“He’s on the run somewhere, but they’re on his trail, and they won’t give up. Remember Leon Trotsky? He was assassinated in Mexico twenty years after leaving the Soviet Union. An NKVD agent pretending to be an admirer put an ice axe through his skull. The regime in Russia has changed, but the methods are the same.”
Looking very pale, Lynn put down her spoon.
“Do you think they’ll kill him?”
The concern in her voice was palpable.
“If they can, certainly.”
“My God!”
There were tears in her eyes. The woman was clearly still in love.
“You’re one of the only people who can save his life,” Malko said quietly, putting his hand on hers.
“Me, how?”
“We don’t know where he is. We’re guessing that he managed to get out of England.”
“He has a house in New York and one in Geneva.”
“Geneva, really?”
“Yes, but he almost never uses it. I don’t even know where it is. He just mentioned it once.”
“He probably won’t go there,” said Malko. “The Russians are after him, and they must know about that house. The only way to keep him alive is for us to find him before they do.”
“What will you do then, arrest him?”
“No, we’ll offer him a deal: his network in exchange for American protection. He’ll be able to change his name and start a new life. He doesn’t need money; he has plenty of that.”
“Do you think he would agree?”
“I have no idea,” Malko admitted. “But he knows they’ll kill him, even if he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“So why do you need me?”
“Because we don’t have any way to contact him. He obviously doesn’t trust us, but he would trust you.”
She stared at him balefully.
“So you want to use me for your dirty tricks!”
Malko smiled.
“No, this is a win-win situation. Alexei stays alive and we roll up a spy ring. But the plan entirely depends on you.”
“On me?”
This was the moment of truth. Everything hung on the depth of Lynn Marsh’s feelings for her lover.
Malko decided to make his pitch in stages.
“I think Alexei is still in love with you,” he said. “He broke up with you so as not to put you in danger. Or because Moscow ordered him to. Either way, that’s in the past. Do you still have his cell phone number?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“Because if you call him, I think he’ll answer. Unless he’s already dead.”
After a long silence, Lynn asked:
“Why would I call him? I don’t want to see him again. He’s told me too many lies.”
“Lynn, he didn’t have any choice. And I don’t think he ever lied about his feelings for you.”
“And if I call him, what will I say?”
Malko’s pulse sped up: the tide was turning his way.
“That you want to get back together. For better or for worse.”
Malko now stopped talking and turned his attention to his lamb, which was delicious, to give her time to absorb his proposal. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She was clearly feeling overwhelmed, even finding it hard to eat. At last she put down her fork and looked at him.
“If I do this, what will happen?”
Malko was noncommittal.
“If my theory is right, you’ll have a chance to restart your relationship,” he said. Then he smiled. “Though it could cause some upheaval in your life.”
“Why?”
“Yesterday, Alexei became a man hunted by Russian intelligence. He’ll be hunted until his dying breath. He will never be able to live with you in London, for example. But that’s another story. Will you call him?”
She slowly shook her head.
“I don’t know. I have to think about it.”
“Don’t wait too long,” he advised. “You’re both in terrible danger.”
Lynn suddenly paled again.
“I don’t feel well,” she said. “I want to go home.”
“No problem.”
Within minutes, he had paid the check and was escorting her outside. When the valet parker brought her Mercedes around, she turned to Malko.
“Would you mind driving? I don’t feel up to it.”
The Scotland Yard car was parked a few yards away, and when Malko took the wheel, it followed them. There wasn’t much traffic heading west, as Lynn directed him across the Hammersmith Bridge and into Barnes, a neighborhood with a small-town feel. Finally they reached the Harrods Village development, a group of warehouses that had been turned into apartments.
It was a gated community with a guard at the entrance. Lynn’s Mercedes had an electronic fob that automatically raised the gate, and she directed Malko to her underground parking space. Behind them, he could see the Scotland Yard officers talking with the guard.
Lynn didn’t object when Malko followed her upstairs in the elevator. Her flat had high ceilings and was tastefully furnished with antiques. She switched on the lights, poured herself a large Chivas Regal that she downed in a gulp, and dropped into an armchair.
Everything was up in the air, and Malko was careful to respect her silence. It went on so long he thought she’d fallen asleep. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.
“I’ve decided: I’ll text him.”
“Good. But he’ll probably be on his guard. Mention something that only the two of you know about.”
“He wanted to take me to the Seychelles a month ago.”
“Didn’t you go?”
“No, there was a problem with his passport. He has a Russian one that’s only good for a few more weeks.”
Malko managed to hide his reaction to this news. So Alexei Khrenkov had a weakness: he could no longer leave the Schengen Area. A serious handicap for a man on the run.
Holding her iPhone, Lynn typed a long message. When she finished, she looked up and said:
“Leave me alone now. I’m very tired.”
Malko didn’t insist. Outside, he saw the Scotland Yard car in a parking area. One of the policemen came toward him, his coat open on a bulletproof vest.
“From now on, don’t let Miss Marsh out of your sight,” said Malko. “She’s in serious danger. I’ll contact your superiors to confirm the order.”
