Blackmail

58 YASENEVO, RUSSIA

It was late afternoon when Semyon Gorev, seated at his desk in the Y-shaped headquarters of Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, scrolled through the daily update on his computer. At the end of the intelligence summary, he reviewed the whereabouts of high-ranking foreign and domestic diplomats. Not only did the SVR keep tabs on foreign diplomats, they also kept track of their own, maintaining a record of their acquaintances and activities. One could never have enough information on Russian politicians; the hidden details of their lives had proven useful on countless occasions.

Gorev had a special interest in Christine O’Connor, and a quick check on her status produced a surprise result. She had left her hotel this morning, picked up by one of Chernov’s Federal Protective Service agents. After reading further, he noted Christine and Chernov had departed for his villa in Sochi, accompanied by the president of LUKoil and his wife.

What was Chernov up to, gallivanting around with one of the richest men in the country? Vagit Alekperov would want something in return for his friendship. Also, what game was Christine O’Connor playing? She had turned down President Kalinin’s offer for the weekend, only to accept one from Chernov? Kalinin was the clear winner on all fronts: more powerful, better looking, with a notably better personality. Choosing Chernov didn’t add up.

As head of the SVR, Gorev received background summaries of the diplomats visiting Russia, including Christine. However, he decided to examine her entire file. He left his office and headed to the Operations Center, a dimly lit room with over one hundred men and women at their workstations, poring over data on their computer screens while supervisors studied the most pertinent information on a dozen six-foot-wide video screens mounted along the front wall. Gorev stopped at one of the supervisor workstations.

“Pull up Christine O’Connor’s file.”

The supervisor complied, and Gorev peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through the information.

“Stop,” Gorev said when he noticed an entry about a meeting between Christine and Israel’s intelligence minister, who died about the same time as their meeting.

“Pull up Barak Kogen’s file,” Gorev directed.

The requested information was displayed, and at the end of Kogen’s file, Gorev found the information he was looking for. Barak Kogen’s death was publicly reported as a heart attack, but the SVR’s official assessment was that he was poisoned. Gorev examined the date. Kogen died the same day he had lunch with Christine O’Connor.

Gorev pulled his phone from his jacket, looking up Chernov’s contact information. The Operations Center was shielded from radio transmissions, so he called Chernov on a landline.

No answer.

“Get me a number for Chernov’s security detail.”

The number was provided and one of Chernov’s agents answered, explaining the defense minister was on his yacht in the Black Sea with Alekperov and his wife, along with O’Connor and two Federal Protective Service agents.

Gorev decided to pay Chernov and O’Connor a visit. “Give me two men,” he told the Operations Center supervisor, “and air transportation to Sochi immediately.”