Bomb Grade (11 page)

It hadn't been at all like she'd expected. There'd been the stomach lurch, the hollowness, and the slight tingling at the unreality of it all. But it hadn't been as bad as she'd feared. She hadn't been overwhelmed by any emotion, confused beyond being able to watch and think quite dispassionately. In fact dispassionate perfectly summed up the way she'd felt, seeing again the father of her child and the man whom she'd once thought she loved. She no longer had any doubt about any difficulty in meeting him again, face to face. Not that she intended to. At that moment she was sure it didn't matter to her whether or not she ever met Charlie Muffin again. ‘You don't have any doubt about the impatience, from both London and Washington?'

Popov smiled. ‘I haven't told you yet about last night's meeting with our regional commander.'

The FBI Lear jet carried John Fenby to England and the fact that the Connaught was so close to the American embassy in Grosvenor Square was more than sufficient reason for his staying at what he justifiably considered the best hotel in London. He regarded the restaurant as the best, too, which was why he chose it for his lunch with Rupert Dean.

The British Director-General arrived politely ahead of time but Fenby, as always, was already waiting, the carefully chosen window table in the most discreet corner: he would have liked more distance between himself and the other tables but wasn't well enough known to get it, like he was at the Four Seasons. It was their first personal meeting, an assessment-for-the-future encounter.

Fenby had, of course, had a check run on Dean and knew the academic background and considered it unfitting for the position the man now occupied. But that was a British problem, not his. Rather, it was his advantage. He'd already decided how to use the British appointment in more than one way, which was why he'd so strongly supported it, and knew Dean was too naive ever to realize how he was being manipulated. There was, of course, no way that Peter Johnson could know, either, but Fenby knew the British deputy would understand. He and Johnson understood each other, like the professionals they were. If he invoked the insurance he had so carefully established, it was even possible Dean would be destroyed, in which case it was more than likely Johnson would get the appointment that should have been his in the first place. Fenby hoped it happened: Johnson was the sort of man he could work with.

Rupert Dean had had an identical check run on John Fenby and knew not just the legal history of the New York circuit judge but the rumoured determination to create another Bureau legend. Dean found it easy to imagine the pleasure the surprisingly small, blinking-eyed man would have attained jailing people for life and wondered if he didn't miss that particular power. He supposed Fenby had sufficient at the FBI to compensate.

Fenby was solicitous over the menu and suggested Dean order whatever wine he wanted, because he didn't drink, which was something else Dean knew and wasn't surprised about. Without consulting the wine list Dean asked the sommelier for a 1962 Margaux if it was available and when Fenby wondered if there'd be half bottles Dean said he wasn't thinking of a half bottle. There was a '62 and it was as good as Dean knew it would be. He savoured it even more than he savoured the American's disapproval of his excess.

‘Your man seems to have achieved a lot in a short time,' opened the American.

‘He's very experienced,' said Dean, who as a bridge-building courtesy and at Johnson's suggestion, had earlier that morning sent Charlie's overnight reports to the Bureau office at the nearby embassy.

‘Unconventional,' suggested Fenby. He'd already decided to have the possible operational concession achieved by the Englishman recorded on FBI files as James Kestler's success. And to tell Fitzjohn as soon as he got back to Washington.

‘It's an unconventional position.' Dean had found the other man's remark curious.

‘I'm keen for us to work as a team: I've told my people in Moscow.' Because by having the Englishman associated at all times, it achieved the all-important function of keeping dirt off my doorstep, he thought, smugly. As well as protecting James Kestler from being shown as the run-at-anything operator he was worryingly turning out to be.

‘I think that's probably a good arrangement.' Dean decided he didn't like the American. It had been necessary to work with him to achieve the department posting to Moscow but Dean had no intention of making a friend, or even an acquaintance, of the other Director.

They stopped talking while the meal was served. Dean had chosen confit of duck and accepted mashed potatoes, as well as sauce thickened with stock and wine. Fenby had cold meats and a plain green side salad, without dressing.

‘But we're going to have to be very careful,' condescended Fenby, actually preparing his ground. ‘That's why your choice of operative surprised me.'

‘That's his usefulness,' said Dean. ‘He surprises people.'

chapter 9

‘H
e's sure?'

