‘It’s going to seem a long time until Friday,’ said Cowley, more to himself than to the Russian.
But it didn’t.
The first intriguing – although still inconclusive – development confirmed Pavin’s prediction that the undiscovered name had more significance than the others in Petr Serov’s belongings.
With an approximate date to put through their computerised immigration records, the Swiss authorities traced an entry into Geneva of an Ilya Iosifovich Nishin on 22 May 1991. American immigration located the arrival of Nishin at Dulles airport five days later, on 28 May. Michel Paulac’s passport – and another immigration check – showed Paulac on the same flight. Both men, on their visa forms, gave the Mayflower Hotel as their Washington DC address. FBI records did not have Nishin criminally listed.
In the same diplomatic pouch with that information Cowley received from the FBI’s Psychological Behavioral Unit at Quantico, to which he had sent every tape of the Mikhail Antipov interrogation, confirmation that their approach to the man had been the right one. Detailed analysis of the tapes had failed to detect any stress peaks, which was inconceivable confronted with the irrefutable evidence, at that time, of the murder weapon.
‘He knew the gun would disappear,’ said Cowley.
‘Thanks for going to the trouble, but I didn’t need a psychologist to tell me that,’ said Danilov.
It wasn’t the end of the name discoveries. On the Thursday, Danilov finally received a reply from Oleg Yasev to his query about the identities of the three unknown mourners at Petr Serov’s funeral. One, Valentin Lvov, had known the murdered diplomat from their joint posting at the Paris embassy. The other two, Ivan Churmak and Gennardi Fedorov, had officially represented the government.
‘Fedorov!’ identified Pavin at once.
Danilov had already recognised the name as one of the three on Lapinsk’s list. It took an hour to identify him as the senior representative on the permanent Interior Ministry executive.
‘And there’s another link,’ disclosed Pavin. ‘Oleg Yasev also served in Paris during the same period as Petr Serov.’
‘You haven’t given me these names before,’ accused Cowley.
‘I didn’t think they had any part in the case,’ said Danilov. ‘I thought they were given to me as a personal warning.’
‘It’s a hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?’ questioned Cowley.
‘They represented the government,’ reminded Pavin.
‘Which is concerned over potential embarrassment about a criminally-linked diplomat,’ completed Danilov.
‘Kosov bullshits,’ decided the blind man. ‘We should go ahead, not wait to see if he can deliver Danilov.’
‘I’m the one who’ll be exposed,’ protested Zimin.
‘Frightened?’ goaded Yerin.
‘For the success of an operation that is going to make this Family one of the most powerful in the world: certainly in Russia!’ returned the indulgently fat man.
Gusovsky was concerned the animosity between the two men was going to end in disaster. Objectively, he thought again, it would have to be Zimin who was removed. ‘We already know we have to wait. But we don’t need to produce the money. So we can get the control transferred at our leisure.’
‘Do we go ahead?’ persisted Yerin.
‘No,’ decided Gusovsky. ‘We wait a little longer to see if Kosov can get Danilov. It’s worth the delay.’
‘It would be a double bonus if he does. It would mean we were back where we were before with the Organised Crime Bureau,’ pointed out Zimin.
‘The man won’t produce,’ insisted Yerin emphatically.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The American equipment arrived with specific installation and reception instructions. There were several microphones, of different shapes and sizes – some little larger than a pinhead – and with a surprising variety of attachments, together with suggestions of how and where they could best be concealed. The monitoring equipment was more elaborate than Danilov had expected. That, too, could be used in different ways, either manually operated or voice activated, without the need for an operator.
They devoted a substantial part of the Friday, in advance of that evening’s outing, testing everything as realistically as possible. They tried the bugs out in various positions in the Volga and drove throughout Moscow to assess the standard of reception and learn what sort of conditions risked the worst interference. They did a lot of the experimentation in and around Kosov’s Militia district. Only then did Danilov realise the area Kosov commanded – and of which he himself had once been in charge – was convenient to two of the city’s four airports, the operating territory of the Chechen Family. It should have occurred to him before.
