Private Moscow

Chapter 46

I studied Anna, wondering whether she was in on the lies or if she was simply being manipulated.

“Well, Mr. Morgan?” she pressed.

Dinara and Leonid had told me the woman behind the Otkrov blog had been murdered, so I found myself asking whether the blog had been written by more than one person, or if it had been hacked and compromised for disinformation purposes. Dinara had spoken highly of the blog’s record for accuracy, and I was leaning toward the latter theory because I knew what was being alleged was completely untrue. No one interested in telling the truth could have published that article. With Yana Petrova, the supposed true author of the blog out of the way, the Otkrov platform had become a powerful and vacant tool for someone wishing to spread propaganda.

“When your officers arrested me on the roof, I was in pursuit of a suspect,” I said.

“We found no evidence of anyone else,” Anna replied. “Just a rope that you’d set up for your escape.”

“If your people hadn’t contaminated the scene, they would have found another set of footprints in the snow,” I pointed out. “This story is a complete fabrication. I attended the property with two witnesses.”

“Yes,” Anna agreed. “Dinara Orlova, one of your employees, and Marlon West, an American Marine who may or may not be an intelligence operative. I’m not sure how you can expect us to consider these people impartial witnesses.”

“Then why are you interested in anything I’ve got to say?” I asked. “I’m not impartial either.”

Ernie Fisher’s death troubled me for more than the obvious reasons. He wasn’t wealthy and could scarcely be classed as part of the 20 percent, let alone the 1 percent. He simply didn’t fit the profile of the other victims, which confirmed my suspicion that the idea of a radical group targeting America’s wealthiest people was merely a cover story. I guessed that was part of the motivation behind the false flag article supposedly written by Otkrov. The killer had obviously staged the murder to look like a suicide, so wasn’t planning to credit it to the Ninety-nine. When I discovered him on the scene, he realized the suicide set-up wasn’t going to fly, so he needed a story that maintained the Ninety-nine cover, while throwing people off his trail. Blaming me for the anomalous kill would achieve both aims perfectly.

“This is an opportunity for you to explain,” Anna said.

“Lawyer,” I replied. “Or US embassy.”

“Mr. Morgan, be reasonable, please. If you won’t talk, then I will be forced to hold you while we complete our own inquiries. That could be weeks.”

“Lawyer,” I repeated.

Anna shrugged and said something in Russian to the translator. Zoya responded with a mocking laugh.

“I give you one last chance, Mr. Morgan,” Anna said.

“Lawyer,” I replied.

“OK,” Anna responded, getting to her feet. “Then you must go back to your cell.”

She stopped the recorder and knocked on the interview-room door. The cop who’d escorted me stepped inside, and Anna said something to him in Russian.

“Come,” he said, taking my arm and hauling me to my feet.

We were on our way out of the room when a police officer entered. My escort snapped to attention, as did Anna. Even the translator got to her feet. The newcomer was a gray-haired man with a line of ribbons across his chest. It was clear he was a senior officer. He gave me a cursory glance before barking something at Anna.

The moment he’d given the command, he turned on his heel and left the room. Like a sudden violent storm, the officer had changed everything. Anna’s demeanor shifted from confident and controlling to one of dejection.

“It seems you are to be released, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “And I am to apologize for any inconvenience,” she added grudgingly.

She said something to my escort and he let go of my arm.

“You’re free to go,” Anna told me, gesturing at the open door. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know she wasn’t enjoying the crow her superior had forced her to eat. “My colleague will show you out.”