The Hydra Protocol (23 page)

There were two other people in the room, beyond the sentinel who had ushered them in. One was a young man, maybe even younger than Bogdan, in a maroon tracksuit. He held a ridiculously large pistol in each hand. He kept his weapons pointed at the floor.

The other inhabitant of the room was a woman who was maybe ten years older than Chapel. She wore a turtleneck sweater, and despite the years written on her face, her hair was black and silky and formed a great mane around her head and fell nearly to her waist. She wore a necklace with a seagull pendant, and when she saw Nadia, she came running over to kiss her on both cheeks. The two of them spoke for some time in a language that sounded mostly like Russian, though Chapel didn’t understand much of the vocabulary. He knew that Russian prison inmates had created their own language, a kind of patois of code words and slang called Fenya—handy for making deals around people who weren’t in the loop.

When they were done, they both turned to look at Chapel. “Jim,” Nadia said, “meet Varvara. She’s an old friend and she’s going to help us out.”

Chapel held out his hand and the woman shook it.

“Traditionally,” Varvara said, her English deeply accented but fluent, “in my country when we welcome someone, we offer them bread and salt. I am afraid unless you wish to smoke or drink, I cannot be so courteous.”

Chapel smiled, though he wasn’t sure how much he liked this. He wasn’t thrilled that Nadia had used his real name, not the Jeff Chambers alias—even if they were all sticking to first names. “Thank you for meeting with us,” he said. “Your country, you say—so you’re not an Uzbek. You’re Russian.”

Varvara peered at him through hooded eyes. “An observant man,” she said. “People who pay attention can be dangerous.”

“Only if they’re enemies,” Chapel told her. He glanced around at the shelves, then back at the hole in the wall. “This is an ingenious setup you have here.”

“Oh?” Varvara asked.

Chapel nodded. “This location—totally hidden, but surprisingly convenient. You pay the train conductors to stop in the middle of the tunnel, just outside your warehouse, probably late at night when the trains are mostly empty. You load your contraband onto the subway trains and they can take your goods anywhere in the city, without the police seeing anything.”

Varvara’s eyes narrowed. She reached up and touched her seagull pendant. “You are perhaps thinking of informing the police of my operation?”

From the corner of his eye Chapel could see Nadia stiffen, just a little. This wasn’t how she had expected this meeting to go.

He ignored her. “Why would I do that? I have no interest in helping such a repressive regime. And I need your friendship if our own plans are going to move forward.”

Varvara nodded. “You’re just expressing . . . admiration for my resourcefulness, then?”

“Sure. Anyway, even if I wanted to inform on you, I’m sure you could brick this wall back up in an hour, move the goods out of this cellar in even less time. Then you just break through another cellar wall, somewhere else in the city, and resume your operation after only a minor delay.”

Varvara went over to the workbench and opened a low cabinet. Chapel was suddenly very aware of the two armed men standing behind him. If Varvara had just decided he was a threat and she wanted to go to work on him with a power drill or a pair of pliers, he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out. Maybe he’d pushed a little too hard. He glanced over at Nadia and saw a look of surprise on her face. She hadn’t expected him to say anything during this meeting. It looked like she was wondering why he had chosen to antagonize such a dangerous woman.

When Varvara lifted four crystal pony glasses from the cabinet, though, he knew he’d made the right decision. She slammed the glasses down on top of the workbench and reached for a bottle of vodka. Cracking it open, she said, “This one, Nadia dear, this American you should keep.” She laughed and poured three generous shots. “You see what he does? He shows he knows my business, that he’s two steps ahead of me, just in case I was thinking of betraying him. But he is also clear in that he knows he can’t truly hurt me. Very subtle, very sharp.” She handed one of the glasses to Chapel. “Are you looking for work, young man? I can always use smart fellows.”

“Sorry, I’ve got my own business to attend to,” Chapel told her.

“Then let us discuss it, eh? To mutual trust.” She raised her glass high. “You, Jim. You drink first.”

Chapel studied the liquor in his glass. He didn’t see any sign it had been poisoned or drugged, but then, he wouldn’t, would he?

Here goes nothing
, he thought, and knocked back the drink. It was harsh, very strong stuff, more like moonshine than the vodka he was used to, but it didn’t make his throat close up or his heart stop.

