No Time for Heroes (11 page)

Danilov forced himself to concentrate. Lapinsk was dead, for whatever reason. He was alive, and without warning possibly propelled over the heads of his enemies. He had to take each and every advantage he could. An immediate impression was that Metkin's attitude was too effusively respectful for any of these three officials to be the man's unknown protector.

‘We have to discuss the murder in Washington,' announced Oskin, a thin, balding, soft-voiced man. He looked briefly to the Foreign Ministry man before adding: ‘It has been escalated into a political matter that has to be properly handled.'

‘There's been a formal diplomatic invitation – a request, in fact – for us to assist,' said Vorobie. Danilov belatedly recognised him as one of the Russian ministers who had publicly denounced the 1991 coup from the steps of the Russian White House.

Oskin smiled briefly, towards Danilov. ‘Your earlier communication showed sensible foresight.'

Danilov ducked his head at the praise, wondering what Metkin would later say to whoever had put the newspapers in his office, if it had not been his own idea. Turning the head movement towards Metkin, he said adroitly: ‘We thought it was inevitably something which would extend to here.'

Metkin's reaction was exactly what Danilov had hoped. ‘Absolutely inevitable. That's why I suggested it.'

Keep on being over-eager, thought Danilov.

‘There's been a request to speak to Serov's wife,' said Vorobie. ‘The Americans also want access to the embassy and to the man's home, to which we cannot agree.'

‘Clearly not,' agreed Metkin, trying to convey an opinion by following one already expressed.

Idiot, thought Danilov: it was the time and opportunity to illustrate the professional gulf between himself and the other man. Danilov said: ‘Apart from the access difficulty, are we going to take up the American approach?'

‘Yes,' announced Smolin, entering the discussion. ‘There are several practical advantages, apart from the obvious.'

‘Aid being the most important,' said Vorobie. ‘We can't risk the financial assistance from Washington. This is, indeed, an ideal opportunity to demonstrate full collaboration, like we did when the American politician's relation was murdered here.'

‘Can we afford to do that?' asked Danilov quietly.

The question had precisely the effect he intended. All three officials frowned in bewilderment: Metkin's head moved like a spectator at a tennis match. Danilov continued: ‘The published reports say Serov was killed American Mafia-style. The Swiss financier too. Was there any official connection between the two?'

There was a brief silence. Vorobie said: ‘We have a positive assurance from the ambassador that there was no official knowledge of any meeting. Or reason for one.'

To the Interior Ministry man Danilov said: ‘Was there any security reason for or knowledge of such an encounter?'

‘None,' said Oskin at once.

‘So our contribution can be quite open?' he persisted. Irrespective of any part he might or might not play, this was the moment when the rules were made.

‘The method of killing
is
peculiar,' intruded Smolin. ‘I think that question is one that can only be answered as the enquiry proceeds.'

‘I agree,' said Vorobie. He was a plump but neat man, his face partitioned by a moustache almost too heavy for his features. A diplomat of the new order, he had the habit of hesitating before any sentence, thinking ahead about what he was going to say.

‘It was an important point to raise,' conceded Oskin.

‘We thought so,' said Metkin, anxious to contribute.

If he hadn't known Metkin's intention to drive him from the Bureau, Danilov might have felt some pity for the inadequate man. The conversation was between him and the officials, Metkin coming close to being ignored. Determined to keep it that way, Danilov said: ‘Have the Americans been officially informed of our agreement?'

‘Later today,' said Vorobie. ‘After the ambassador has delivered our Note, we will issue a press statement.'

‘There will be liaison between the two Bureaux in the first place,' decided Oskin. ‘Close consultation between yourselves and the three of us. Priority will naturally be given to any facilities you may require.'

‘Vladimir Kabalin is the newly appointed senior colonel in charge of investigation,' burst in Metkin. ‘He's the officer to be assigned.'

‘What!' said Oskin, face twisted beyond a frown in his surprise. Both Vorobie and the Federal Prosecutor looked similarly taken aback.

