kosov turned on to Sverdlova. As they passed the US embassy – aware that briefly the American, at the listening apparatus, was only yards away – Danilov said: ‘Cowley says conditions inside the embassy there are terrible. The KGB bugs in the new building should have all been located by now, wouldn't you think?'

‘I haven't thought about that, either,' said Kosov shortly.

Kosov had not attempted to play either his radio or taped music: so he was too distracted – concentrating upon other things – to show off. Or worried. Perhaps the Metropole drink hadn't provided sufficient buoyancy. They were passing the monolithic Peking restaurant and Danilov was about to introduce it as another marker when Kosov pulled sharply into the underpass for the inner peripherique in the opposite direction. ‘What the hell are you doing? We're going back the way we came!' He'd keep to their optimistically devised monitoring but Danilov already knew he was in free orbit, virtually untraceable. The hope of maintaining a street-by-street identification had always been impractical.

‘Making a detour,' replied Kosov flatly.

Recognising another name-identifying chance, Danilov said: ‘Surely you – and the Chechen – don't think I'd surround myself with bodyguards! So we're being checked out by minders?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Of course you know! This is ridiculous, Yevgennie Grigorevich!'

‘It's not my idea!'

‘How much longer do we drive around and around like this?'

‘I said it wasn't my idea!'

‘They were too obvious.'

‘Who? You're not making sense!' protested Kosov.

‘Your three Chechen protectors, back at the hotel.'

‘I don't know anything about three men at the hotel.'

Enough, decided Danilov again: he had the Chechen linked by name with Kosov. ‘The Kammeny Bridge! This really is the conducted tour!'

Kosov did not reply.

If Moscow were divided by the Mafia into a cake they were a long way now from what was acknowledged to be the Chechen slice: certainly a long way from Kutbysevskij Prospekt or Glovin Bol'soj. Danilov was curious if they would continue, to complete the inner ring road. But once again Kosov made an abrupt and unannounced underpass turn to reverse yet again the direction in which they were driving. Preposterous though it was, Danilov conceded it would have been impossible for any surveillance car to have remained with him this far without being identified. They re-crossed the Kammeny Bridge and went by the embassy and the Chinese restaurant a second time but almost at once turned off Sverdlova, on to minor roads. On what Danilov thought he recognised to be Kisel'nyj Street Kosov unexpectedly slowed, to be passed by two cars flashing their lights.

‘I'm glad they're satisfied,' said Danilov.

‘Shouldn't you be glad they're so careful?'

‘I don't know yet what I have to be careful about.'

They only drove for another few minutes and Danilov managed to get the place name when Kosov visibly began to slow once more. For the benefit of the tape, Danilov said: ‘Finally we get to Pecatnikov, which we could have done in five minutes if we'd come direct!'

‘I told you it was close,' said Kosov.

Close indeed, to the favoured restaurant, Danilov recognised: Glovin Bol'soj was only two or three streets away. He half expected Kosov to go through the connecting alleys to reach it, but the man didn't. Instead he pulled up within yards, in front of a huge, pre-revolutionary building which at first appeared a blank-walled, unlit block. Only when they went through a passage into an inner courtyard was there any sign of life or even habitation, which even then was still dimly lit.