Ben and Tatyana perched on a pair of bar stools. They were the last two guests in the place and the staff were starting to clean up in preparation for closing for the night, though an establishment like the Ararat Park Hyatt was far too classy to boot out the stragglers.
I was told you are no ordinary kind of army major in your country, Tatyana said, nonchalantly twirling her glass on the table and stirring it with the cocktail stick. Ben noticed for the first time that her fingernails were painted the exact same blue as her eyes, and immaculately polished. That you belong to a special regiment, something like our GRU Spetsnaz forces. As she finished saying it, her eyes flashed up at him in a look he couldnt quite read.
Old man Kaprisky must have been blabbing about him, Ben thought. He replied, I thought we were going to discuss our plans for tomorrow, not indulge in idle chit-chat about me.
It is important for me to know something about the colleague I am to be working with. Are you saying it is not true?
This wasnt Bens favourite topic for discussion, but he could see she wasnt going to let it go. Technically, no, seeing as Ive been retired for a long time. Prior to that, yes, its true, I did serve in UK Special Forces, 22 SAS if you really want to know, and that I did reach the rank of major by the time I quit. But I no longer go by that title. Do those details satisfy your curiosity?
So I should not call you Major?
If you have to call me anything, call me Ben. Thats my name.
I prefer a more formal address. She scrutinised his face for a moment, then added, You are much too young to be retired.
I didnt say I stopped working.
Looking for missing people, is that the work you do now?
Ive done a lot of K and R missions over the years. Thats short for kidnap and ransom. But Im sure you could deduce that, detective.
She smiled. It seems an unusual career change for a retired soldier to become a person finder.
There are a lot of people in the world who go missing because someone stole them, usually for money, sometimes for other reasons. I wanted to do something about that, because I know how much pain and suffering it causes to the victims and their families.
She watched him for a moment, looking deep into his eyes as if she could see unspoken secrets there. You have suffered from it too.
When I was in my teens, my younger sister was kidnapped by human traffickers in Morocco. The police never found her.
You never saw her again?
Its a long story.
But it explains why you do this, Tatyana said. She paused, sipping delicately from her drink without taking those vivid eyes off him. Is there a Mrs Hope? she asked, switching tracks.
The question brought more memories to Bens mind. There had been a Mrs Hope, once upon a time, all too briefly. The vision of Leighs face flashed through his thoughts for a moment. And Robertas, and Brookes, accompanied by the same mixture of emotions those reminiscences always rekindled. The best times, the worst times. He didnt share his deeper feelings, as a rule, and he wasnt particularly inclined to discuss the current state of his personal life.
Is there a Mr Nikolaev? he countered.
I asked you first.
Not currently.
What about a girlfriend? she asked him, leaning forward to plant both elbows on the table and curling one side of her lips in a teasing smile. Come now, I am sure you have many of those.
Ben wasnt going to be drawn into mentioning Sandrine Lacombe. Not that she could have been considered a girlfriend, exactly. Theyd met by chance a few months ago, back home in France. A few dates since then, hints of mutual attraction, no commitments made, nothing serious. He had the impression shed been hurt before, as he had. It might grow into something; it might not. Either way it was no business of Tatyana Nikolaevas, and he made no reply.
She frowned as a thought struck her. You are not goluboi what is the English expression a sodomite?
We in the West tend to use slightly more progressive terms nowadays.
But you are not one of them?
No, he replied. Im not one of them.
She took a sip of her drink and looked relieved.
Shall we get down to business? he said.
Of course.
Tell me what we know about Yuri Petrov.
Tatyana replied that, in fact, they knew remarkably little. He didnt appear on the voter register and finding an address for him had been quite a challenge for her investigation firm. The easy part had been checking for a criminal record, which had come up blank he had never been charged with anything in Russia, at any rate.
Employment?
She shook her head. Whatever he does for a living, he is getting paid only in cash. His bank account is almost empty and shows no activity within the last twelve months.
Which, as far as it went, seemed to fit with Kapriskys portrait of the man as a low-life neer-do-well, possibly involved in all sorts of petty criminal dealings for which he hadnt yet been caught. Ben couldnt be sure until he knew more. First thing I need to do is check out his apartment.