Metkin repeated Kabalin's name but hesitantly, discerning the reaction.

‘Kabalin has no experience of joint international detective work, has he?' asked Smolin.

‘No,' admitted Metkin.

‘Does he speak English?' demanded Vorobie.

‘I don't think so,' said the Bureau Director, lamely.

There were more frowning looks between the three men before Smolin said: ‘There's no question who should lead this enquiry.'

‘None,' agreed Oskin, decisively. ‘It will be Dimitri Ivanovich.' He looked directly at Danilov. ‘Your other duties and responsibilities can be rearranged or reassigned, can't they?'

‘Quite easily,' assured Danilov. Despite his depression at Lapinsk's death, there was still excitement.

‘Then it is decided!' declared the man.

‘I am to liaise direct with the ministry?' questioned Danilov, teetering on the edge of insubordination but not really caring.

‘That's what we want,' said Oskin.

But far more importantly, what Danilov wanted.

And that was what Vasili Oskin got, throughout the remainder of that first day.

Back at Petrovka Danilov filled in the time until the Russian response had formally been delivered in Washington by dictating to all departments in the building a flurry of copies-to-the-Ministry memoranda, redirecting for the personal attention of the Director the stifling administrative bureaucracy he had created. The first and most important note asked Metkin to circularise every department informing them of his secondment to the American enquiry and ordering his unquestioned right to any assistance he might demand. The second instructed Yuri Pavin to report to the top floor, on permanent assignment. He was to move in all the evidence-collecting material for a major crime, including a secure storage safe the combination of which would be restricted: there would be no difficulty getting one from the supply manager. Separately, by telephone to avoid a traceable record, Danilov asked Pavin for all details of Lapinsk's death.

In mid-afternoon Metkin used the excuse of personally handing over duplicates of every authorisation Danilov had sought to call Danilov to his office.

‘You regard this as a victory?' demanded the Director.

‘I don't believe myself to be in any kind of contest,' lied Danilov.

Metkin's wrinkled face was crimson. ‘I was aware of everything going on back there this morning. Don't think I wasn't.'

Danilov said nothing: the petulance didn't deserve a response. But like much else that day there was something to learn from it: from Metkin's attitude, he was now quite sure none of the three men that morning were his protectors.

‘When this is over you'll lose your special status,' threatened Metkin. ‘You will be back under my unquestioned jurisdiction!'

There was the usual delay in the Moscow international exchange, and when it extended into the early evening Danilov was afraid he might have missed the man he wanted because of the time difference between Russia and the United States. But Cowley was still in his Washington office when the connection was finally made.

‘We pressed for it to be you,' admitted Cowley.

‘I'm glad you did,' said Danilov sincerely.

That night Cowley went for another walk to Crystal City. The barman recognised him and said it was good to see him again and Cowley said it was good to be back. He began with beer, as before, going on to Wild Turkey after a while. There really was cause to celebrate: it
would
be good, working with the Russian again. Would he still have the complex about losing his hair? Cowley hoped this time there wouldn't be the run-arounds they'd had before, neither at first trusting the other, each trying to outdo the other just that little bit. On the third drink he determined, positively, not to try any smart-ass stuff himself. At least, nothing that wasn't essential.

Because it was a celebration Cowley debated one whiskey more than the previous occasion, but in the end didn't order it, leaving the bar once again pleased at his self-control.

Whatever, he reflected as he made his way back to Arlington, his enjoyment of booze was not as bad as Pauline had insisted when they were together. Maybe he'd call her. He wasn't sure he'd know what to say, but he still thought he might try.

The official report into Leonid Lapinsk's death was unequivocal. The former Director had placed the Makarov against the roof of his mouth and pressed the trigger with his thumb, the print of which was on the trigger. His other fingerprints were on the butt and the barrel. There was no note or anything to indicate why he had done it. His wife, who had been in the apartment at the time and run to the bedroom at the sound of the shot, said her husband had been depressed in recent weeks. She believed it was because of his retirement from the Bureau.

