The Kingmaker (30 page)

Murtry flexed his still-broad shoulders for Katrina’s sake. “Hell yeah, I know the type. That’s the curse of being a D.C. cop. Everybody in this town thinks they’re important. Leave ’em to me. I’m not the kind of guy who takes no for an answer.”

Officer Blackstone was energetically nodding his head, like, Yeah, me too. Let’s get right over there and kick some butt. Just let me at ’em.

We went out and climbed into our cars. Katrina and I followed their patrol car, which actually worked out pretty well, because they parked in a no-parking zone directly in front of the hotel and we slid in right behind them. Then we trooped inside and Officer Murtry asked the lady at the desk where A. Ames was staying. She apparently surmised that he was part of the security arrangement for her very special guest, because she immediately provided him the room number, which happened to be at the end of the hall on the seventh floor.

We crowded into the elevator and went up. The doors opened and we walked down the hall to Yurichenko’s room, which I was fairly certain was the one with the two muscle-bound goons standing beside the entrance.

Officer Murtry, with Officer Blackstone beside him, walked right up to the goon on the right and said, “Don’t give us no trouble, buddy, but we’re here to serve papers on the guest. Let’s just keep this cordial.”

The goon’s expression didn’t change in the least. He stared at Murtry as though he didn’t understand a word.

Murtry said, “You hear what I’m tellin’ ya? Open the friggin’ door and let me get this over with.”

The goon continued to stare at him, until Katrina, who was standing next to me, said something in Russian. This the goon understood. He began violently shaking his head and saying something rapid-fire and emphatic.

Katrina just as emphatically said something back, and we were suddenly at a loud stalemate with the goon shaking his head and yelling something in Russian.

Murtry looked at Katrina and said, “Hey, what language is that?”

Katrina said, “Russian. He says he can’t let us in, under any circumstances.”

Murtry said, “Yeah? Tell him this is our fuckin’country and if he don’t let us in, I’ll bust his ass.”

By this time, everybody was yelling, and it seemed only a matter of time before some guests got bothered enough to call the desk to ask for security to come up and check on us. This was not part of the plan. The hotel no doubt had instructions that if there were any problems for the guest named A. Ames they were supposed to immediately notify the State Department, or the CIA, or whoever.

Fortunately, the door to the suite suddenly flew open and, lo and behold, Alexi Arbatov poked his head out. He looked at me and at Katrina and displayed absolutely no surprise or recognition. He said something to the goon on the right that I assumed to be the Russian version of “What the hell’s going on here?”

The goon started to answer, but I quickly said, “Excuse me, buddy, but do you speak English?”

Alexi nodded. “Yes. And you are who?”

“Sean Drummond, William Morrison’s attorney, and we’ve got a subpoena to serve on the man who checked into this room under the name A. Ames. Would you happen to be him?”

“No. My name is Arbatov, but Mr. Ames cannot be disturbed under any conditions.”

I waved the paper through the air. “Wrong. I’ve got a legal document to serve, and I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with him.”

Alexi was studying me curiously, halfway amused and halfway not. “Are you aware of Mr. Ames’s, uh, indifference to your American laws?”

Which was a very sly way of asking if I had any idea who Mr. Ames really was.

“I don’t care if he’s Boris Yeltsin or Viktor Yurichenko himself, I intend to talk with him. This is America and I advise you to let us in.”

Alexi pondered that a moment, then very politely said, “I can allow you and this enchanting young woman inside, but would be impolitic if your police were to come also. Mr. Ames would be most upset about this, yes?”

Katrina swiftly put a hand on Murtry’s arm. “It’s okay. Can you just wait here for us?”

Murtry squared his big shoulders, put on a stern expression, and said, “You need me, holler, and I’ll bust through this door. Got that?”

Young Officer Blackstone also worked up his version of a menacing expression. “Right. We’ll bust right in.”

It was a good thing this wasn’t going to be necessary, because the two goons by the door probably knew ways to kill these two using only their eyelashes.

