to voluntarily sell his businesses back to the state—at bargain-basement prices, of course. For understandable reasons, Viktor wasn’t interested. It got nasty—but then it always does. The Kremlin started talking about raids and seizures. That’s what the Kremlin does when it wants something. It brings to bear the power of the state.”
“And Viktor thought you could help?”
“He asked me to lunch. He said he had an exclusive for me: a man whose job was to procure young women for the president’s personal entertainment. Very young women, Gabriel. When I told him that I wouldn’t touch the story, he got angry. A month later, he fled the country. Officially, the Russians want him back to face tax and fraud charges.”
“And unofficially?”
“The Kremlin wants Viktor to surrender his majority stake in Ruzoil, the giant Siberian energy company. It’s worth many billions of dollars.”
“What did Viktor want with Grigori?”
“Viktor’s motives for opposing the Kremlin were hopelessly transparent and hardly noble. Grigori gave him something he never had before.”
“Respectability.”
“Correct. What’s more, Grigori knew some of the regime’s darkest secrets. Secrets Viktor could wield as a weapon. Grigori was the answer to Viktor’s prayers and Viktor took advantage of him. That’s what Viktor does. He uses people. And when they’re of no value to him, he throws them to the wolves.”
“Did you say any of this to Grigori?”
“Of course. But it didn’t go over terribly well. Grigori thought he could take care of himself and didn’t like being told by a journalist to watch his step. He was like an older man in love with a pretty girl. He wasn’t thinking straight. He liked being around Viktor, the cars, the parties, the houses, the expensive wine. It was like a drug. Grigori was hooked.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Two weeks ago. He was very excited. Apparently, Irina was thinking seriously about coming to London. But he was also nervous.”
“About Irina?”
“No, his security. He was convinced he was being watched.”
“By whom?”
“He didn’t go into specifics. He gave me the newest pages of his manuscript. Then he gave me a letter for safekeeping. He told me that if anything ever happened to him, a friend would look for him. He was confident this man would eventually make his way to Oxford to see me. Grigori liked this man and respected him very much. Apparently, they made some sort of pact during a long drive through the Russian countryside.” She slipped the letter into Gabriel’s hand and lit another cigarette. “I have to admit, I don’t remember hearing it. I must have been asleep at the time.”
18
OXFORD
YOU’VE NEVER READ IT?” Gabriel asked.
“No, never.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because you were once the most famous investigative reporter in Russia.”
“And?”
“Investigative reporters are natural snoops.”
“Like spies?”
“Yes, like spies.”
“I don’t read other people’s mail. It’s unseemly.”
They were seated in the Queen’s Lane Coffee House against a latticed window. Gabriel was facing the street; Olga, the busy interior. She was holding the letter in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.
“I think it puts to rest the debate over whether Grigori redefected or was abducted.”
“Rather conclusively.”
Coincidentally, the letter was five sentences in length, though unlike the forged letter announcing Grigori’s redefection, it had been produced on a word processor, not written by hand. It bore no salutation, for a salutation would have been insecure. Gabriel took it back from Olga and read it again:
IF THIS IS IN YOUR POSSESSION, IVAN HAS TAKEN ME. I HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT MYSELF, SO PLEASE DO NOT FEEL OBLIGATED TO KEEP THE PROMISE YOU MADE THAT NIGHT IN RUSSIA. I DO HAVE ONE FAVOR TO ASK; I AM AFRAID MY DESIRE TO REUNITE WITH MY FORMER WIFE MAY HAVE PLACED HER IN
“And Viktor thought you could help?”
“He asked me to lunch. He said he had an exclusive for me: a man whose job was to procure young women for the president’s personal entertainment. Very young women, Gabriel. When I told him that I wouldn’t touch the story, he got angry. A month later, he fled the country. Officially, the Russians want him back to face tax and fraud charges.”
“And unofficially?”
“The Kremlin wants Viktor to surrender his majority stake in Ruzoil, the giant Siberian energy company. It’s worth many billions of dollars.”
“What did Viktor want with Grigori?”
“Viktor’s motives for opposing the Kremlin were hopelessly transparent and hardly noble. Grigori gave him something he never had before.”
“Respectability.”
“Correct. What’s more, Grigori knew some of the regime’s darkest secrets. Secrets Viktor could wield as a weapon. Grigori was the answer to Viktor’s prayers and Viktor took advantage of him. That’s what Viktor does. He uses people. And when they’re of no value to him, he throws them to the wolves.”
“Did you say any of this to Grigori?”
“Of course. But it didn’t go over terribly well. Grigori thought he could take care of himself and didn’t like being told by a journalist to watch his step. He was like an older man in love with a pretty girl. He wasn’t thinking straight. He liked being around Viktor, the cars, the parties, the houses, the expensive wine. It was like a drug. Grigori was hooked.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Two weeks ago. He was very excited. Apparently, Irina was thinking seriously about coming to London. But he was also nervous.”
“About Irina?”
“No, his security. He was convinced he was being watched.”
“By whom?”
“He didn’t go into specifics. He gave me the newest pages of his manuscript. Then he gave me a letter for safekeeping. He told me that if anything ever happened to him, a friend would look for him. He was confident this man would eventually make his way to Oxford to see me. Grigori liked this man and respected him very much. Apparently, they made some sort of pact during a long drive through the Russian countryside.” She slipped the letter into Gabriel’s hand and lit another cigarette. “I have to admit, I don’t remember hearing it. I must have been asleep at the time.”
18
OXFORD
YOU’VE NEVER READ IT?” Gabriel asked.
“No, never.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because you were once the most famous investigative reporter in Russia.”
“And?”
“Investigative reporters are natural snoops.”
“Like spies?”
“Yes, like spies.”
“I don’t read other people’s mail. It’s unseemly.”
They were seated in the Queen’s Lane Coffee House against a latticed window. Gabriel was facing the street; Olga, the busy interior. She was holding the letter in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.
“I think it puts to rest the debate over whether Grigori redefected or was abducted.”
“Rather conclusively.”
Coincidentally, the letter was five sentences in length, though unlike the forged letter announcing Grigori’s redefection, it had been produced on a word processor, not written by hand. It bore no salutation, for a salutation would have been insecure. Gabriel took it back from Olga and read it again:
IF THIS IS IN YOUR POSSESSION, IVAN HAS TAKEN ME. I HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME BUT MYSELF, SO PLEASE DO NOT FEEL OBLIGATED TO KEEP THE PROMISE YOU MADE THAT NIGHT IN RUSSIA. I DO HAVE ONE FAVOR TO ASK; I AM AFRAID MY DESIRE TO REUNITE WITH MY FORMER WIFE MAY HAVE PLACED HER IN
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