Danilov was equally sure that wasn't the reason.

The news came in a hurried telephone call from the Petrovka headquarters of the Organised Crime Bureau, just as they were about to eat at the restaurant on Glivin Bol'soj. They impatiently sent the whores they'd chosen for that night outside the private salon, so they could talk.

‘I don't like it!' protested Gusovsky.

‘Metkin is still Director,' placated Yerin. ‘We'll still know everything that happens.'

‘There could be things we
won't
know!'

‘Who's there to talk?' asked Yerin rhetorically. ‘Any investigation will be a waste of their time.'

‘What about the old fool's suicide?' asked Zimin.

‘He didn't leave any stupid letters,' said Yerin. ‘And what would have happened if he had? Nothing.'

Gusovsky nodded in agreement. Lighting another forbidden cigar, he said to Zimin: ‘Call the girls back.'

Zimin hesitated, but only momentarily, then did what he was told.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Using the authority of Sergei Vorobie's name, which gained him immediate access to whomever he wanted at the Foreign Ministry, Danilov demanded the complete personnel file on Petr Aleksandrovich Serov. Through the ministry he also ordered the man's office at the Washington embassy to be sealed and to remain untouched until he arrived; he gave the same order for the apartment on Massachusetts Avenue. Knowing there would be a security service presence in the embassy, Danilov repeated the instructions about the office and the flat through the Interior Ministry for relay to Washington, well aware that in the past the old KGB, from which the new organisation had been formed, had regarded itself as beyond edicts from any but their own controllers. And sometimes not even them.

Throughout the telephone conversations Danilov was conscious of the scribbling interest of Ludmilla Radsic at the far end of the room, so when he finished he made it easy for her by dictating records of everything he'd done to create the beginning of Pavin's meticulous dossier and Metkin's spy file. Danilov decided the Director would by now be hating Moscow's direct telephone dialling system, knowing his calls would have been monitored through a general switchboard. From her strained but blank-faced attention during the previous night's conversation with Cowley, he knew Ludmilla did not understand English. While the woman was preparing the Ministry memoranda, Danilov quietly made his own flight arrangements to Washington and typed his own advisory note to Sergei Vorobie, requesting a final briefing. He did not send a copy to Metkin.

Again because of the attentive secretary, it was not until they were in the car on their way to Leninskaya that Danilov was able to speak openly to Pavin.

‘This has confused everybody,' said the man, who was driving. ‘People aren't sure just how strong Metkin's position is: you caused a lot of upset with all those instructions and changes.'

‘Have you been asked to inform on me?' demanded Danilov, with subjective cynicism.

‘Kabalin was very friendly after yesterday's announcement: I'm expecting it to come. When are you going to Washington?'

‘The day after tomorrow.'

‘How long?'

‘I don't know. I'll be liaising with the ministries but I'll come through you, as well, to maintain the records.'

‘Metkin will demand them.'

‘There'll be nothing he can't see.'

The Serovs' Moscow apartment was close to the Gagarin monument, in one of the last ornate and still exclusive blocks built for members of the disbanded Communist Party. The flat was on the top floor, with one of the best views over the city. The elevator worked and was clean. There was no graffiti.

Raisa Serova opened the door and regarded them curiously, someone whose inherent assurance was subdued: a new widow. She was an extremely attractive, even beautiful woman, heavy busted but slim, sheathed in a fitted dark blue wool dress. The patterned gold necklace matched the bracelet on her left wrist. Her deeply black hair was bobbed short and the lipstick matched the dark crimson of her nails. There was the suggestion of redness around her eyes, a hint she might have been weeping, but Danilov wasn't sure. Danilov guessed she was in her late thirties: it would probably be recorded on Serov's Foreign Ministry file.

The woman showed no surprise when they identified themselves, nor any reluctance to receive them. She seated them in an expansive living room, with a view of the obelisk-like tower commemorating the first Russian astronaut. She offered tea, which they refused.