Body pressure and movement overlaid conversation if a microphone was attached to the fabric of a seat. Aware of the impressive tape and radio deck in the BMW, they both worried that the music would drown anything less than a shouted exchange, reassuring themselves that if Kosov had the sort of discussion they hoped, he was unlikely to play music. Bridges and underpasses – even the tunnel quite close to the American embassy, where the receiving equipment was installed – made talk inaudible.
By mid-afternoon they had decided to plant two microphones, both in the front of the BMW on the logical assumption Kosov would always be driving: neither could recall sufficient detail about the interior layout to choose a precise location. They agreed to arrange themselves as before, giving Danilov the front passenger seat and the responsibility for fixing the devices.
‘Let’s hope it’ll work,’ said Danilov. He was disappointed there wasn’t better clarity on the tape, which they’d further agreed should be voice activated and therefore live at all times of day and night.
‘Let’s hope,’ echoed Cowley, with anything but hope in his voice, although Danilov missed it. The reluctance was introspective. A week or a fortnight or a month? he wondered again.
Cowley’s entry into the Savoy bar, leading the rest of them, was his first since his entrapment, although he’d looked in from the lobby every night in the desperately empty hope of locating Lena, all the time knowing she would not be there. He forlornly searched for her that night, at last deciding he should stop making himself look stupid in his own eyes if not those of everyone else in the hotel.
Kosov quickly tried to impose himself – waving away Cowley’s intention to reciprocate Danilov’s earlier hospitality – and Danilov and Cowley made only a token protest, content to let him play the grandiose host any way he wanted.
Everything worked to choreographed perfection, with an additional advantage they hadn’t expected. Danilov’s making directly to the front of the BMW ensured the intended seating arrangements, and as he settled Kosov apologised for the restricted leg-room caused by the car phone, intentionally to draw attention to the new addition to the vehicle. Danilov allowed himself to be overly impressed, unclipping the instrument from its dashboard holder to examine it. He fumbled replacing it.
Kosov had clearly put a lot of thought and effort into the evening, even taking account of Cowley’s stated preference for ethnic restaurants. They went to the traditionally Georgian U Pirosmani, with its spectacular view from Novodevichy Proyezd of the sixteenth-century convent on the other side of the river. There were violin music and Georgian specialities, but not as many questions from Kosov about the investigation as either Danilov or Cowley had expected. They were careful to be as vague as they’d always been about those he did ask, because it would have been a mistake to have responded differently.
Larissa manoeuvred herself next to Danilov and separate from the others as they walked from the restaurant to the car. ‘We’re going to need somewhere to live, aren’t we?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘One of the receptionists knows of an apartment that’s becoming vacant soon, out in Tatarovo: her sister’s getting married. Shall we look at it?’
Danilov felt a sink of uncertainty at making a positive commitmen
t. ‘If you like.’
‘What would you like? You don’t sound very enthusiastic!’
‘We’ll look at it,’ he said, more positively.
‘We’ll need to bribe, because we’re not on the housing list,’ said Larissa, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll ask my friend how much she thinks it will cost.’
Danilov guessed from her familiar entry that the Nightflight had been the club to which Kosov had taken Olga, while he was in Washington: Kosov was greeted with the recognition he enjoyed and allocated a table at once. Because Olga did not dance there was no problem about the number of times he did, with Larissa. She was excited about the apartment, which was large by Russian standards, with two bedrooms as well as a lounge: Danilov thought it sounded expensive. Olga believed she saw some of Kosov’s friends from the earlier visit but they made no greeting and he said nothing, so she decided she was mistaken. Cowley danced twice, for politeness, with Larissa, but spent some time circulating around the club more than was really necessary, looking at a lot of girls. Lena was not among them. There were a lot of men in suits that shone, smoking Marlboros: as they probably owned the Mercedes and BMWs outside, they wouldn’t need to keep the packs to attract a cab. They ended the evening with renewed promises to go out again soon: Danilov initiated the discussion.