—
Seated at his desk in the Cologny villa, Alexei Khrenkov read and reread Lynn Marsh’s text, wild with joy. It was all he could do not to answer her immediately, because he was in a very tough spot.
Before he could think of the future, he had to deal with his present, and above all, get a new passport. Ordinarily, the Russian consulate in Bern would renew his passport without any problem. Now, if he walked into the consulate, he would never come out again.
He had to find somebody, a forger maybe, who could fake the renewal stamps. But it wouldn’t be easy. He closed his eyes, thinking of sunny Seychelles beaches.
The sight of the Sig lying on the desk brought him back to reality. A mountain stood between the present moment and the Seychelles. A mountain of difficulties, all of them major. Just the same, Alexei felt a fierce desire to live. Lynn still loved him. He put Zhanna out of his mind; he had to concentrate on his new life.
If he survived.
Almost without thinking, he began typing Lynn a text but was so rattled he had to start over several times. The message was very short:
I still love you. I’ll explain everything. We’ll be together soon.
Sending it left him feeling calmer, but a moment later, a blinding reality brought him up short: when he saw Lynn, he would have to explain a lot of things about himself. Living in London, she would have heard about Zhanna’s death. He hoped that wouldn’t be an issue between them.
Alexei went to check the doors and gaze at the lights of Geneva. Then he put the Sig in the night table and went to bed. He had trouble getting to sleep, aware that his
desire to see his lover was even stronger than his fear of being killed.
—
The gray Mercedes 250 was parked at a bus stop on the Chemin du Nant-d’Argent. A Geneva bedroom community, Cologny was deserted in the evening. There were no pedestrians because downtown was too far away and the residents all drove. Also no cafés or restaurants. Just villas, each more luxurious than the last, with sweeping views of the lake.
So at this late hour, no one was likely to be curious about a parked car with two men inside, as still as statues. They were SVR agents and part of Russia’s diplomatic delegation to the United Nations, but undercover. Fifty yards ahead of the Mercedes stood the gate to Alexei Khrenkov’s villa.
The house looked empty. No light showed in any of the doors or windows. In fact, the men in the Mercedes didn’t know if Khrenkov was inside. They were just a probe, part of the large-scale effort Moscow had launched to find his hiding place. There was no need to follow him. If he was in the villa, he would use his cell phone sooner or later.
And the trunk of the Mercedes held a device that could tap into a cell phone, provided it wasn’t too far away.
The device, which had just arrived by diplomatic pouch, had been set to Khrenkov’s numbers in the United States, England, and Switzerland. But it hadn’t picked up any signals since the beginning of the two men’s stakeout. They decided to quit at midnight and come back the next morning.
Suddenly a red indicator light on the control screen began to blink. The men exchanged a satisfied smile.
“Bingo!” whispered the driver.
The red light winked out. The call had ended. No matter; Alexei Khrenkov had been located, which was all that Moscow wanted. In addition, analyzing the intercept was sure to produce information about his plans.
“Let’s go,” said the passenger quietly.
He was anxious to find out whom Khrenkov had called, and what he had said.
Chapter 21
Richard Spicer was in high spirits.
“Congratulations, Malko!” cried the CIA station chief. “Thanks to you, we know that Alexei Khrenkov is stuck in Europe somewhere. He can’t go back to Russia, and his expired passport keeps him from traveling freely. He should be receptive to our offer.”
“Let’s not get carried away, Richard. He hasn’t answered Lynn Marsh’s text message yet.”
As soon as he woke up, Malko had raced to Grosvenor Square to report on his evening with Lynn Marsh. To say that Spicer had been enthusiastic was an understatement.
“MI5 has assigned an A4 team to protect her,” said the station chief. “Around the clock, both at home and at her office.”
“But they can’t stop her patients from coming in,” said Malko. “And if one of them is a Russian agent in disguise…”
Spicer mulled that over.
“You’re right. I’ll ask Sir William to station somebody in her waiting room. We’ll let Marsh know. At the least sign of trouble, he’ll step in.”
“That could be too late,” said Malko. “The Russians are dangerous and vicious, and my plan depends on Lynn Marsh and Alexei Khrenkov staying alive.”
“We still don’t know where he’s hiding, do we?”
“No. I’m about to see Lynn for lunch; she might have news. Meanwhile, you could try to locate his house in Switzerland.”
“He’s not likely to go there, but we’ll check. Anyway, the fact that he doesn’t have a passport is a hell of a stroke of luck.”
“For us, that is.”
—
Rem Tolkachev savored his sweetened tea. He was feeling cheerful for the first time in days. The fishing had been good, on two counts. First, Khrenkov had been located. Second, the intercepted text message would help Tolkachev counter a CIA operation to spirit him away.
The spymaster found it hard to believe that Lynn Marsh had texted her lover on her own initiative. She’d been in contact with the CIA agent before; it had obviously been at his instigation.
