Moscow Rules (45 page)

all. World’s largest country. World’s largest hotel. World’s largest swimming pool. World’s largest

warehouse.

“What’s in the boxes?”

“Food.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Medvedev pointed toward a skyscraper of wooden crates. “That’s canned tuna. Over there

are canned carrots. A little farther on is the canned beef. We even have chicken soup.”

“That’s very impressive. Fifteen years ago, Russia was living on American handouts. Now you’re

feeding the world.”

“We’ve made great strides since the fall of communism.”

“What’s really in the boxes, Arkady?”

Medvedev pointed toward the same skyscraper. “Those are bullets. Fifty million rounds, to be

precise. Enough to kill a good portion of the Third World. There’s not much chance of that, though. Your

average freedom fighter isn’t terribly disciplined. We don’t complain. It’s good for business.”

Medvedev pointed to another stack. “Those are RPG-7s. Pound for pound, one of the best weapons

money can buy. A great equalizer. With proper training, any twelve-year-old kid can take out a tank or an

armored personnel carrier.”

“And the rest?”

“Over there are mortars. Next to the mortars is our bread and butter: the AK-47. It helped us beat the

Germans, then it helped us change the world. The Kalashnikov gave power to the powerless. Voice to the

voiceless.”

“I hear it’s very popular in the rougher neighborhoods of Los Angeles, too.”

Medvedev twisted his face into an expression of mock horror. “Criminals? No, Allon, we don’t sell

to
criminals.
Our customers are governments. Rebels. Revolutionaries.”

“I never had you figured for a true believer, Arkady.”

“I’m not, really. I’m just in it for the money. Just like Ivan.”

They walked on in silence. Gabriel knew this wasn’t a tour but a death march. Arkady Medvedev

wanted something from Gabriel before they reached their destination. He wanted Ivan’s children.

“You should know, Allon, that everything I am showing you is completely
legal.
We’ve got smaller

warehouses in other parts of the country closer to the old armaments plants, but this is our central

distribution facility. We’ve done well. We’re much bigger than our competition.”

“Congratulations, Arkady. Are profits still strong or did you grow too quickly?”

“Profits are fine, thank you. Despite Western claims to the contrary, arms trafficking is still a growth

industry.”

“How did you make out on the missile deal?”

Medvedev was silent for a moment. “What missiles are you referring to, Allon?”

“The SA-18s, Arkady. The Iglas.”

“The Igla is one of the most accurate and lethal antiaircraft missiles ever produced.” Medvedev’s

tone now had a briefing-room quality. “It is far too dangerous a system ever to be let loose into the free

market. We don’t deal in Iglas. Only a madman would.”

“That’s not what I’m told, Arkady. I hear you sold several hundred to an African country. A country

that was planning to forward them at a substantial markup to some friends at al-Qaeda.”

Gabriel lapsed into silence. When he spoke again, his tone was confiding rather than confrontational.

“We know all about the Iglas, Arkady. We also know that you were against the sale from the

beginning. It’s not too late to help us. Tell me where those missiles are.”

Medvedev made no response, other than to lead Gabriel to an empty space in the center of the

warehouse floor. The area was illuminated by a light burning high in the rafters overhead. Medvedev

stood there, a performer on a stage, and extended his arms.

“I’m afraid it
is
too late.”

“Where are they now, Arkady?”

“In the hands of a very satisfied customer.”

Medvedev stepped out of the light and gave Gabriel a firm shove in the back. Apparently, there was

one more thing they had to see.

65 KALUZHSKAYA O BLAST, RUSSIA

She was secured to a straight-backed metal chair at the far end of the vast warehouse. Luka Osipov,

her former bodyguard, was standing to one side, the bald giant on the other. Her blouse was torn, her

cheeks aflame from repeated slaps. She stared at Gabriel’s damaged eye in horror, then lowered her gaze

to the floor. Medvedev took a fistful of her dark hair. It was not the sort of gesture that suggested he

intended to let her live.