Anyway, Alexi threw open the door and waved us inside. A long hallway led to a living room. Seated at a dining table was Viktor Yurichenko. He wasn’t exactly what I expected, since he was only a little over five feet tall, a tiny, sprightly-looking man who glanced up from a chessboard the moment we entered and asked, “Alexi, who are our guests?”

“Viktor, this is Major Sean Drummond, who is saying he is
attorney for General William Morrison. I am afraid I am not knowing the name of his assistant.”

“Katrina Mazorski,” I said, walking toward Yurichenko, who had stood up and had his hand stuck out to shake. “Forgive us for bothering you, but I have a subpoena for you to appear as a witness at General Morrison’s trial on treason charges.”

Yurichenko grinned and chuckled and slapped a hand against the side of his trousers. “A subpoena? Surely you’re aware I’m immune to your laws.”

I grinned, too. I couldn’t help it. There was something infectious about Yurichenko, like talking with a beloved grandfather who just seems infinitely wise and captivating.

“I’m aware of it,” I admitted, sensing this was not a man to try lying to. “I pulled a little ruse on a drunken judge. It’s vital that I talk with you.”

He looked over at Alexi, who raised his arms like, What can you do? These Americans are such ballsy, unpredictable people.

Back at me, Yurichenko smoothly said, “Major, do you play chess?”

“Yes, actually I do.”

“Do you play well?”

“Not too bad,” I said, which was true. I actually was a damned good chess player.

Yurichenko sat back down and began gingerly arranging both sides of the board. He looked positively delighted to have a fresh opponent. “Please,” he said, pointing at the chair across from him. “I am afraid I can’t give you much time, because I am an old man and require more sleep than I used to. I have very important meetings tomorrow. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

I sat across from him, as Alexi and Katrina positioned themselves to watch. I said, “Two out of three?”

He chuckled. “One to learn each other’s technique, is that it, Major?”

Well, yes, exactly it, I thought with some surprise. You don’t like to think you’re that easily read.

I started with pawn to d5, a classic opener. I said, “There’s no need to dance around, Mr. Yurichenko. I’m here because I’ve got a client accused of treason and murder, and you’re the one person in the world who can say whether it’s true or not.”

Without hesitation he moved a pawn to e6 to block mine. He sounded even more amused. “You are actually here to ask me whether Morrison was reporting to my people?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I admitted, moving another pawn to clear a space for my castle.

“Simply extraordinary.” He swiftly moved a pawn to make space for either his queen or a bishop. “Of course you know I can’t reply.”

“No, I don’t know that,” I said, shifting the pawn to make room for the castle. “What’s the harm? If he’s innocent, he gets to go free. If he’s guilty, you’re just confirming it.”

“If I confirmed it, what good would that do you?” he asked, moving out his bishop to b4.

“It would tell me how to run my defense. I wouldn’t waste time trying to prove he’s innocent. I’d concentrate on punching holes in the prosecutor’s case. Or, if the prosecutor offers a deal, I’d be better informed about how to respond.” I moved another pawn, opening a path for my bishop and queen.

He looked up from the board and studied my face. “Do you wish to start over?”

“What?”

“The game, Major. Do you wish to start over? You’ve already lost. We could waste time on the next five moves in your strategy, but it would end in defeat.”

I looked down at the board. There was no way he could predict what I’d do on the next move, much less the next five.

He grinned and reached down and moved my queen to g4, which was exactly what I’d intended. He moved his queen, then moved my castle to a position to threaten his queen.

“This is how we were maneuvering, correct?”

I nodded.

“And you can see now where three more moves would end in your defeat. You can see that, can’t you?”

I looked at his face to see if he was serious—he was grinning—and then I studied the board. Well, no, I couldn’t see it.

Yurichenko pointed at his queen and said, “I would sacrifice my queen to your rook. In the process I would move my bishop here. See your problem now?”

I saw my problem very clearly. I was one move away from checkmate. It was inevitable.

He began reorganizing the pieces for a second game. I figured the first one had taken just shy of two minutes, although that might be a charitable estimate.

While he set up the pieces he said, “Concerning Morrison, I don’t wish to be obstinate or coldhearted, but I have no incentive to clarify his loyalty. If he was spying for me and I admitted this, I would be betraying a precious trust. In our business, if word got out, I would be finished. Who would ever again sell us your secrets? It is the golden rule of the profession.”

