affable that I tend to forget what I know about you.”
“And that is?”
“That you were a KGB thug before you started shaving. You’re old school, Alexi—we both are, so please don’t tell me how uninformed you are about the Mafiya . Half of the people who wired me up like a science project were working in your Direktorate back in the early ’nineties. Now they’re Mafiya .”
“Yes,” Alexi agreed. “A sad commentary, how many of these criminals are former KGB men.”
“And so convenient. They have such excellent contacts throughout your armaments industries. Even in those parts of it that make biological weapons.”
Malenkov shrugged expansively.
“It is difficult to restrain commerce, my friend. Many countries seek such items. It is unrealistic to think that the less idealistic of my countrymen would not attempt to fill this demand. That they did so as . . . private businessmen—well, neither is that particularly difficult to understand. The state could no longer afford their services, so they became entrepreneurs.”
“It’s always valuable for a government to stay close to its business community. To work in each other’s interests, so to speak. Of course, the relationship was very fortunate for me.”
“Beck, we bought you from them,” Alexi said, as if he was explaining to a child. “You awakened in a Moscow hospital. Did you think the gentlemen of our Mafiya were so considerate?”
“I always wondered about that,” Beck said. “It wasn’t as if the CIA was working overtime on my behalf.”
Alexi laughed, and to Beck it sounded like genuine amusement.
“No, except for the usual inquiries between diplomats, the CIA was surprisingly inactive. While there were those in my government who wished simply to let the filthy govnos leave your body in Gorky Park, your survival was the result of Russian humanitarianism.”
“I’m honored.”
“You should feel so. Though, I admit, we did purchase several hours of audio recordings made during your . . . interviews. There was some official curiosity as to your presence in my country, you see. After all, my friend—a year earlier, you did arrange the defection of Comrade Alibelikov.”
“He defected on his own, Alexi.”
“If you say so. Still, it was quite embarrassing—having the head of our bioweapon program suddenly surface in Langley, telling your CIA all of our little secrets. Some of my people blamed you. Some continue to do so, I fear.”
He lit another cigarette from the still-burning ember of his first.
“Now, your family. Your daughter, how is she?—young Katherine. Little Katie—but no. She can be no longer little. She must be what now? Fourteen years?”
“Fifteen,” Beck said. “She lives with her mother. In Virginia, across the river from D.C.”
“Yes. Your divorce is known to us. So sad. I am divorced myself—two times, and I do not expect my current wife to be my last. It is the nature of our business, no?”
“I don’t believe in divorce, Alexi.”
“Nor did my first wife, my friend. But only one of the two parties is required to do so, yes?”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah, I see.” Alexi nodded. “When I heard that you had left the employ of the CIA—well, had I believed it to be so, I would have been much saddened. Do not smile; in truth, ourprofession is populated with so many unimaginative brutes. On both sides, do you not agree? They see only what is on the surface; so superficial, so boring. You were so . . . so unpredictable, my friend!”
He leaned forward confidentially. “You will enjoy this, Beck: I was once told, in all seriousness, that you were believed to be possessed of psychic abilities. This, in an official KGB assessment. Ah, you laugh. So did I. I told them, no—Beck Casey is no wizard. He is merely a genius, I said, adept in analyzing what to most would be meaningless trivia. And in jumping to the most startling conclusions—many of which happened to be frighteningly
“And that is?”
“That you were a KGB thug before you started shaving. You’re old school, Alexi—we both are, so please don’t tell me how uninformed you are about the Mafiya . Half of the people who wired me up like a science project were working in your Direktorate back in the early ’nineties. Now they’re Mafiya .”
“Yes,” Alexi agreed. “A sad commentary, how many of these criminals are former KGB men.”
“And so convenient. They have such excellent contacts throughout your armaments industries. Even in those parts of it that make biological weapons.”
Malenkov shrugged expansively.
“It is difficult to restrain commerce, my friend. Many countries seek such items. It is unrealistic to think that the less idealistic of my countrymen would not attempt to fill this demand. That they did so as . . . private businessmen—well, neither is that particularly difficult to understand. The state could no longer afford their services, so they became entrepreneurs.”
“It’s always valuable for a government to stay close to its business community. To work in each other’s interests, so to speak. Of course, the relationship was very fortunate for me.”
“Beck, we bought you from them,” Alexi said, as if he was explaining to a child. “You awakened in a Moscow hospital. Did you think the gentlemen of our Mafiya were so considerate?”
“I always wondered about that,” Beck said. “It wasn’t as if the CIA was working overtime on my behalf.”
Alexi laughed, and to Beck it sounded like genuine amusement.
“No, except for the usual inquiries between diplomats, the CIA was surprisingly inactive. While there were those in my government who wished simply to let the filthy govnos leave your body in Gorky Park, your survival was the result of Russian humanitarianism.”
“I’m honored.”
“You should feel so. Though, I admit, we did purchase several hours of audio recordings made during your . . . interviews. There was some official curiosity as to your presence in my country, you see. After all, my friend—a year earlier, you did arrange the defection of Comrade Alibelikov.”
“He defected on his own, Alexi.”
“If you say so. Still, it was quite embarrassing—having the head of our bioweapon program suddenly surface in Langley, telling your CIA all of our little secrets. Some of my people blamed you. Some continue to do so, I fear.”
He lit another cigarette from the still-burning ember of his first.
“Now, your family. Your daughter, how is she?—young Katherine. Little Katie—but no. She can be no longer little. She must be what now? Fourteen years?”
“Fifteen,” Beck said. “She lives with her mother. In Virginia, across the river from D.C.”
“Yes. Your divorce is known to us. So sad. I am divorced myself—two times, and I do not expect my current wife to be my last. It is the nature of our business, no?”
“I don’t believe in divorce, Alexi.”
“Nor did my first wife, my friend. But only one of the two parties is required to do so, yes?”
“Perhaps.”
“Ah, I see.” Alexi nodded. “When I heard that you had left the employ of the CIA—well, had I believed it to be so, I would have been much saddened. Do not smile; in truth, ourprofession is populated with so many unimaginative brutes. On both sides, do you not agree? They see only what is on the surface; so superficial, so boring. You were so . . . so unpredictable, my friend!”
He leaned forward confidentially. “You will enjoy this, Beck: I was once told, in all seriousness, that you were believed to be possessed of psychic abilities. This, in an official KGB assessment. Ah, you laugh. So did I. I told them, no—Beck Casey is no wizard. He is merely a genius, I said, adept in analyzing what to most would be meaningless trivia. And in jumping to the most startling conclusions—many of which happened to be frighteningly
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