She found what she was looking for on the ground floor – a small seating area opposite the lifts. As far as she could tell, it was the only exit to the street from the offices above. She pulled out her laptop and immediately started working on it. The ubiquitous security guards would definitely be doing their rounds on every floor, but she should be able to get away with her pretence until lunchtime at least. She looked at the lights above the lift. Even if it took hours, she would try to see Popov.
Of course her plan was flawed. She knew that Popov or any of the people in his office could use the lift and go straight down to the underground parking garage. If this happened, and if she didn’t pursue traffic from his floor quickly enough, she might miss his departure, but she had no better idea at this point.
She was relying on one other thing: the Russian love of a substantial lunch outside the office. This was the most likely route that would be used to leave the building for lunch. Crucially, she was banking on the belief that none of Popov’s staff would dare leave for lunch until he did.
After a couple of hours and more than a few rounds by security guards, her nerves were frayed. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to sit there without raising suspicion. She had tapped away at her laptop, made several pretend phone calls just to keep the security guards from talking to her, but soon, soon someone would approach her.
And then, just a few minutes after 12:30, there was movement. In disbelief she watched as the ninth floor’s button lit up. At last! Someone was on the move. But instead of going down, the tenth, eleventh and each consecutive button lit up until the elevator came to a stop at the 22nd floor.
What was there? Quickly she got up and scanned the information board opposite the lifts.
Zolotaya Zvezda Restaurant
, just as she’d hoped. If she was in luck, Popov had finally gone to lunch.
It was important that she found out quickly if it was him, but still she forced herself to wait a few minutes. There was no other movement up or down from the ninth floor, so she decided to make a move. She didn’t think he knew what she looked like, so while it was slim, the chance of seeing him face to face still existed.
Amelia took a deep breath as she pushed open the restaurant’s door. She stepped into a reception area that was heavy with the silence of a pretentious Moscow restaurant. She couldn’t imagine that any of Popov’s administrative staff would have come here, because one meal would probably cost them the equivalent of half a month’s salary. Her heart beat faster at the thought of meeting Popov. He would definitely possess a piece of the puzzle, of that she was sure.
After checking in her coat, she was taken through a second entrance area from which a short passage led into a spacious room divided into several different eating areas. One section, appearing to be the designated lounge area, held deep black leather couches while another to her left contained a long, polished marble bar. Quickly she scanned the rest of the room.
Relief. Her plan had actually worked.
At the far end of the room she spotted the man she was now able to identify as Popov, seated in one of two dining sections. With him were two other men. She studied the little group for a few moments and noticed something else, something that obliterated the relief she’d just felt.
It was impossible to miss the presence of several security men who surrounded the threesome at a discreet distance. Their eyes kept flitting to and from the table the men occupied. No wonder he wouldn’t see her without the correct procedures. This was a clearly a man who felt he had much to protect.
A waiter led the way to a table near the window, far away from Popov’s. She glanced over and saw that the bodyguards had sat down at a table once removed from that of the three men, but they were still near enough to be a cause for concern. Amelia knew there would be no time to waste. If she was wrong, if Popov knew what she looked like, she would not get a chance to approach him again if she didn’t do it immediately. The waiter lingered to take her drinks order.
‘A glass of white wine, please,’ she said and as fluidly as possible, she gestured in the direction of Popov’s table, smiling briefly. ‘I just want to go greet someone over there.’
There was the briefest hesitation, but then the waiter nodded, left the menu on her table and walked away.
Amelia looked over. The two other men were engrossed in something Popov was saying. He had heavy, meaty limbs, a large round head and a protruding belly that forced him to sit an awkward distance away from the table. Evidently a wealthy man who enjoyed the good life. She took a deep breath: this was it, her one chance.
Quickly she walked over, injecting as much confidence as possible into her step. She stopped dead next to Popov’s table and could sense rather than see the security men’s agitation as she started to speak.
