Private Moscow

Chapter 37

Dinara could see flecks of congealed white fat in every mouthful. She didn’t understand how Leonid could face cold solyanka soup, but he often finished their lunchtime leftovers whenever they worked late. He was leaning back in his chair and had his feet on his desk as he dug into the remnants of Elena’s bowl. The office administrator was long gone, but she knew better than to throw away her leftovers if Leonid was working a case.

Dinara’s phone rang and she answered the call from Anatoli Titov, an old FSB contact.

“Anatoli,” she said, forcing herself to sound pleased to hear from him. “What have you got?”

Anatoli had had a thing for her when they’d both worked counterterrorism, and he’d since married and had a child, but the way he’d responded to her flirtatious request for a favor suggested the flame of desire hadn’t quite been extinguished.

“I have got something,” he replied. “Erik Utkin is a former army captain who was pensioned out with an injury he picked up in Chechnya. He retrained as a priest, but quit the church three years ago to join the Black Hundreds as a recruiter. We think he’s connected to some small-time criminals.”

“Anything else?”

“Always greedy. How about we get together for a drink?”

“Now who’s greedy?” Dinara asked. “Aren’t you married?”

“So?” Anatoli said. “You wouldn’t ask a man to eat dinner at the same restaurant for the rest of his life.”

“You’re lucky you’re not starving,” Dinara replied.

Anatoli scoffed and was about to speak, but she cut him off.

“Thank you, Anatoli. I owe you a professional favor.”

She ignored his grumbling and hung up.

“Well?” Leonid asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Former army captain, former priest, maybe a minor criminal,” Dinara replied.

“Minor, as far as they know,” Leonid observed.

Dinara nodded. The FSB was thorough, but it wasn’t omniscient. There was a thin line between minor and major crime, and the murder of a blogger would definitely buy someone passage across it.

“What now?” Leonid said.

“Asking for guidance? It’s almost as if you finally recognize me as your superior.”

“I was talking to the soup,” he replied, gesturing with his spoon.

“We run surveillance on Erik Utkin and see what he’s really hiding,” she replied, but before she could go any further, her phone rang, and the words “Private New York” flashed on screen.

“Hello,” she said in English.

“Dinara? It’s Jessie Fleming of the New York office.”

Dinara hadn’t had much contact with the head of the New York branch but she recognized the name.

“Sorry to call on a Sunday, but it’s an emergency.”

“No problem. I’m in the office too,” Dinara replied. Her FSB training had made her fluent in four languages, and, next to Russian, English was her favorite. “What’s going on?”

“Check your email,” Jessie said. “Call me if there are any problems.”

“Will do,” Dinara said, before hanging up.

“What was that? Leonid asked.

Dinara woke her laptop and logged into the company’s encrypted email server. “We weren’t on a secure line, so she couldn’t tell me what it was about.” After entering her personal decryption key, she read the message Jessie had sent her, and leaned back in her chair. “He’s coming to Moscow,” she said.

“Who?” Leonid asked.

“Jack Morgan.”