He had to wait until Olga went to bed back at Kirovskaya before he could telephone Cowley, as they had arranged.
‘Where?’ asked the American.
‘The smaller one, with the magnetic base, behind the telephone mounting on the dashboard. The other on the seat strut.’
‘Now it all depends on American electronic technology,’ said Cowley.
‘And Kosov talking a lot,’ added Danilov.
He did.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
They were surprised, although they shouldn’t have been, that the recording started from the moment Danilov attached the microphones on their way to the U Pirosmani, making the initial intercept that of themselves, as well. Everyone sounded drunk after the nightclub, although Danilov and Cowley certainly hadn’t been. There was a lot of Olga’s nervous, please-agree-with-me laughter. Within minutes of Larissa and Kosov being alone, on their way home, Larissa described Olga as dumpy, with hopeless dress sense, and wondered why Danilov stayed with her, which Danilov despised her for saying. Kosov insisted Danilov and Cowley had hopelessly mishandled the murder investigation from the beginning, so that it was now a lost case: that was obvious from the way the American looked, like shit. Danilov smiled: Cowley didn’t.
The clarity of the recording was good that night – Cowley thought it might have been because it was at night – but deteriorated afterwards. It was frustratingly intermittent the following day, when Kosov was alone, but almost at once encouraging. The initial deafening American jazz prevented their hearing the beginning: by the time Kosov turned the music system off, the car-phone exchange had begun. Even then things were lost, entire sentences broken or too faded, even when they wound the tape back and tried again with the volume at maximum.
Kosov began the exchange, from which they assumed he had initiated the call. If there had been any greeting, it was lost in the few seconds before the music was turned off. There was no identification.
‘… thought you’d be interested.’
‘… have been dangerous,’ responded the fainter voice. ‘You tell him?’
‘Made it clear,’ said Kosov.
There was a rumble of static. The only audible word was understood; the tone made it a question.
‘Course he understood,’ assured Kosov. It was cocky, I’m-on-top-of-everything talk.
The static recurred, losing at least an entire sentence from whomever Kosov was talking to. The next voice was Kosov’s. ‘Other ways?’
‘… shouldn’t interfere …’ came from the other end, with abrupt clarity.
‘… It’s their job!’ Kosov’s remark was greeted with guffawed laughter from both ends.
‘… want … wrong …’
‘Nothing will go wrong,’ came Kosov’s voice, enabling the demand to which he was responding to be inferred. It was an eager-to-please assurance, like Olga’s pitter patter laughter, earlier.
The reception was suddenly so good they had to turn the volume down. ‘You sure you can get there?’
‘Quite sure.’
Danilov moved to speak but Cowley shook his head against the interruption.
‘How’s the car?’
‘Fantastic.’
‘We want it to work. And I don’t mean the car.’
‘I’ve told you it will!’
‘Think of the car: the sort of gratitude there’ll be.’
‘Don’t need to think. I know.’
‘We’re relying on you. Yevgennie Grigorevich.’
Danilov nodded to Cowley, at the introduction of an identifiable name.
‘I wouldn’t have thought you needed confirmation by now.’
‘We always want confirmation. Three people are dead because we wanted confirmation.’
The silence was so long both Cowley and Danilov thought there had been a complete break. Then Kosov said: ‘You didn’t need to say that.’
‘Don’t take it personally.’
‘What other way is there to take it?’
‘You’re being melodramatic.’
‘I told you it’s all going to work!’ Kosov’s voice was subdued.
‘I heard you.’
‘We’ll go on using this line.’
‘If that’s what you think is best.’
‘Safest,’ said Kosov, finding a better word. ‘Anything else for us to talk about?’
‘Just do what you’ve got to.’
‘What about the rest of it?’
‘All covered,’ guaranteed the other man, the strength of the signal fluctuating again. ‘Not your concern.’
‘I need to know!’ The protest was still subdued.
