Private Moscow

Chapter 47

I was taken out of the cell block to a booking hall where I was processed and got my things back, including my satellite phone. Feeling grubby and disheveled, I left what I’d thought was a police station — I’d only seen the rear entrance when I’d been pushed out of the police van — but when I finally stepped outside I discovered I’d been inside a huge government building. A courtyard lay between three six-story wings, each of which featured grand columns and high, arched windows. I walked along a path that bisected the snow-covered courtyard, toward a concrete gatehouse, where two uniformed guards kept watch. I passed through the high gate without incident and found myself on an unfamiliar street. There was a grand building and parkland behind a high wall on the other side of the busy road, and as I looked to my left and right, I saw no landmarks I recognized. There hadn’t been any fresh snow while I’d been inside, and everywhere was covered in icy, graying slush that made the city feel just as drab and shabby as me.

I was about to call Justine when I noticed exhaust fumes coming from the tail pipe of a small SUV parked in a bay on the opposite side of the street. I got the sense the occupants were watching me, but couldn’t see them clearly because the windows were steamed up. A hand wiped some of the moisture from the windshield and a moment later the passenger and driver doors opened. I was about to start running when I recognized the two figures that emerged as Leonid Boykov and Dinara Orlova.

“Jack,” Dinara yelled over the passing vehicles.

Relieved, I picked my way through the traffic, and joined them by the vehicle, a Lada Niva, a Soviet-era SUV that must have been at least thirty years old. As I approached, I could hear the engine ticking over unevenly, revving high and then running low, almost to faltering point.

“Yes, it sounds like a dying bull,” Leonid said. “But it moves. It’s my uncle’s car.”

They got in the front and I climbed in the back. The interior wasn’t much warmer than the street.

“The heater’s broken,” Leonid explained, wiping the windshield again.

“How did you get out?” I asked Dinara.

She nodded at Leonid. “It pays to have powerful friends.”

“I’m sorry it took so long for you,” Leonid said to me. “It’s one thing getting a former FSB agent out of a police station, quite another thing securing the release of a foreigner from the Ministry of Internal Affairs.” I looked at the grand building. “You got me out of there?”

“Of course.” He nodded. “There are still some members of the Moscow establishment who whisper the name Leonid Boykov with pride.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d better check in with New York.”

I dialed Justine’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. It was just gone eleven in Moscow, which meant it was a little after 4 a.m. in New York. I left a message, letting her know I was OK and asking her to call. I also tried the New York office in case Mo-bot or anyone else was working through the night. I got the company message service and left one for Jessie.

“I spoke to Miss Fleming yesterday,” Dinara said after I’d hung up. “I let her know what happened. She was worried about you, but I was able to put her mind at rest.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Any leads from yesterday? I saw the killer get into a van which went down the alley toward Federation House. It turned right onto the street that runs to the river.”

Leonid shook his head. “Federation House is even more secure than the Pentagon. They have surveillance everywhere. There are two government cameras in the alleyway behind Fisher’s building, but when I made a request, they said they have no footage of the incident.”

“Without evidence, it’s going to be difficult to prove what you saw,” Dinara said.

“And it’s clear there are people who don’t want you on the street,” Leonid remarked.

“The Otkrov article?” I guessed.

Leonid nodded.

“What’s your read on that?” I asked. “Has there always been another writer? Or was the blog hacked?”

“Hacked would be my assessment,” Dinara replied. “The writing style is different to any of Otkrov’s previous posts. Whoever did it must know Otkrov is dead and won’t take down the post or interfere with the fake news.”

“Which means our investigations might be connected,” I observed.

“Possibly,” Dinara conceded.

“Feels like FSB,” Leonid said. “Dirty sneaks with some big plot, trying to control what people think.” He glanced at Dinara. “No offence.”

“Of course,” she replied generously. “I’m no longer FSB, and even if I was, do you think the opinion of an unimaginative beat cop would have mattered to me?”

“Beat cop?” Leonid scoffed.

“Whoever is behind these murders, it’s clear you’ve made powerful enemies, Jack, so we’re going to take steps to keep you safe,” Dinara said.

“How?” I asked.

Leonid glanced in the rear-view mirror and gave me a wry smile. “We’re taking you somewhere even the FSB wouldn’t dare go.”