He is not there, Tatyana said. I assumed you had been informed of this.
Tell me what you found.
Tatyana seemed mildly irritated by having to repeat the same information shed already told Kaprisky. It is all in my report. I accompanied the team to the address, where we found the door locked and the apartment empty.
Did you look inside?
Breaking and entering was not our purpose.
If its an apartment block, there must be a caretaker or a concierge. You could have got the key from them.
Only the police have authority to demand access to a private property.
Okay, Ben said. So if you didnt get to look inside, how could you be so sure the apartment was empty?
Petrov had been seen leaving, and not returned. I spoke to neighbours, who reported having not seen him for several days.
All the same, Ben said, Id like to see the place for myself, first thing in the morning. Ill need you to meet me here at eight oclock on the dot.
Tatyana seemed not to object. Any other instructions for me? she asked.
He shook his head. None, other than try to keep up. Im using to working alone, which means I go at my own pace and push hard. I dont believe this man intends to harm the little girl, but I dont intend to let him hold her hostage any longer than absolutely necessary. Fall behind, I wont wait for you, okay?
I am a professional, Tatyana replied coolly. You do not have to worry about me.
Glad to hear it. The last thing to discuss is transport. Do you have a car, or are we using Kapriskys? Because if so, Id like to ditch that big lunk of a driver.
Car is a terrible way to travel in this city, Tatyana said breezily. From early in the morning until late in the afternoon, Moscow is solid with traffic. It is worse than Los Angeles. But the public transport system is best in the world. That is what we will use instead.
Ben wasnt sure about that idea. For the first time since hed met her, Tatyana Nikolaeva smiled with enough warmth to melt away the icy severity of her face.
Ben wasnt sure about that idea. For the first time since hed met her, Tatyana Nikolaeva smiled with enough warmth to melt away the icy severity of her face.
I am a MOCКBИЧКА. A Muscovite. Trust me, Major Hope.
Chapter 11
Ben rose early, out of old habit. As sunrise broke over Red Square and bathed his balcony in a flood of golds and magentas, he ticked off a hundred press-ups in sets of twenty-five, followed by the same routine for sit-ups. It wasnt much of a mornings exercise session for him; maybe he could go for a ten-mile run later, or abseil up and down the towers of the Kremlin just for the hell of it. He brewed up a pot of espresso on his coffee machine, the one luxury of his suite that meant anything to him, then walked through onto the balcony to consume it, along with the first Gauloise of the day, and watch the city rumble into life below.
After a pummelling in the cavernous marble shower room, he was back downstairs at three minutes to eight to meet Tatyana. She was three inches shorter in the flat shoes she was wearing in anticipation of walking about the city, and had exchanged yesterdays charcoal business suit for a double-breasted navy affair with heavy epaulettes a little reminiscent of Russian military dress uniform.
Good morning, Comrade Major Hope, she said briskly.
And a very good morning to you, Miss Nikolaeva.
Ben followed her out of the bustling hotel lobby into the buzz of Neglinnaya Street. Eight months of the year the place was icebound, but the summer sun felt warm. Then why wasnt everyone smiling?
So whats the travel plan? he asked. Are we getting a bus? Tram?
Neither, Tatyana said. The Moscow metro system is the most efficient in the world. I have been to New York, Paris and London, she added with a shake of the head, clearly not impressed with what the western world had to offer. Here, you often have to wait less than one minute for the next subway train. And our stations are far superior, naturally. We even have free wi-fi everywhere in the system. As for the architecture, prepare yourself to be amazed.
Im so glad to have you as my guide, Ben muttered, but she either missed the sarcasm or didnt give a damn either way.
Tatyana had certainly been right about the road traffic, which was so heavily congested that it could have taken them hours to get anywhere by car. As they walked through the fume-filled streets, Ben tried not to breathe in too deeply and gazed around him at the unfamiliar city in daylight for the first time. If hed been expecting Moscow to be filled with the brutal relics of the old USSR, hed have been disappointed. Streets down which Stalins tank battalions had once rumbled in an intimidating show of might to the West were now transformed into a modern, vibrant space that had Starbucks and Le Pain Quotidien outlets on every corner and looked and felt much like anywhere else in the world, except that there wasnt a single non-white face in evidence anywhere.