‘You will, when it’s necessary.’ The contempt leaked over the telephone link.
‘What, until then?’
‘Stay in touch.’
The reply was lost. So was any farewell. There was a high-pitched whine, ‘That’s right’ from Kosov, and then the deafening music again: Billie Holliday singing ‘Melancholy Baby’.
‘We’re right there, in his office!’ declared the American. Flat voiced, he quoted: ‘“We’ll go on using this line.” How else is he going to do business but from the guaranteed security of his car phone!’
Danilov found it hard to believe how easy it had suddenly become. ‘Not anyone official.’ It was essential to analyse.
‘Definitely not,’ agreed the American. In further, belated agreement he added: ‘It could have been about the discussion you and Kosov had.’
‘“You sure you can get there?”’ echoed Danilov. ‘That could refer to Kosov thinking he can transfer to the Organised Crime Bureau.’
‘We shouldn’t over-interpret,’ warned Cowley. ‘The conversation can be made to fit, but I don’t think we should be too positive yet.’ Was the reluctance professional objectivity, or personal unwillingness to accept the inevitable?
‘I’d liked to have heard more about “other ways”,’ said Danilov. ‘I can’t guess what that meant.’
Cowley had isolated the remark, too, linking it with what followed about interference, Which had caused both speakers so much amusement. ‘There can’t be any doubt about the three people who died to provide confirmation. But confirmation of what?’
Danilov took the question further, not able to provide an answer. ‘It was a threat to Kosov. The three who died had their mouths blown away. So Yevgennie Grigorevich knows what it’s all about: he could tell us!’
‘Not until we’re a greater threat,’ stressed Cowley. ‘Nobody’s frightened enough of us yet, either here or in America.’
‘And they’re hardly likely to be,’ said Danilov, cynically.
Cowley said: ‘I won’t pass any of this on to Washington, not yet. It m
ight have meaning for us. For anyone else it just raises more questions than it answers.’
‘Maybe we won’t have to wait much longer,’ said Danilov.
They didn’t.
Over the succeeding days they eavesdropped on Yevgennie Kosov’s car adequately enough to understand approximately eighty-five percent of every conversation. Sometimes they listened to activities inside it, too.
There were a lot of command briefings to Kosov’s subordinates in his Militia division, usually bullying and demanding. There were outings with Larissa, during one of which she protested she didn’t like the people they were going to meet and Kosov told her to shut up and be pleasant because they were the providers of a lot of the ‘good things’ they enjoyed. Danilov and Cowley played that tape several times, to extract every nuance, and listened intently to the homeward journey in the hope of hearing a name, which they didn’t. There was a telephone conversation with someone named Eduard, with a peremptory insistence upon a wine and Western spirit delivery within a week, upon which Danilov particularly concentrated because an Eduard Agayans was a black marketeer to whom he’d introduced Kosov: Danilov was unable to decide if it was the same man from the faintness of the intercepted voice. There was an incoming call, probably the most difficult to decipher, which they decided was an instruction to Kosov to guarantee the unimpeded passage through his district of a fleet of six trucks, coming up from the south. Throughout the exchange Kosov showed the respect of the first overheard recording, but the reception this time was too bad to be certain if it was the same man: Cowley said if they turned the tapes over to the technicians at Quantico, a positive voiceprint could be made. There was no indication during the conversation what the lorries contained.
That afternoon Kosov dialled someone they were sure was the man of the first day. It was an extremely brief exchange, Kosov asking if there was anything he should be told, which there wasn’t, and the man asking the same in return and receiving the same reply. Cowley thought it possible when they made the tape available to Washington, other Quantico specialists would be able to extract a number – from which in turn they could get an address – from the electronic variations in the dialling. There were two clumsy, sexually intimate conversations with women, quite soon after one of which a girl audibly entered the car. Fifty American dollars was agreed, for fellatio, which was performed to a lot of grunted pleasure from Kosov.
No Time for Heroes Page 28