‘Mr Popov, my name is Amelia Preston. I’m the wife of Robert Preston, the Canadian Ambassador to Russia. You had some dealings with him last year. I apologise for interrupting your lunch, but it is imperative that I speak to you.’
First Popov’s jaw went slack with surprise, then his fleshy cheeks turned red, his irritation immediately evident.
‘I thought I made it clear that I was busy.’ His voice was gruff, but Amelia interrupted him before he could continue.
‘I believe you have some information regarding my husband’s disappearance.’
Popov jumped up and rather than speak, he stabbed the air in front of her with a heavy hand, as if he physically wanted to obliterate her words. The bodyguards had followed their boss’ example and were hovering with eager faces, ready to pounce, barely able to wait for the word from him.
Instead, Popov turned to his two companions who were still seated at the table.
‘Friends,’ he said in Russian, his expression blank, ‘please excuse me for a moment so that I can take care of this.’
This.
His insinuation was clear – this repugnant insect that has entered my sacred space.
As he turned to her, Amelia could see that she had stirred up more anger than she’d anticipated, but all that mattered to her was that her plan had worked. She’d managed to see him face to face and now she had to seize the moment. Before she could move, however, Popov gripped her arm and led her away roughly. When they reached a safe distance, far enough away from his lunch companions, he dropped his hand. His face was thunderous. ‘How dare you intrude like this? What do you want?’
‘I would like to talk to you about—’
‘What do you want?’
She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Information.’
Popov took a step back. In an instant his whole demeanour changed. As if a switch had been flipped, he started to laugh.
With clear merriment he said. ‘Do you remember the nineties, Mrs Preston? Some called Russia the Wild West then. And oh, it certainly was wild. You come here and ask for information. Do you know that people were killed for much less than a few pieces of information back then? Do you remember? But that has changed, people say, don’t they? Well, I’ll tell you.’ The anger was back now. ‘Even as recently as three, four years ago, there were about 5000 contract killings a year in Russia.’ Popov gave her a thin smile. ‘Something to think about, isn’t it? You should know that things haven’t really changed that much. Think about that before you pester me again.’
Amelia had to stop herself from stepping back in shock and distaste. This –
he
– was nastier than she could have imagined, but she would not heed his attempts to deflect her.
As if she’d heard none of what he’d said, she continued. ‘When relations between Prism and Sibraz started to deteriorate, I understand that you represented Sibraz and Robert was asked to assist Prism. Could you tell me why relations broke down?’
‘Because Prism was not doing enough! It was unproductive and it was delaying production in an effort to plunder our asset!’ Popov spat the words out.
‘Plunder your asset? Do you honestly believe a foreign company that had worked so hard to get a mutually beneficial deal would try and cheat a Russian company out of its assets?’
‘Yes, I do!’ Popov thundered again. ‘Foreign companies do it all the time. They’re all the same. They forget the “mutually beneficial” part and want it all for themselves. But they underestimate us. We are not stupid and we are definitely not weak.’
‘You met Robert, Mr Popov. He was an honourable man who had great respect for Russia and its people. He wouldn’t promote those kinds of actions.’
Popov came a step closer and leaned towards her. ‘Tell me, are you so sure you knew him that well? Can you be so certain of what he would have or would not have done?’
Momentarily Amelia was taken aback. What was he implying?
‘I
am
certain.’
Popov’s response was a shrug and an inscrutable smirk.
Swiftly Amelia changed tack. ‘Did Sibraz order the murder of my husband?’
If Popov was surprised by the directness of her question, it was only for a second. He quickly recovered by laughing again.
‘So you understand how business works then?’
Bile rose in Amelia’s throat. ‘Did they?’
‘Do you really think I would tell you anything I know? The only party I am loyal to here, is Sibraz. I signed a confidentiality agreement after all.’ His smile was slow and sly this time. ‘Go home to your little country, Mrs Preston. You cannot possibly play here, in our world. Forget what happened last year. Forget your husband. Go home, leave things to the big boys, the ones who
own
this land.’