He asked, Why are there so many flower shops? Hed never seen such a proliferation of them before.
Tatyana replied, Because Russian men are the most romantic in the world, and they love to make their women happy.
Ben wondered if Kapriskys niece felt that way. Maybe Yuri Petrov was the single exception in all of Russia and shed just been unlucky in her choice.
Five minutes walk from the hotel, they came to Lubyanka metro. The subway station was in sight of a much more infamous building bearing the same name, with which Ben was familiar from his historical reading. The first real relic of the old regime hed glimpsed so far, the Lubyanka prison had once doubled up as the headquarters of the feared Soviet secret police, the Cheka, later restyled as the no less notorious KGB. Lubyanka had been intimately connected with the worst atrocities of Stalins Great Purge of the 1930s, and those that had followed all through the darker history of the USSR, involving many more horrific tortures and brutal executions than would ever be officially admitted.
As for the metro station that shared its name, Ben knew of it only as the scene of the 2010 bombing that had left a swathe of dead in its wake and been blamed on Islamic terrorists although some independent news sources had claimed the attack to have been a false flag operation carried out by the Russian security forces to justify political ends. Ben had seen enough of covert dirty dealings to know such tactics were a reality, and not just here in Russia. The official versions of tragic events were often far from the truth, a truth known only to a tiny few.
They passed under the arches of the stations entrance and were quickly swallowed up in the throng of fast-moving commuters. Tatyana had a pair of prepaid contactless Troika cards that were the fastest way to negotiate the metro, and gave one to Ben. On their way down to the trains, without warning he paused to crouch down in the middle of the tunnel and retie his left bootlace. The river of foot traffic parted around him, jostling by with more than a few looks as Tatyana waited impatiently for him to finish. So you see, it is not me who slows us down, she said acidly.
The slight delay caused them to miss the train, which departed as they were stepping out onto the platform. The short wait gave Ben time to decide that the stations Soviet-era architecture looked pretty much as plain and severe as hed have imagined. Doesnt look any great shakes to me so far, he observed.
Just wait, she said, smirking at the sceptical look on his face.
True to her promise, the next train came whooshing into the station within less than a minute. Crowds bundled out; more crowds piled on board. Ben and Tatyanas carriage was crowded, with standing room only. As they began to snake their way beneath the city, Ben was in for a revelation. Station after station offered a staggering display of vaulted ceilings and grand chandeliers, amazing murals and friezes, stained glass and gilt, marble arches and columns and great bronze statues of Socialist icons, each one designed around its own individual architectural theme and every inch as pristine and magnificent as Londons underground was dingy and depressing.
Stalin intended the metro to be a triumph of Communist ideology, Tatyana said, keeping her voice low enough that only Ben could hear over the clatter and rumble of the moving train. Ben supposed that maybe mentioning Stalins name too loudly in liberal Moscow was akin to referring to the unmentionable Adolf Hitler in public anywhere in modern-day Germany, a serious social misstep. Though hed read that many Russians were still misty-eyed about their ruthless mass-murdering former dictator, which worried a few folks. While Khrushchev and later leaders condemned the luxuries of the old era, Tatyana continued, resulting in many of the stations of the 1960s and 1970s being much plainer in style.
I see. Interesting. Ben nodded and listened as she prattled on, while glancing around him at the sights. The truth, which he was keeping to himself for the moment, was that he was observing more than just the breathtaking architecture.
Almost from the moment theyd left the hotel, hed become aware they were being followed. Ben had enough years in the field under his belt to have developed an extremely acute spider sense, which was the name soldiers gave to that feeling of being watched. Sure enough, he and Tatyana hadnt walked a hundred steps from the doorway of the Ararat Park Hyatt before hed used the reflection in a shop window to spot the two goons shadowing them.