He made the first move, shifting the pawn in front of his queen.

“Say he
wasn’t
spying for you. Why can’t you confirm that?”

“Who would ever believe me?” He chuckled. “But even if your government did, you must understand how we play our game. Right now your intelligence agencies are scrambling furiously to discover what he betrayed and to set it right. The more they suspect, the better for our side.”

“Why so?” I asked, shifting a pawn to d3 so I could move my queen.

He shook his head, and I couldn’t tell what he disapproved of, my move, the naiveté of my question, or both.

“Your people are in the process of collapsing vital programs they believe Morrison betrayed. They are calling in cells and pulling out agents and traitors they think he might have compromised. It is a windfall for my side. Believing Morrison
disclosed our traitors, they now doubt everything they were given. They are confused, dismayed, defensive, and will take years to recover. If I stood up and said, ‘No, Morrison never told us a thing,’ I would be cashiered. In our business, Major, it’s nearly as profitable to have a valuable traitor discovered as it is to have him in place. And if he never actually spied for us, well, that’s a double windfall, isn’t it? I know that sounds immoral, but it is how we play.”

We moved a few more pieces, then he moved his queen two spaces to f6. I moved another pawn that opened up space to move my right bishop from g1.

I said, “Then perhaps you can recommend a solution to this quandary. If Bill Morrison’s innocent, it would be a travesty for him to be found guilty. He has a wife and two children. He’d be facing death or at a minimum life in prison.”

He moved another pawn that opened a space for a bishop to move.

“I wish I could help. I truly do. I’m obviously familiar with Mary, and frankly I admire her. She was superb competition when she ran your Moscow station. She’s very clever, very skilled. But I must think of the needs of my country first. General Morrison knew the risks when he entered the intelligence profession. It’s tragic, but the die is cast.”

I moved my bishop six spaces to f5, where it could threaten one of his pawns.

He looked up at Arbatov. “Alexi, would you be so kind as to fix us some aperitifs? I assume you drink, Major? And you, Miss Mazorski?”

We both nodded. “Good,” he said, bringing out his bishop five spaces.

I studied the board while he leaned back and stretched. I moved another pawn to a position that blocked his bishop from attacking my queen.

He chuckled. “A better position, but you will not last six more moves.”

“Really?”

He reached down and moved another pawn to d6, to open his right bishop. I moved my queen six spaces to the left. He smiled and moved his bishop to a position where I either had to take it with my queen or shift my queen to a nonthreatened spot. Either would expose a pawn whose loss would threaten my king. I counted. Depending on how I moved he would either beat me in three or five moves. There was no way to prevent it.

He gave me a knowing look. “Some things are inevitable. You should play Alexi someday. We’ve competed for years. A few times he has even beaten me.”

Alexi was smiling down at him. “Very few, Papa.”

I said, “Then Morrison’s fate is inevitable?”

“I’m afraid so. Please believe I wish it was different, but life is not like chess. The playing board is not always fair or just. I’ll tell you this, for whatever help it might be. Bill created this situation himself. He made mistakes that undid him. He is an arrogant and selfish man who overestimated his own talents and the loyalty of those around him.”

What was he trying to tell me? I mean, there’s a lot you can learn about somebody from the way they play chess, and after getting my butt kicked twice in less than five minutes I’d learned this. Viktor Yurichenko was probably the smartest man I’d ever met, if not the slyest. He’d never hesitated a single second to make his next move, just nonchalantly watched me unfold my strategies, then brushed them aside like he was swatting flies. His own moves had been surefooted and deceitful. You can move three ways on a chessboard: forward, sideways, or diagonally. Both times he’d beaten me using only his diagonal pieces, his queen and his bishops.

He was still coming at me from the diagonal. Was he saying Morrison had been a sloppy, overconfident traitor who brought this on himself? Or was there some other implication and I just couldn’t see it?

I nursed my drink, hoping to drag this out a little longer. Yurichenko struck me as one of the last of that dying breed called old world gentleman, who’d never throw out a guest without letting him finish his drink.