Paris Embassy at approximately midnight on the night before. It was received by a junior lieutenant named Greta Bikov—and signed for by Boris Luzhkov.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t really tell us anything, though. Tell me, who’s been holding the fort for GRU in London since the disappearances?”
“A Major Ivan Chelek. They sent him over from Paris.”
“I know him, he worked for me in Iraq some years ago. Slow but sound. You speak to him, explain you’re acting under my orders. Find out what he’s been doing to investigate, and inquire about Greta Bikov.”
“Any special reason?” Ivanov asked.
“Because she was there, Peter, received that transcript as night duty officer and conveyed it to Luzhkov. What was his reaction? Was there anyone with him? Bounine could have been there, for all we know. You were right to bring this matter to my attention.”
“At your orders, Colonel.” Ivanov produced an encrypted mobile, and Lermov got up and wandered outside.
There was something here, just below the surface of things, he was certain of that, and that feeling tantalized him. An old woman with her head in a scarf and wearing a white coat pushed a tray along the walkway as he leaned on the rail and smoked an American Marlboro. There was a samovar on the trolley that looked as old as her, and sandwiches and pies. She paused and looked at him, a leftover from another age.
“You’re not allowed to smoke here, comrade.”
“Just give me a hot cup of tea with lemon, babushka, and a currant bun, and you can have these. They’re American. I shouldn’t be smoking them anyway.”
She smiled. “You’re a good man, I like you.” She pocketed the cigarettes, gave him what he’d asked for, and pushed her trolley away. Lermov ate the bun, which was excellent, and was drinking the tea when Ivanov found him.
“You might have got me one.”
“Never mind that. What did he say?”
“No sign of any of them. He’s even had assets we can rely on in the London underworld to check the morgues, but they’ve gotten nowhere. He congratulates you on your elevation to Head of Station and says please come soon, as he misses Paris.”
“And Greta Bikov?”
“It seems she was very upset by the whole business of Luzhkov and Bounine. She took it badly, cried a lot, and went round looking stressed and anxious. Other staff said she was a favorite of Luzhkov, and the general opinion was that he was having it off with her.”
“How delicately put,” Lermov said. “Did you speak to her?”
“I couldn’t, she wasn’t there. She got very depressed, so the Embassy doctor decided to place her on sick leave.”
“And when was this?”
“Four days ago. She’s right here in Moscow. Her mother is a widow. Lives in an apartment on Nevsky Prospekt, overlooking the river.”
“Some fine old houses there,” Lermov said. “Okay, let’s say she was a naughty girl and Luzhkov’s bit of skirt, as her colleagues seem to think. She was used to being overfamiliar with her commanding officer, in and out of his office, putting up with the older man’s indifferent kiss, the quick grope.”
“I think I see where you’re going with this,” Ivanov said. “Bad things happen, the boss disappears, a lot of pressure and questions coming your way.”
“Leading to considerable stress of the sort induced by fear, so you show that face to the doctor, who puts you on sick leave.”
“And sends you home to Mummy and all the comforts of home.” Ivanov grinned. “But what is it she’s afraid of?”
“I would imagine her overfamiliarity with Luzhkov led to her sticking her nose into things she shouldn’t. She may have enjoyed having him on a string, leading him on, if you like.”
“Taking advantage of an aging fool who couldn’t keep his fly closed?”
“And now with this strange business of his disappearance, she’s seriously worried about her misdeeds, whatever they are, surfacing.”
“Then it’s time to find out what they
“Hmm. That doesn’t really tell us anything, though. Tell me, who’s been holding the fort for GRU in London since the disappearances?”
“A Major Ivan Chelek. They sent him over from Paris.”
“I know him, he worked for me in Iraq some years ago. Slow but sound. You speak to him, explain you’re acting under my orders. Find out what he’s been doing to investigate, and inquire about Greta Bikov.”
“Any special reason?” Ivanov asked.
“Because she was there, Peter, received that transcript as night duty officer and conveyed it to Luzhkov. What was his reaction? Was there anyone with him? Bounine could have been there, for all we know. You were right to bring this matter to my attention.”
“At your orders, Colonel.” Ivanov produced an encrypted mobile, and Lermov got up and wandered outside.
There was something here, just below the surface of things, he was certain of that, and that feeling tantalized him. An old woman with her head in a scarf and wearing a white coat pushed a tray along the walkway as he leaned on the rail and smoked an American Marlboro. There was a samovar on the trolley that looked as old as her, and sandwiches and pies. She paused and looked at him, a leftover from another age.
“You’re not allowed to smoke here, comrade.”
“Just give me a hot cup of tea with lemon, babushka, and a currant bun, and you can have these. They’re American. I shouldn’t be smoking them anyway.”
She smiled. “You’re a good man, I like you.” She pocketed the cigarettes, gave him what he’d asked for, and pushed her trolley away. Lermov ate the bun, which was excellent, and was drinking the tea when Ivanov found him.
“You might have got me one.”
“Never mind that. What did he say?”
“No sign of any of them. He’s even had assets we can rely on in the London underworld to check the morgues, but they’ve gotten nowhere. He congratulates you on your elevation to Head of Station and says please come soon, as he misses Paris.”
“And Greta Bikov?”
“It seems she was very upset by the whole business of Luzhkov and Bounine. She took it badly, cried a lot, and went round looking stressed and anxious. Other staff said she was a favorite of Luzhkov, and the general opinion was that he was having it off with her.”
“How delicately put,” Lermov said. “Did you speak to her?”
“I couldn’t, she wasn’t there. She got very depressed, so the Embassy doctor decided to place her on sick leave.”
“And when was this?”
“Four days ago. She’s right here in Moscow. Her mother is a widow. Lives in an apartment on Nevsky Prospekt, overlooking the river.”
“Some fine old houses there,” Lermov said. “Okay, let’s say she was a naughty girl and Luzhkov’s bit of skirt, as her colleagues seem to think. She was used to being overfamiliar with her commanding officer, in and out of his office, putting up with the older man’s indifferent kiss, the quick grope.”
“I think I see where you’re going with this,” Ivanov said. “Bad things happen, the boss disappears, a lot of pressure and questions coming your way.”
“Leading to considerable stress of the sort induced by fear, so you show that face to the doctor, who puts you on sick leave.”
“And sends you home to Mummy and all the comforts of home.” Ivanov grinned. “But what is it she’s afraid of?”
“I would imagine her overfamiliarity with Luzhkov led to her sticking her nose into things she shouldn’t. She may have enjoyed having him on a string, leading him on, if you like.”
“Taking advantage of an aging fool who couldn’t keep his fly closed?”
“And now with this strange business of his disappearance, she’s seriously worried about her misdeeds, whatever they are, surfacing.”
“Then it’s time to find out what they
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