‘Of course he's not sure! How can he be?'

Natalia wished Aleksai hadn't been so brusque. ‘Give me some idea!' she demanded, matching his impatience.

‘He's sure it isn't a confidence trick,' allowed Popov. ‘Oskin's had enough of those to recognize each and every sign. This time the approach has been made to the security head of a nuclear site about five kilometres outside Kirov: the nearest township of any size is Kirs. It's one of the installations we already know kept inaccurate records, to inflate their production norms.'

‘What isn't he sure of?'

‘Carrying out a proper investigation. There's still too much we don't know: too much that could go wrong.'

‘Tell me about Oskin! How reliable is he?' Natalia's concentration had switched almost entirely from her deputy's meeting with Charlie, although he remained a peripheral part of what she and Popov were now discussing. On the surface, Russia's acceptance of yet another foreign investigator was the outward proof to the West of Moscow's enforcement commitment. Hidden beneath the surface from everyone except herself was what Natalia interpreted it as a very clear and personal warning. If there was not soon some visible success to be trumpeted abroad, Natalia guessed the next political move – equally for foreign consumption – would be her very public replacement. Natalia's primary concern was not for herself. It would be impossible for her ever to get another privileged government job, probably any worthwhile job at all. Which endangered Sasha. Although she knew it was premature and unprofessional, Natalia felt the excitement surge through her at even the vaguest possibility of mounting an operation: of doing
something
at last! And it wasn't just excitement. There was a lot of relief mixed with it, which was equally premature and unprofessional.

‘Nikolai Ivanovich Oskin is totally reliable,' assured Popov. ‘He worked here at headquarters, as a regional supervisor before I appointed him the actual regional commander. And I did that because I was sure I could trust him.'

‘You talked of false alarms before?'

‘
Scams
, before,' qualified Popov. He got up from the chair in Natalia's office to move to his favourite spot, near the window overlooking the Ulitza Zhitnaya. Only half turned to Natalia, the man went on, ‘Which goes even further to show his reliability. He waits, until he's sure. That's why he'd held back from alerting us to situations in the past that have turned out to have been deception, between crooks. He doesn't, he
won't
, cry wolf.'

Natalia felt a further stir of excitement. ‘How much do we know about this new affair?'

‘Oskin doubts the security in his office,' said Popov. ‘So he moves around, making spot visits, a lot of them unannounced. He's established informants in the plants he's responsible for. At the Kirs site it's the head of security himself. He's a former Militia lieutenant: name's Lvov. Two weeks ago Oskin made one of his surprise visits. Lvov almost burst into tears with relief. He'd been approached by the Mafia. And told that if he doesn't cooperate, his wife and daughters will be killed. If he does what they want he gets $50,000 in cash …'

‘Which Family?' demanded Natalia.

‘No names, not yet,' said Popov. ‘Lvov had been too nervous even to try to get a message through to Oskin: that's why he was so relieved when Oskin turned up. Lvov says his depot office is Mafia infiltrated and that any phone call or message would be intercepted. And his family would die …' Popov turned back in the office. ‘… That's why Oskin came down personally, rather than telephone or write to me. Lvov also told him our Kirov regional offices leak like sieves.'

‘Does Oskin
really
believe that?' Natalia had no illusions about the extent of organized crime in Russia but she was genuinely shocked at the thought that the very departments formed to combat it might be so dominated.

‘He's taking precautions. You saw those photographs, from Germany. Like all the others we've seen, from too many other places. He doesn't have any less doubt than Lvov that the people who've made this approach would kill the man's family. Probably in some obscene way like all the other killings.'

‘If Lvov is this frightened, why did he tell Oskin? Why didn't he take the $50,000? That's surely what anybody would have done, frightened or otherwise!'

Popov smiled, but sadly. ‘That was the first question Oskin asked him. Lvov said he would have done –
wanted
to – but he didn't believe he'd get the money: it's too much
to
believe, anyway. Like the amount they want is too much to believe.'

Natalia waited, irritated Popov didn't continue. Finally she said, ‘I don't understand.'

‘They've said they want two hundred and fifty kilos. The fact that they know there is at least that much convinced Lvov of the extent of their access inside the plant. He's also convinced they'll kill anyone peripherally involved who might talk under investigation. Which would mean him. The only way the poor bastard thinks he's got a chance is to run to us.'

