After making sure the front door didn’t have a peephole, Malko rang the bell at Arkady Lianin’s cottage. It was eleven in the morning and the Russian’s car was parked on the street, so he had to be at home.
The door’s abrupt opening took Malko by surprise, because he hadn’t heard any noise inside.
There stood Lianin in a T-shirt and khaki pants, staring at him in astonishment. He went to close the door, but Malko had already stuck his foot in the opening. In Russian, he said:
“Gospodin Lianin, I have no bad intentions toward you. And I hope you don’t have any, either. I’m not armed, but the two gentlemen behind me are.”
Malko, who was wearing a Kevlar bulletproof vest under his jacket, pointed to the two CIA officers behind him, who had been watching the cottage since the night before. They had Beretta 92s in shoulder holsters.
“I’d like to come in, if you don’t mind.”
Clearly overwhelmed, Lianin silently stepped aside to let Malko pass. It was cool in the cottage. The two case officers followed, and they all went into Lianin’s study.
The Russian dropped into an armchair and waved Malko to its mate. The two Americans sat down.
When he was seated, Lianin finally found his voice.
“What do you want?” he asked in his low bass.
“To make you an offer you can’t refuse,” Malko answered. “It’s in your interest. I now know the exact role you played in the assassination of Boris Berezovsky. I conducted a long investigation in Moscow. I even know the name of the person who gave you the substance you used to poison him: Ilya Sokolov, a Forbes Russia journalist who also works with the FSB. And many other details besides.
“Yesterday I learned that people are trying to kill you, and that has changed my approach. I think I know what’s involved, but I want to hear it from your own mouth. Who wants to get rid of you?”
After a pause, Lianin croaked:
“The FSB.”
“Why?”
“They want me to return to Russia, to liquidate me. I refused, so they’re trying to kill me here.”
“Yet you’ve served them faithfully. The Berezovsky operation was a success.”
The Russian looked at him with a touch of contempt.
“You don’t know them!” he snapped. “I’m a security risk. If I were arrested, I might talk. They must avoid that at any cost. It’s standard procedure in the Service. But you never think it’ll apply to you.”
Lianin sounded bitter, but Malko wasn’t inclined to pity him.
“Were those men trying to kill you Russians?”
“No, they’re Latvian gangsters who work with the FSB. Very dangerous guys.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to escape them?”
“No, I don’t,” said Lianin, shaking his head slowly. “Not in the long run.”
“I’d like to know how you found me.”
Malko smiled.
“The Sunday Times man you saw yesterday is with the CIA,” he said. “It was all a setup. In the beginning, we thought we’d just park you in a safe house and tell MI5 the whole story, to neutralize you. The fact that you’re in serious danger changes things, and we may have a better solution. Better for you, and better for us.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re not trying to avenge Boris Berezovsky’s death. What we want is to assemble a dossier on the affair that we can use against the Russians. I suspect that if you didn’t have a price on your head, you wouldn’t cooperate. But things are different now. You want to get out of this alive, and we can help.”
“I don’t see what you’re after,” said Lianin, “since you say you know all about the case.”
“We want a detailed confession of your role in killing Berezovsky, with all the involvement of the FSB acting at the behest of the Russian government. When you sign a statement like that, you’ll be in our hands, of course.
“You can also refuse. In that case, we’ll withdraw and stop protecting you. But your life expectancy will be extremely short, I’m afraid.”
Lianin rubbed his face and his shaved head. He looked haggard.
“Will you tell MI5 about this?”
“We haven’t decided yet. We might not have to. Anyway, do you intend to stay in England?”
“I don’t know,” said the Russian, shaking his head, still in shock. “I didn’t sleep last night, and I don’t know if I’m coming or going. But I don’t trust the Americans. They’ve let me down in the past.”
“You don’t have any choice,” said Malko. “But it’s not in our interest to sell you out. What we want is a detailed, signed confession that implicates the FSB.”
“If I say yes, what happens then?” asked Lianin in an unexpectedly weak voice.