Varvara laughed. “Brave, too. Now. To business. What do you need, Nadia darling, and where do you want it delivered?”

Three shots of vodka later, Chapel was starting to feel a little off his game, so he refused a fourth. Bogdan sat on the floor, staring morosely at his first shot. He’d been sipping at it for a while, much to the sneering disdain of the two gunmen.

Nadia and Varvara, however, had polished off half of a liter bottle already and were still coming up with things to toast—they were down to local football teams and the glorious memory of some gangster Chapel had never heard of, and they seemed in no hurry to stop. Between drinks they’d hammered out prices for a truck that could cross the desert, a large quantity of purified water, tents, camp stoves, preserved foods, fuel. At one point Varvara had suggested she could get them a very good deal on some camels, which she said would be even better for crossing the desert than the truck. Nadia’s eyes lit up at the idea, but Chapel was still sober enough to say no.

“This is how business is done, in this part of the world,” Nadia announced, when Chapel suggested that she might slow down on the drinking. Her cheeks were a little red and her eyes a little glazed. “You don’t know this because you are—” She stopped herself before announcing to the room that he was an American spy. “You are not used to it,” she finished, a little lamely.

Varvara didn’t seem impaired at all. She gave Chapel a sly look. “We’re almost done. Can I interest you in some Soviet-era maps of the desert? A bit out of date, but they show many things that history has forgotten. Perhaps if I knew what you were looking for, I could help you better.”

“What you don’t know, the SNB can’t beat out of you,” Chapel replied. Nadia seemed to find that uproariously funny. She laughed and sputtered and reached for the bottle to pour herself another drink. “Speaking of the local authorities,” Chapel said, putting his own glass down on the workbench, “what can you tell us about one who has a shaved head and a bristly mustache?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Varvara said. “That describes half the old men in Uzbekistan.”

Nadia laughed at that, too.

“He’s definitely ex-military,” Chapel said, remembering what he could about the man who’d been following them. “Very disciplined. The first time I met him he was feeding some pigeons.”

Varvara nodded her great mane of hair. “
Konyechno
, I figured it was him you meant. Jamshid Mirza. Interesting. You have drawn some very distinguished attention, there. Mirza was a colonel in the old Soviet army, and of course, a KGB man. He’s one of the top men in the SNB. You say he’s following you personally?”

“Everywhere we go,” Chapel confirmed.

Varvara shook her head. “If I hadn’t already promised to help you . . . Mirza might scare even me away. If he has taken an interest, he must think you are very important to his country. When you checked in at your hotel, what did you say you were doing in Tashkent?”

Chapel appreciated that she hadn’t asked the direct question—what his cover story was. “I told them I was an American venture capitalist looking into energy development.”

Varvara smiled. “This explains it. Mirza is also head of security for Uzbekneftegaz, the state energy concern. Uzbekistan has a number of very productive natural gas fields, up near what is left of the Aral Sea. So far mostly Korean companies have buzzed around these fields, but the government would be very interested in drawing American flies as well. He will be very disappointed when you don’t buy up half his country for exploitation.”

“In honor of mother earth!” Nadia said, lifting her glass. Varvara lifted her own and they drank. “Source of all Russian wealth, she gives so much and we are so bad to her.”

Chapel shook his head. He had no idea what she was on about. “There’s one last thing I want to talk about. More equipment.”

“Oh?” Varvara asked.

“Guns,” Chapel said. “Can you get us some weapons?”

Varvara lifted an eyebrow. “Now I definitely don’t want to know what you’re doing out in the desert. But yes, yes, of course. All the guns you desire.”

“In honor of guns!” Nadia said, and lifted her glass. “If you have enough of them, you don’t need politics.”

The negotiations stretched on a while longer. Varvara named an absurdly high price, which Nadia haggled with for a while before getting the total down to a number that was only barely ludicrous. They completed things with one last shot of vodka and a great deal of hugging and cheek-kissing. Varvara even grabbed at Bogdan and kissed him, though he tried to squirm out of her arms the whole time, which she seemed to find endearing rather than insulting.