“Before we begin, you should know that Mrs. Kharkov has been very cooperative this evening. She

has given us a full and forthright accounting of her involvement in this sorry affair, beginning with the

night she eavesdropped on my telephone conversation with her husband. She has admitted to us that the

operation to steal Ivan’s secret papers was all
her
idea. She said you actually tried to talk her out of it.”

“She’s lying, Arkady. We forced her into it. We told her that her husband was going down and that if

she didn’t cooperate with us she was going down, too.”

“That’s very chivalrous of you, Allon, but it’s not going to work.”

Medvedev tightened his grip on Elena’s hair. Elena’s face remained a stoic mask.

“Unfortunately,” Medvedev continued, “Mrs. Kharkov was unable to supply us with one critical

piece of information: the location of her children. We were hoping you might tell us that now, so that Mrs.

Kharkov might be spared additional unpleasantness. As you might expect, her husband is rather angry with

her at the moment. He’s ordered us to do whatever’s necessary to get the answers we need.”

“I told you, Arkady, I don’t know where the children are. That information was kept from me.”

“In case you found yourself in a situation like this?”

Medvedev tossed a mobile phone toward Gabriel. It struck him in the chest and clattered to the floor.

“Call the French. Tell them to deliver the children to Ivan’s villa
tonight,
along with Ivan’s

passport. Then tell them to release Ivan’s airplane. He’d like to return to Russia immediately.”

“Let her go,” Gabriel said. “Do whatever you want to me. But let Elena go.”

“So she can testify against her husband in a Western courtroom? So she can publicly bemoan how

Russia is becoming an authoritarian state that once again poses a grave threat to global peace? That would

not only be bad for the country but bad for business. You see, Mr. Kharkov’s friends in the Kremlin might

find it annoying that he allowed such a situation to occur. And Mr. Kharkov tries very hard never to annoy

his friends in the Kremlin.”

“I promise we won’t let her talk. She’ll raise her children and keep her mouth shut. She’s innocent.”

“Ivan doesn’t see it that way. Ivan sees her as a traitor. And you know what we do to traitors.”

Medvedev held up his Stechkin for Gabriel to see, then placed the barrel against the back of Elena’s neck.

“Seven grams of lead, as Stalin liked to say. That’s what Elena is going to get if you don’t order the

French to let Ivan get on his plane tonight-
with
his children.”

“I’ll make that call when Elena is safely on the ground in the West.”

“She isn’t going anywhere.”

Elena lifted her gaze from the floor and stared directly at Gabriel.

“Don’t tell him a thing, Gabriel. They’re going to kill me regardless of what you do. I would rather

those children be raised by anyone other than a monster like my husband.” She raised her eyes toward

Medvedev. “You’d better pull the trigger, Arkady, because Ivan is
never
getting those children.”

Medvedev walked over to Gabriel and slammed the butt of the Stechkin into his right eye. Gabriel

toppled sideways to the floor, blinded by excruciating pain. It was compounded when Medvedev buried

an Italian loafer into Gabriel’s solar plexus. He was lining up a second kick when a distant voice

intervened in Russian. The voice was familiar to Gabriel, he was sure of it, but in his agony he could not

recall where he had heard it before. It came to him a moment later, when he was finally able to breathe

again. He had heard the voice two months earlier, during his first trip to Moscow. He had heard the voice

in Lubyanka.

66 KALUZHSKAYA O BLAST, RUSSIA

The two men had a brief but amicable debate, as if they were quarreling over whose turn it was to

pay for lunch. Because it was in Russian, Gabriel could not understand it. Nor could he see their faces.

He was still lying on his side, with his abdomen exposed to Arkady Medvedev’s size-eleven loafers.

When the conversation concluded, two pairs of hands lifted him to his feet. It was then he saw the

face of the man he knew only as “Sergei. ” He looked much as he had that night in Lubyanka. The same

gray suit. The same gray pallor. The same lawyerly eyes behind round spectacles. He was wearing a

rather stylish raincoat. His little Lenin beard had recently been groomed.

