“A lot of diamonds.”
“What happens afterwards?”
“To you?” Speyer asked.
“That's a start.”
“You'll get paid off, and then you'll have to make a decision. Either go off on your own or come with us.”
“Where might that be?”
“Eden,” Speyer said.
Lane laughed. “Okay, assuming I buy into your Eden, wherever it might be, what about the Russians? Once they figure out what we've brought up they'll want a share.”
“We're going to kill them.”
“They still have a long reach.”
“It won't matter. We'll be beyond it,” Speyer said with supreme confidence.
“Why not kill me, too?”
Again Speyer hesitated for a long time. “Because Eden won't be the end of it. There'll be other projects. If you prove out on this one, I'll have further use for you. As you so astutely pointed out at the ranch, I'm not a man who throws away valuable assets.”
“No, I don't expect you are. But I think your friend General Mann is right. You
are
playing a dangerous game. The Russians are not nice people, and they have very long memories.”
Speyer threw back his head and laughed. “That's rich,” he said. “That's very rich.”
Â
The evening was lovely. Lights from the Lincoln Memorial sparkled in the reflecting pool. Straight up the Mall the Washington Monument rose into the night sky, and beyond it the mass of the U.S. Capitol building was like something out of Gibbon's
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
. There was still plenty of traffic on Constitution Avenue and Alternate 50. Some pleasure boats were on the river. Lane drove a Lincoln Town Car, Baumann and Speyer in the backseat. He came down Bacon Drive as far as traffic was permitted, and parked.
There were a few other cars parked here and there, and a Capital
City Tours bus had pulled up to the west of the entry. The passengers were getting off while the driver walked away and lit a cigarette. The imposing statue of Lincoln sat serenely behind the thirty-six columns.
“Keep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut,” Speyer said.
“They'd be fools to start anything here,” Lane replied. “Too public.”
“Don't count on it. They have diplomatic immunity, a privilege we do not enjoy.”
Lane opened the car door for them. Speyer got out and Baumann slid across right behind him.
“Watch your sight lines,” Baumann warned.
They started up the stairs, Speyer in the lead, when three men came from inside. They wore suits and ties, but the one in the center was much better dressed. He obviously had a sense of fashion unusual for a Russian. The other two looked like typical Russian muscle.
Speyer picked up on it immediately. “Mr. Lukashin,” he said.
“Yes, and you're Helmut Speyer,” the Russian said, his English barely accented. They shook hands.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet on such a short noticeâ”
“Let's take a walk,” Lukashin said. “This way, if you don't mind.”
They went across the circular drive and took the stairs down to the reflecting pool where there were only a handful of people out and about, most of them heading to the Vietnam War Memorial. Lukashin's two bodyguards kept close to their boss, and Lane and Baumann flanked them.
The Russian Washington
rezident
had come to his post in the past six months, and Lane had the troubling thought seeing him now in person that he'd met the man somewhere. He was tall, but slender like a soccer player, and his eyes were blue, his hair blond. Very unusual for a Russian man. Lane tried to think where he might have met him. It was worrisome because he thought he'd seen the spark of recognition in Lukashin's eyes.
“Thomas was somewhat mysterious,” Lukashin said. “But we've always had good dealings in the past. And you come highly recommended by him.”
“This isn't a social call,” Speyer said unnecessarily.
“No, I didn't expect it was.” Lukashin glanced at Lane and Baumann, but didn't bother asking for introductions.
“I need some help from you, and I'm willing to pay handsomely, but only on one condition,” Speyer said.
“I'm listening.”
“Once we conclude our business you will make no attempt to find my whereabouts, or in any way contact me, or even mention my name to anyone. When this operation has been completed I'll need to make myself very scarce. Perhaps for a very long time.”
“I can live with that. What do you want from me?”
Speyer took an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Lukashin. “These are the names and brief dossiers of four former KGB officers who worked with Stasi in East Germany. They're still there, under deep cover working for the SVR. I want to hire them, but they will have to be discreet, and they'll have to understand that once this project has been completed, their covers will be blown and they will have to leave Germany forever. Where they go after that makes no difference to me.”
Lukashin held the pages up to the light from a lamppost and briefly glanced at the information. “You want these men because of certain knowledge they have?”
“That, and their contacts in Germany.”
Lukashin thought about it for a moment. “I don't think that they would be welcome at home afterward,” he said. “In any case the cost of their repatriation would be very steep. I'll leave that part of the deal to your discretion. What will you have them do?”
“We're going to film a documentary.”
Lukashin glanced at the four brief dossiers again. “Under the noses of the BKA, without anyone being the wiser.” The BKA was the German Federal Police Bureau.
“That's exactly it.”
“Afterwards everyone disappears, and in time even the documentary will be forgotten. I, on the other hand, have a very good memory.”
Speyer handed him another envelope. “You might find this interesting.”
Lukashin opened it and examined the documents that Mann had supplied Speyer. When he was finished reading he looked up, a very interested expression on his face now. “Very generous,” he said.
“I take care of my friends.”
“What if I were to hand these back to you and demand ten percent of whatever it is you hope to recover?”