“The Agency will protect you around the clock for as long as you stay here. It will be invisible, but nobody will be able to harm you. After you’ve done what we want, you’ll have the choice of several witness protection programs, here or abroad.”
“Would that include my family?”
“Absolutely.”
Malko looked at his watch.
“I’m waiting for your answer.”
Lianin bent his head for a few moments, then raised it and looked at Malko darkly.
In a weary voice, he said, “I accept.”
Malko felt he’d aged a decade from the nervous tension. The CIA group had returned to Grosvenor Square with Lianin a half hour earlier. Two case officers stayed behind at the cottage to guard his wife and children.
Dexter ordered sandwiches, coffee, and bottled water sent up from the cafeteria, and he and Malko were having a snack in his office.
Two rooms down the hall, a pair of Russian-speaking operatives had started Lianin’s debriefing. Everything was being filmed and recorded.
“I would never have thought this business would end so well,” said Dexter, grinning at Malko. “With the material Lianin gives us, we’ll be able to play Putin like a sock puppet. His goal was to never have the Russian state connected to Berezovsky’s death as a matter of prestige. Well, tough luck, tovarich!”
“You should thank Gwyneth Robertson,” said Malko. “Without the Sunday Times trick, we would never have gotten to Lianin.”
“Incidentally,” said Dexter, “I just got some bad news from Moscow.”
“What’s that?”
“Irina Lopukin died, apparently of a heart attack. It was in the newspapers.”
Another victim of collateral damage.
“They took their revenge on her,” said Malko, feeling troubled. He had caused her death, he knew. “I’ll have flowers put on her grave. She was very helpful.”
And part of a ragtag gang that had somehow defeated the terrifying FSB and Kremlin machine.
Dexter’s telephone rang. He listened for a moment, then turned to Malko.
“It’s the debriefers. They’re getting to the Berezovsky killing. Want to watch it live?”
“Of course!”
Arkady Lianin looked as if he’d lost fifteen pounds. He didn’t even glance up when the two men entered the room and silently sat down behind him.
In a calm voice, one of the interrogators asked:
“Gospodin Lianin, what happened on the morning of March 23, 2013?”
The Russian answered in a monotone:
“I set up surveillance around the estate where Boris Berezovsky had arrived with his bodyguard Uri Dan the night before. We were sure he’d slept there. From the listening devices we’d placed inside, we knew Dan would be going to London for a couple of hours, leaving Berezovsky alone.”
“How many men did you have?”
“Five, plus me. I already gave you their names. The bodyguard drove off, and we followed him to make sure he didn’t turn around and come back. We neutralized the estate’s security system, then entered the gate and went into the house.
“We didn’t see anybody.
“We knew the layout of the house, so it was easy to find Berezovsky’s bedroom. He was stretched out on his bed, reading. He was dressed.
“As soon as he saw us, he went for a gun in his night table but didn’t have time to get it. Pavel and Oleg immobilized him with a headlock. Then Oleg gave him an injection of the substance I gave you. The two of them held him down. He struggled a little, but the poison acted very quickly and he passed out.”
“Was somebody outside, watching the house?”
“Yes, of course.
“When Berezovsky was unconscious, we dragged him into the bathroom. Oleg tied a rope to the showerhead and tied the other end around his neck. The hardest part was lifting him up, because he was quite heavy.”
“Was he still alive?” asked the agent.
“Yes. But that’s when we had a problem. He slipped out of our arms and fell to the floor, snapping the cord tied around the showerhead. We didn’t have time to try again. We left the way we came, and restarted the security system. We were in London half an hour later.”
Lianin fell silent, then said:
“Can I have a cigarette?”
Malko and Dexter stepped out of the room.
“When this report is complete, can I ask you a favor, Stanley?”
“Sure! What would you like?”
“Send a copy to Moscow in the diplomatic pouch,” said Malko. “And see that it gets to Vladimir Putin personally. It should keep him awake nights for a good long time.”