“I thought I told you not to come back to Russia, Allon.”

“If you had been doing your job, I wouldn’t have had to.”

“And which job is that?”

“Preventing scum like Ivan from flooding the world with weapons and missiles.”

Sergei sighed heavily, as if to say this was the last way he had hoped to spend his evening. Then he

took hold of Gabriel’s handcuffs and gave them a sharp jerk. If Gabriel had had any feeling left in his

wrists, he was certain it would have hurt like hell.

They crossed the warehouse together, Sergei trailing a step behind, and exited through a door wide

enough to accommodate Ivan’s freight trucks. It was raining again; three of Medvedev’s security men

were sheltering beneath the eaves, talking quietly in Russian. A few feet away was an official FSB sedan.

Sergei inserted Gabriel into the backseat and slammed the door.

He drove with a Makarov in one hand and the radio on. Another speech by the Russian president, of

course. What else? It was a small road and it ran through a thick birch forest. Tucked amid the trees were

dachas-not palaces like Ivan’s dacha but
real
Russian dachas. Some were the size of a quaint cottage;

others were little more than tool-sheds. All were surrounded by little plots of cultivated land. Gabriel

thought of Olga Sukhova, tending to her radishes.

I believe in my Russia, and I want no more acts of evil committed in my name…

He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the eyes of Lenin.

They were searching the road behind them.

“Are we being followed, Sergei?”

“It’s not Sergei. My name is Colonel Grigori Bulganov.”

“How do you do, Colonel Bulganov?”

“I do just fine, Allon. Now shut your mouth.”

Bulganov eased into a turnout and killed the engine. After warning Gabriel not to move, he climbed

out and opened the trunk. He rummaged around the interior before coming over to Gabriel’s side of the

car. When he opened the door, he was holding the Makarov in one hand and a pair of rusted bolt cutters in

the other.

“What are you going to do? Cut me into little pieces?”

Bulganov placed the Makarov on top of the car. “Shut up and get out.”

Gabriel did as he was told. Bulganov spun him around, so that he was facing the car, and took hold

of the handcuffs. Gabriel heard a single snap and his hands were free.

“Would you like to tell me what’s going on, Sergei?”

“I told you, Allon-it’s Grigori. Colonel Grigori Bulganov.” He held out the Makarov toward

Gabriel. “I assume you know how to use one of these things?”

Gabriel took hold of the gun. “Any chance of getting these cuffs off my wrists?”

“Not without the key. Besides, you’ll need to be wearing them when we walk back into that

warehouse. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get Elena out of there alive.” Bulganov treated Gabriel to

one of his clever smiles. “You didn’t think I was actually going to let those monsters kill her, did you,

Allon?”

“Of course not,
Sergei.
Why would I think a thing like that?”

“I’m sure you have a few questions.”

“A couple thousand, actually.”

“We’ll have time for that later. Get back in the car and pretend your hands are still cuffed.”

67 KALUZHSKAYA O BLAST, RUSSIA

Gabriel peered out the car window at the dachas in the trees. He did not see them. Instead, he saw a

man who looked like Lenin, seated behind an interrogation table at Lubyanka. It was possible Bulganov

was playing some sort of game. Possible, thought Gabriel, but not likely. The colonel had just freed his

hands and given him a loaded gun-a gun he could use, if he were so inclined, to splatter the colonel’s

brains across the windshield.

“What were you and Arkady talking about in Russian?”

“He told me he wanted information from you.”

“Did he tell you what it was?”

“No, he wanted me to take you into the woods and put a gun to your head. I was supposed to give you

one more chance to talk before killing you.”

“And you agreed to this?”

“It’s a long story. The point is, we can use it to our advantage. We’ll walk in the same door we just

walked out. I’ll tell Arkady you’ve had a change of heart. That you’re willing to tell him anything he

wants to know. Then, when we’re close enough, I’ll shoot him.”

"Arkady?”