Now it was Natalia's turn to get up, needing to move around. As she passed Popov she automatically trailed her hand along the back of his shoulders. ‘Two hundred and fifty kilos of what?'

‘I don't know, exactly. Enriched plutonium? Cassium? Uranium?'

‘Sufficient for an
entire
bomb!' It was difficult for Natalia to contemplate.

‘Probably several,' agreed Popov, far less awed. ‘We'll need advice on that.'

Natalia was silent for several moments. ‘That's incredible. Horrifying.' She was conscious of the inadequacy of the words. ‘If it is being planned, and we don't stop it, we'll be the first victims, before anyone's killed by any bomb.'

From Popov's window Natalia gazed down at the traffic-clogged street, wondering how many of the status-symbol Mercedes and BMWs she could see were Mafia owned: most of them, she guessed. Now, finally, it looked as if she would be confronting them. She turned positively back into the room. ‘When are you seeing Oskin again?'

Popov shook his head. ‘He told me all there was to tell: there was no point in a further meeting.'

‘
You
hadn't told
me
.'

Popov frowned at the rebuke. Then he smiled. ‘To have abruptly changed his arrangements would have ruined the security.'

‘I could as easily have met him outside the building, like you did!'

‘Are you totally sure of the security within this building?' challenged Popov. ‘I'm not, not totally. Neither is Oskin. But I'm sorry: I should have made an arrangement to speak to him again, after talking to you.'

It was probably the first time their personal intimacy had led to his taking her for granted, thought Natalia, uncomfortably. ‘What arrangements
did
you make?'

‘That I would go up to him, at once.'

Now Natalia frowned. ‘Where's the security in that?'

‘Not officially. And I'm certainly not going anywhere near the regional office. He certainly couldn't risk another trip to Moscow without arousing suspicion. I'll set myself up at an hotel, for as much contact as possible Hopefully even go with him to Kirs …' The man smiled again. ‘And I'll keep in daily touch with you.'

Natalia didn't smile back. ‘I insist upon that. I want to know every development and every plan. I'll even come up there myself, if necessary.' She crossed hurriedly to Popov, reaching out to clutch at him, needing the physical security of his arms around her. Into his shoulder she said, ‘For God's sake, be careful!'

‘I won't say don't worry.'

‘No, don't say it,' she implored.

The supervisor at the crèche thought Sasha's cough had worsened. Natalia had to wait only fifteen minutes for an appointment with the paediatrician who was reassuring it was a very minor infection easily treated with the mildest of antibiotic, which was dispensed at the adjoining pharmacy. The entire episode took less than an hour and as she left the Ministry clinic Natalia confronted the reality of her privileged existence.
In
office, at Natalia's rank, Sasha was totally protected; dismissed from office, without any rank, Sasha was totally unprotected. No mother without the influence that Natalia took as a matter of course would have even bothered to
try
to get a doctor to treat something as inconsequential as a minor chest ailment. So she couldn't lose office. Rather, she had to do everything not only to retain it but to strengthen it.

On their way back to Leninskaya, the normally chattering Sasha fell asleep and had to be carried drowsily into the apartment. She was irritable, pawing off Natalia's efforts to undress her, and Natalia decided not to bath her. Natalia sat in the bedroom chair, holding Sasha's hot hand as the child went at once into a heavy, breath-congested sleep. Had she been justified, feeling – and showing – the resentment against Popov for his not keeping Nikolai Oskin in Moscow for them to meet? She
was
the head of the division specifically entrusted to combat nuclear smuggling, so it was her right if not her duty to have met the man. But Aleksai
was
the operational director, the man officially appointed to mastermind investigations at steet level. While the overall responsibility was ultimately hers, it
was
overall, going beyond street and back alley practicalities. There would be time – she'd make time – to meet Oskin and Lvov, if necessary or feasible, and take part in every detail of every plan that was discussed. But in the meantime it was right the situation should be divided between them, Aleskai performing his function and she performing hers. Which, Natalia recognized, was political. Which in turn brought the reflection back to Charlie Muffin. But not, for the first time, to include any personal contemplation.