“It's a risk that you could take, I suppose,” Speyer said. He held out his hand for the envelopes.
After a moment, however, the Russian put them in his breast pocket. “What if I don't go through with my part of the bargain?”
“The checks will bounce, and word will get back to Moscow.”
“How soon will you be ready to move?”
“The entire project should be finished within a couple of weeks from the time you supply me with the four men.”
Lukashin nodded. “I see no problem with this,” he said. “I'll get back to you soon. Where can I reach you?”
“Through Thomas Mann.”
“Good enough.”
Â
Speyer, Baumann, and Lane walked back to the car while the Russians stayed behind at the reflecting pool. “Have you ever met Lukashin before?” Speyer asked Lane.
“I don't think so. But his face sure looked familiar. Maybe I saw a photograph.”
“Well, he gave you a double take when he first saw you.” Speyer turned to Baumann. “What do you think, Ernst?”
“I didn't notice anything. But if he knows Browne from somewhere, wouldn't he have said something?”
“Maybe,” Speyer said. “When we get back I want you to do some checking. Perhaps Lukashin was stationed in South Africa.”
Lane let a look of surprise cross his face. “Do you think the bastard was involved with the accident that killed my wife?”
“I don't know. But I'm going to find out.”
Â
When Lukashin got back to the Russian embassy on Wisconsin Avenue in Glover Park, he went with his number two, Nikolai Mironov, directly into the
referentura
âthe secured room. When the door to the suite was shut and the electronic countermeasures activated, eavesdropping by any means was utterly impossible.
“I know one of Speyer's bodyguards, and it wasn't from Germany,” Lukashin said.
“You should have demanded his name.”
“Doesn't matter the name he would have given me, Nikki, what matters is who he really is.”
“What are you thinking?”
“It might give us a clue to what Speyer is really after. Whatever it is, it has to be big because he's willing to pay plenty for it.”
“What did he offer you?”
Lukashin had to smile. “He's going to pay off my house mortgageâthat's about seven hundred thousandâand all my credit cardsâthat's another couple of hundred thousand. And you'll get some.”
“He's serious.”
“That he is,” Lukashin said. “I'll pull up a recognition program from the mainframe, but in the meantime I want you to get his fingerprints.”
“How?”
“I got the license tag number when they drove up. Run it through Metro DMV. I suspect it's one of Thomas Mann's cars, which means they're staying over there with him in Georgetown. That guy was driving and he wasn't wearing gloves, so I expect his prints will be all over the driver's side.”
Mironov nodded. “I'll take care of it myself once they get bedded down over there. Do you know anything about their security?”
“No, but you should be able to find out which agency they use and pull something up from their website,” Lukashin said. “Before I start cashing in favors I want to know exactly who I'm dealing with.”
Â
Lane parked the Town Car in the back and he, Speyer, and Baumann went into the house. Thomas Mann was still at a formal dinner at the British embassy. It was only a few minutes before eleven and Speyer was keyed up.
“Anyone care for a nightcap?” he asked.
“I'm going to get on the computer and check out Lukashin,” Baumann said.
“I'll have a drink with you,” Lane said. He and Speyer went back to the library where Speyer poured them brandies. They raised snifters. “Success.”
“Yes, success,” Lane said, and they drank. “I was wondering. What if Lukashin knows me from somewhere? Will that create a problem?”
“We'll have to see. But that might depend on you.”
“In what way?”
“Let's say that he was involved in the deaths of your wife and child.”
“I see what you mean,” Lane said slowly.
“Revenge would interfere with my plans. I need Lukashin for the moment.”
Lane looked up, a wicked smile curling his lips. “For the moment,” he said.
“Afterwards what transpires between you and Comrade Lukashin is strictly your own business.” Speyer finished his drink. “Are we in accord?”
“What if I were to need some help?”
Speyer considered it for a moment. “You would get it, within reason, of course.”
“Of course,” Lane said. He reached for the bottle of brandy and poured them each another drink. He raised his glass. “Success.”
Â
At two in the morning Thomas Mann's house was dark for the evening. Only dim hall lights showed from within and security lights shone in the driveway and parking area. There were no night watchmen, Mironov decided, as he waited across the street.
After fifteen minutes he crossed the street and slipped into the driveway, keeping to the deeper shadows as much as possible. There was a three car garage in back, but as luck would have it the Lincoln Town car that Speyer and his two bodyguards had used earlier in the evening was parked outside.
He inserted an electronic key in the trunk lid lock, attached the leads to an encoding device the size of a small electronic calculator, and attached its magnetic backing to the trunk lid. A few seconds later the lights turned green and the Lincoln's entire electronic system went dead. The door locks popped open.
He crab-walked to the driver's door and opened it. The interior lights, also defeated by the encoder, did not come on. Keeping low, he spread his fingerprint kit on the floor, and quickly dusted the steering wheel, gear shift lever, and interior door handle. Several clear prints showed up under a UV penlight. Holding the light in his teeth, he used tape to lift three separate prints, bagged them, then wiped off the powder residue.