No Time for Heroes by Brian Freemantle Page B

off.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    Danilov recognised the Federal Prosecutor, Nikolai Smolin, from previous encounters, but needed introductions to Vasili Oskin, the Deputy Interior Minister in whose office they convened, and to Sergei Vorobie, the Deputy Foreign Minister. He was refusing to anticipate anything about the summons or to believe any of the newspaper speculation.
    It was difficult anyway to focus fully in these initial moments, after the intentional brutality of Metkin’s announcement. Danilov’s instant reaction had been pity, for a sad, totally disillusioned old man who’d despised himself as a failure. But just as quickly the doubt came, the doubt of a trained investigator. Had Lapinsk really been sad and disillusioned, deserving pity? Or was there some other reason for taking his own life – if indeed he had taken his own life? He wouldn’t be able to answer that sort of question until he’d at least read the full report. The preliminary, which Metkin had contemptuously shown him, had talked of clear-cut suicide. But there had been nothing to suggest a reason. He had to know why, before he could decide between pity and condemnation.
    Danilov forced himself to concentrate. Lapinsk was dead, for whatever reason. He was alive, and without warning possibly propelled over the heads of his enemies. He had to take each and every advantage he could. An immediate impression was that Metkin’s attitude was too effusively respectful for any of these three officials to be the man’s unknown protector.
    â€˜We have to discuss the murder in Washington,’ announced Oskin, a thin, balding, soft-voiced man. He looked briefly to the Foreign Ministry man before adding: ‘It has been escalated into a political matter that has to be properly handled.’
    â€˜There’s been a formal diplomatic invitation – a request, in fact – for us to assist,’ said Vorobie. Danilov belatedly recognised him as one of the Russian ministers who had publicly denounced the 1991 coup from the steps of the Russian White House.
    Oskin smiled briefly, towards Danilov. ‘Your earlier communication showed sensible foresight.’
    Danilov ducked his head at the praise, wondering what Metkin would later say to whoever had put the newspapers in his office, if it had not been his own idea. Turning the head movement towards Metkin, he said adroitly: ‘We thought it was inevitably something which would extend to here.’
    Metkin’s reaction was exactly what Danilov had hoped. ‘Absolutely inevitable. That’s why I suggested it.’
    Keep on being over-eager, thought Danilov.
    â€˜There’s been a request to speak to Serov’s wife,’ said Vorobie. ‘The Americans also want access to the embassy and to the man’s home, to which we cannot agree.’
    â€˜Clearly not,’ agreed Metkin, trying to convey an opinion by following one already expressed.
    Idiot, thought Danilov: it was the time and opportunity to illustrate the professional gulf between himself and the other man. Danilov said: ‘Apart from the access difficulty, are we going to take up the American approach?’
    â€˜Yes,’ announced Smolin, entering the discussion. ‘There are several practical advantages, apart from the obvious.’
    â€˜Aid being the most important,’ said Vorobie. ‘We can’t risk the financial assistance from Washington. This is, indeed, an ideal opportunity to demonstrate full collaboration, like we did when the American politician’s relation was murdered here.’
    â€˜Can we afford to do that?’ asked Danilov quietly.
    The question had precisely the effect he intended. All three officials frowned in bewilderment: Metkin’s head moved like a spectator at a tennis match. Danilov continued: ‘The published reports say Serov was killed American Mafia-style. The Swiss financier too. Was there any official connection