Varvara made a phone call, and a few minutes later Chapel heard a loud rushing noise and a squeal of brakes as a subway train pulled up at the hole in the wall. The train’s doors opened and revealed an empty car. Chapel, Nadia, and Bogdan got on board and took the train back to Kosmonavtlar Station. Once off the train, Nadia almost ran up the stairs. She didn’t seem nearly as drunk as she had back in the contraband warehouse, and Chapel wondered how much of that had been for show.

While they were still underground, Chapel leaned in close and asked, “You’re certain we can trust Varvara?”

Nadia snorted out a laugh. “Always with you, the trust issues.” She smiled and grabbed his arm playfully. “Occupational hazard, yes? If we can trust anyone, it is my friend. She was the wife of a very famous
vory
, a man of impeccable honor. After he died, she took over his operation, something almost unheard of here, but no one can doubt her position now. To be accepted by other thieves she has been ruthless in her time. But she and I get along very well, and she has helped me in the past. It’s nice dealing with a woman. All the men, the male
vory
, they just want to fuck me. To prove they can.” She gave Chapel a sly look. “I think they watched too many James Bond movies, with the ice queen Russian spies who melt in the arms of the right man.”

Chapel ignored the flirtation. “You seem to know a lot of criminals,” he said, glancing over at Bogdan, who was lost in his headphones.

“Kleptocracy,” Nadia shrugged. “It is how things work here. You want information, you want more than the local government is willing to give, you go underground. In this case, literally.”

They headed up the stairs and then had a long walk back to where they’d left the scooters. Nadia turned them in and got her deposit back, and then they returned to the hotel, taking their time, trying to look like innocent tourists.

Chapel was not surprised at all to find a man with a shaved head and an immaculate mustache waiting in the lobby, sitting casually on a leather sofa near the reception desk. Apparently Mirza had come back here after losing them in the city. There was no way to get to the elevators without walking right past him.

“Mister Chambers!” the SNB man called out, as Chapel passed by. “Did you have a good day? See many of our wonderful sights?”

Chapel gave the man a nasty look. “We rented some scooters and took a tour. Can’t say I was much impressed.”

“It occurs to me we have not been introduced. My name is Jamshid Mirza. Perhaps you’d do me the honor of letting me show you around tomorrow,” he said, smiling. “There are some people you should meet.”

For a second Chapel was certain he was about to be arrested. He met Mirza’s gaze as steadily as he could and tried to think of what to do next. “Sorry,” he said. “We have plans. Business.”

“Of course. Perhaps you’d like to discuss that business with me? You’ll find, I think, that Tashkent can be very friendly to foreign capital. Our policies may seem harsh to you, but we can be very . . . lenient for foreign investors. All manner of things can be forgiven.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, buddy,” Chapel said, and headed once more toward the elevators.

He expected Mirza to stop him, or at least make some more cryptic comments, but the SNB man seemed to be done.

Back in the suite Bogdan retired sulkily to his room without a word. Nadia went and got her bug sweeper and went over the usual spots—light fixtures, under the beds and tables, the television set, the phone. She found three new microphones, each of which she destroyed. She dumped the broken circuit boards in a glass ashtray and then rubbed at her forehead with one hand. “I think I need a nap.”

“I’m not surprised, the way you were putting away that vodka,” Chapel said, smiling at her.

She smiled back. “I know Russians are famous around the world for drinking too much,” she said, “and there is some truth to this particular stereotype. I’ve never had the time to build up a proper Russian liver, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Chapel said. “I’ll stand watch while you sleep.”

She nodded and turned toward her room. Stepping inside she held the door open for a second. She said nothing, though, and after a few seconds she closed the door behind her.

Chapel didn’t want to risk going down to one of the hotel’s restaurants—it was too likely he’d find Mirza there, waiting to ask him more questions. His cover story was ironclad, and if Mirza called up the company that Jeff Chambers supposedly worked for, he would find receptionists and executives to vouch for Chapel’s bona fides, but Chapel knew any cover was only as good as one’s ability to act. That had never been his forte. If Mirza really started grilling him, Chapel knew he would eventually give himself away. He wouldn’t know enough about the geology of natural gas domes or he would forget what town Jeff Chambers was born in, and then Mirza’s promised “lenience” would disappear in a hurry.