Go home
. Like the note. Inwardly Amelia shuddered. Had she come face to face with the person responsible for the notes, and for Robert’s disappearance?
Popov seemed to draw energy from her silence. ‘Don’t come here again.’
Abruptly he turned around and called over two of his guards. He spoke to them in rapid Russian, but she could make out enough. Then he turned back to her, clearly savouring his parting words.
‘They,’ he said, pointing to the burly men glaring at her, ‘know your face now. And if they see it again, they have their instructions. If you have any doubts about how serious I am, let me assure you that they miss the old days even more than I do.’
Amelia looked at Popov’s retreating back in stunned silence. ‘Why are you so afraid to talk to me? If you have nothing to hide, just talk to me!’ she called out, scarcely able to believe her own boldness.
Popov turned around. The fire in his voice had turned into a low growl. ‘Afraid? I am not afraid of you, but I owe you nothing, Sibraz owes you nothing, Russia owes you nothing.’ He clicked his fingers at the closest bodyguard, pointed in her direction and walked away with a finality that made the unspoken words in her mouth turn to stone.
O
n the way to the restaurant, she very nearly cancelled the drinks date with Ratna. Had there been time to collect her thoughts, she would have postponed getting together with her old friend. She was definitely not in the right frame of mind for socialising. The day’s altercation with Popov had rattled her. When she’d looked into the depths of cold hatred in his eyes, she had stopped, really stopped, for the first time since reading the news article that had triggered her return to Russia. The memory of his face unsettled her.
No one owed her anything, he’d said, and perhaps he’d been right. Somehow she’d convinced herself that the universe did owe her some answers about Robert’s disappearance and she’d blindly gone ahead believing those answers would come her way. Now, after the encounter with Popov, she felt the urge to hide out, to withdraw from the world again.
And then Nick had left a message for her, saying he wouldn’t be able to make a meeting they’d planned for the early evening just before she was due to meet Ratna. She felt deflated, not having realised that she was eager to talk to Nick about Jennings and Popov.
The main reason for her reluctance to cancel, however, was Ratna’s unusual demeanour of the last few days. Something wasn’t quite right there and it didn’t feel like a small thing either, so even if she felt particularly ill-equipped to cope with another complication at this point, she would honour her promise and meet Ratna. She had to believe that humans were capable of showing others a kindness of sorts, especially when they felt least able to do so.
The short walk to the restaurant was bitterly cold. The Moscow night seemed perversely normal – people were rushing home after work, impatient drivers were sounding their car horns – and for a second she longed to belong to the banal normality around her, wanted to feel again that bad traffic and trains that ran late were her biggest concerns.
It was a surprise to discover that Ratna was already waiting in the restaurant, seated at a corner table, a glass of wine in front of her. Something in her posture made Amelia stop before she approached.
For a second, unobserved, she watched her old friend. Ratna’s face, normally so animated, looked passive, heavy with an unknown, indecipherable emotion. Intrigued by the unfamiliar expression, by the fact that this was the second time in a week that she’d seen it, Amelia watched in surprise as Ratna suddenly dropped her forehead into her cupped hand. She sat with her head bowed like this for several long moments, utterly still and with an odd heaviness to her body.
When she raised her head again and lifted the wine glass to take a sip, she noticed Amelia. For the briefest second Ratna’s face registered something close to annoyance, perhaps at being seen in a weak or simply unguarded moment, but then her face relaxed and the expression disappeared. Immediately Amelia rushed forward, feeling guilty for having watched so openly.
‘Tough day?’ she asked, hoping to make light of the awkward moment.
‘Ridiculously so,’ Ratna replied, offering a weak smile in return.
‘Don’t I know all about those.’ Amelia dumped her bag and coat on the spare chair next to hers. ‘That’s quite an outfit,’ Ratna said, her glance taking in the severe black suit and high heels.