Tolkachev had hatched a plan he felt should pay off handsomely. The trick was to first tighten the noose around Alexei Khrenkov, cutting off any possibility of escape. Then, when he was at bay, dangle the promise of immunity if he returned to Russia. He might be naïve enough to agree, knowing that he hadn’t been at fault. That would be the most satisfactory solution. He could be interrogated to corroborate the revelations made by Malko Linge and give Tolkachev a fuller understanding of how events had played out. He could then be shipped off to Siberia or immediately executed, to protect state security.
Tolkachev would then have to find a new lord of the swallows. But once he did, he could reactivate the network.
His first task was to extinguish any hope Khrenkov might have of leading a new life. Which meant killing Lynn Marsh.
That would make waves, of course, because she was a British subject. But reasons of state trumped all other considerations in a situation like this. The diplomats could smooth any ruffled feathers later.
With his lover dead, Khrenkov would feel even more isolated and might be receptive to the Kremlin’s overtures.
—
Lynn Marsh had dark circles under her eyes.
“I only have half an hour,” she said to Malko when he entered her office. “Let’s go to the pub next door.”
He waited until they were served their fish and chips to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue:
“Did Alexei answer?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
She took her iPhone from her purse and held it out for Malko to read Khrenkov’s message. His pulse picked up.
“I was right,” he said. “He is still in love with you.”
“So it seems. But he doesn’t tell me anything specific.”
Women are never satisfied, Malko thought, smiling to himself.
“Lynn, he’s a fugitive facing huge practical problems. Now we have to convince him to meet with you.”
“Here in London?”
“Wherever he likes.”
“What happens then?”
“You pass along our offer. Or I can come with you and present it.”
Lynn turned pale.
“If I show up with you in tow, he’s going to be furious.”
“Okay, you’re right,” said Malko, quickly retreating. “Best you see him alone. I think it would be good if you sent him another text and asked for a meeting.”
Malko was treading on eggshells, aware that the young woman was torn between her love and the fear of being manipulated.
“I’ll think about it,” she said vaguely. “By the way, a plainclothes cop has been parked in my waiting room since this morning. Is that necessary?”
“Absolutely. When I said you were in danger, I wasn’t joking. In fact, if any of your patients acts the slightest bit strangely, scream for help.
“We’re dealing with cold-blooded, professional killers. The fact that you’re a woman won’t stop them. You can’t trust anybody.”
When they parted on the sidewalk, Malko reminded her:
“Don’t forget to call Alexei!”
—
Alexei Khrenkov was depressed. It felt strange enough to be carrying a gun while walking the streets of a city as peaceful as Geneva, but he’d just suffered a major disappointment.
He’d been counting on help from a friend in the Russian U.N. delegation who had done him favors in the past. He took him to lunch at La Réserve, one of the best restaurants in town. But the moment Khrenkov mentioned getting a new passport, his friend shot the idea down.
“It can’t be done, Alexei,” he said. “Even if you offered some consular official a fortune, he wouldn’t renew your passport. They have orders from Moscow.”
Seeing Khrenkov’s disappointment, he added:
“Why don’t you come back and explain things? You know Russia: there isn’t a problem that can’t be fixed if you have enough money.”
Driving back to Cologny, Khrenkov wondered if his friend wasn’t right.
But then a solution occurred to him that was both practical and pleasant. He was so eager to set it in motion that he pulled over well before reaching his villa and phoned Lynn. The call went directly to voice mail, which he’d expected. She never picked up when she was working.
He sent her a text saying that he absolutely had to see her before he made a trip back to Russia. Anywhere but London, he wrote.
Starting his car again, Khrenkov almost felt like singing. If he and Lynn could meet somewhere, he would give her the list of the network swallows for her to put in a safe place.
That way, if his Russian friends turned on him, he would have a bargaining chip. Khrenkov knew the workings of Russian power well enough to know that between forgiving a seven-hundred-million-dollar swindle and putting state security at risk, the Kremlin wouldn’t hesitate.
—
Once again, Malko was bored stiff. He had nothing to do in London. The newspapers were no longer writing about Zhanna Khrenkov’s murder. MI5 had skillfully leaked information about how the Khrenkovs had swindled the Moscow oblast. The British reporters swallowed this hook, line, and sinker, concluding that the oblast had sent a killer to settle scores with them.
Standard Russian procedure.
The day was ending, and Malko’s phone hadn’t rung once. Richard Spicer was busy with his many other obligations and didn’t have much time for him. Thank God, there was always Gwyneth Robertson, who dropped by to distract Malko in every possible way whenever she could. As for Lynn Marsh, MI5 didn’t need his help in protecting her.
Just as Malko was beginning to think that his plan wasn’t going to work after all, his beeping cell phone made him jump. His heart started to pound when he read the text:
He wants to see me somewhere in Europe. Lynn.
Things were moving again! Malko immediately called her office and asked the secretary to put Dr. Marsh on the line.
“I don’t have much time,” said Lynn. “What do you want?”
“I got your text message. What time do you quit work?”
“At seven thirty.”
“I’ll pick you up,” he said, and hung up before she could argue.
Lord of the Swallows Page 15
