his sister would go free.
He sat thinking about it, and then, using GRU operational passwords, accessed prisoners’ lists and files at Station Gorky. When he tapped in the name of Tania Kurbsky, however, the screen said Code 9 Restriction. He turned to Ivanov, busy at his own computer, and asked, “What’s a Code 9 Restriction?”
“Ah, you’ve got to Tania Kurbsky. I ran into the same roadblock. It means above most secret, which, when I inquired of Major Levin out there in the end office, means you can’t have it, whoever you are and whatever it is.”
“We’ll see about that. Let’s go and have a word.”
Major Levin was impressed enough when faced with a full colonel of GRU to get to his feet. “Can I assist in any way, Colonel . . . ?”
“Lermov. I’m engaged in an essential intelligence matter, and my inquiry is blocked by the words Code 9 Restriction. ”
“I’m afraid it would be impossible to help you, Colonel.”
Lermov took the envelope from his pocket, extracted Putin’s letter, and passed it across. Levin read it, eyes bulging.
“Of course, you could phone through to the Prime Minister’s Office in the Kremlin or you could simply unlock the information. Right here on your own screen would do.”
“Of course, sir, I’m most happy to oblige. If you would be kind enough to show me what it is you seek, I can insert the correct password.”
“Excellent.” Lermov turned to Ivanov. “You will oblige me, Captain? I wouldn’t look if I were you, Major.”
Ivanov’s fingers flew expertly, the prisoners’ lists at Station Gorky appeared with Tania Kurbsky’s name, again blocked. Major Levin scribbled a password and passed it over, and Ivanov tapped it in. The screen was filled with the sad, haunted face of a wretched woman looking about a hundred years old. It read: “Tania Kurbsky died of typhoid, aged 28, on March 7, 2000.”
“Have you got what you wanted, gentlemen?” Levin inquired.
“Yes, I think so.”
He got up, and Levin said, “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes, make sure you forget about this. It would seriously displease the Prime Minister if he heard you’d been uncooperative at first.”
They returned to the office, and Ivanov said, “I don’t think I’ll forget that face in a hurry. She was only seventeen when she went in. That means she endured that place for eleven years.”
“I agree. So Luzhkov was lying when he said she was still alive.”
“Do you think the Prime Minister knew?”
“I’d like to think he didn’t, but who knows? The real question is this: what would Alexander Kurbsky do if he found out? The fact that his old bastard of a father had lied when he said she was dead in the first place must have deeply shocked him, but to discover the awful truth about his sister and realize how cruelly he had been duped . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think angry would be strong enough to describe how he would feel. And how he would react is anyone’s guess.”
“Do you think that perhaps he did find out?” Ivanov asked.
“That’s what we need to discover. Did you come across anything else?”
“Just one thing. You remember the Big Four meeting the other month?”
“Of course.” The American Vice President had unexpectedly flown in from Paris for top secret talks with the Prime Minister, the Israeli Prime Minister, and the President of Palestine to broker a deal on Gaza.
“You remember they met on a large boat on the Thames? Well, according to some reports, it got a little dangerous out there in the mist. Some small riverboat exploded, an overheated gas tank or something.”
“And the point?”
“It was the last day anyone at the Embassy saw either Luzhkov or Bounine.”
“Interesting,” Lermov said. “You think it was related?”
“You said to look for anything odd,” said Ivanov. “And here’s another thing. Apparently, Luzhkov knew the Vice President was flying in. I found a message about it from the
He sat thinking about it, and then, using GRU operational passwords, accessed prisoners’ lists and files at Station Gorky. When he tapped in the name of Tania Kurbsky, however, the screen said Code 9 Restriction. He turned to Ivanov, busy at his own computer, and asked, “What’s a Code 9 Restriction?”
“Ah, you’ve got to Tania Kurbsky. I ran into the same roadblock. It means above most secret, which, when I inquired of Major Levin out there in the end office, means you can’t have it, whoever you are and whatever it is.”
“We’ll see about that. Let’s go and have a word.”
Major Levin was impressed enough when faced with a full colonel of GRU to get to his feet. “Can I assist in any way, Colonel . . . ?”
“Lermov. I’m engaged in an essential intelligence matter, and my inquiry is blocked by the words Code 9 Restriction. ”
“I’m afraid it would be impossible to help you, Colonel.”
Lermov took the envelope from his pocket, extracted Putin’s letter, and passed it across. Levin read it, eyes bulging.
“Of course, you could phone through to the Prime Minister’s Office in the Kremlin or you could simply unlock the information. Right here on your own screen would do.”
“Of course, sir, I’m most happy to oblige. If you would be kind enough to show me what it is you seek, I can insert the correct password.”
“Excellent.” Lermov turned to Ivanov. “You will oblige me, Captain? I wouldn’t look if I were you, Major.”
Ivanov’s fingers flew expertly, the prisoners’ lists at Station Gorky appeared with Tania Kurbsky’s name, again blocked. Major Levin scribbled a password and passed it over, and Ivanov tapped it in. The screen was filled with the sad, haunted face of a wretched woman looking about a hundred years old. It read: “Tania Kurbsky died of typhoid, aged 28, on March 7, 2000.”
“Have you got what you wanted, gentlemen?” Levin inquired.
“Yes, I think so.”
He got up, and Levin said, “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes, make sure you forget about this. It would seriously displease the Prime Minister if he heard you’d been uncooperative at first.”
They returned to the office, and Ivanov said, “I don’t think I’ll forget that face in a hurry. She was only seventeen when she went in. That means she endured that place for eleven years.”
“I agree. So Luzhkov was lying when he said she was still alive.”
“Do you think the Prime Minister knew?”
“I’d like to think he didn’t, but who knows? The real question is this: what would Alexander Kurbsky do if he found out? The fact that his old bastard of a father had lied when he said she was dead in the first place must have deeply shocked him, but to discover the awful truth about his sister and realize how cruelly he had been duped . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think angry would be strong enough to describe how he would feel. And how he would react is anyone’s guess.”
“Do you think that perhaps he did find out?” Ivanov asked.
“That’s what we need to discover. Did you come across anything else?”
“Just one thing. You remember the Big Four meeting the other month?”
“Of course.” The American Vice President had unexpectedly flown in from Paris for top secret talks with the Prime Minister, the Israeli Prime Minister, and the President of Palestine to broker a deal on Gaza.
“You remember they met on a large boat on the Thames? Well, according to some reports, it got a little dangerous out there in the mist. Some small riverboat exploded, an overheated gas tank or something.”
“And the point?”
“It was the last day anyone at the Embassy saw either Luzhkov or Bounine.”
“Interesting,” Lermov said. “You think it was related?”
“You said to look for anything odd,” said Ivanov. “And here’s another thing. Apparently, Luzhkov knew the Vice President was flying in. I found a message about it from the
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