Half an hour and one call to Lars Danielson later, Holger was back in the reception. Tatjana tugged her arm under his and led him through the golden revolving doors, onto the Red Square. It was a mild evening, and Holger relished the fresh night air while telling her what he knew about the kidnapping, but without going into the last couple of weeks of preparation. The less she knows, the better – for the safety of the operation and her own safety, he thought and all of a sudden he found himself annoyed that those feelings had started meddling with his head. This is a mission, and emotions cannot get in the way of my actions.
They quickly left the Red Square behind, strolling through the neighbouring streets, absorbed in conversation. Like lovers having been apart for a long time. As they crossed Lubyanskaya Square, Tatjana led them down B. Lubyanka, and soon they arrived at Restaurant Courvoisier on Malaya Sukharevskaya. Tatjana told him that it was one of the most popular places in Moscow and a favourite place to start a night out on the town. The trendy decor complemented the fashionable guests and the excellent music. It was a first for Holger, and having overcome his initial disappointment at not having traditional Russian food, he quickly chose amongst the predominantly Italian dishes on the menu. Then he focused on the impressive wine list.292
‘I suggest a bottle of Chateau Clerc Milon, 1993, Pauillac Grand Cru Classé. It’s an outstanding wine with a funny little detail on the label: two dancing clowns in traditional costume from the 1700s,’ said Holger enthusiastically. ‘And the chateau is owned by Baron Philippe de Rothschild.’
When the waiter arrived with the bottle, Holger savoured the bouquet and swirled it around in his glass with a solemn expression. Slowly, he sipped from the glass and finally gave an approving nod.
‘Here you can see the clowns and the text: Bouffons dansants en or émail et perles XVII Siècle – Musée du Mouton. That’s because it’s an illustration from the local museum in Mouton,’ he said, turning the label towards Tatjana as the waiter left their table.
Holger clearly felt she was dazzled by his knowledge; he cherished their being together again. Slowly but surely, the dinner became merely a backdrop to their conversation. Tatjana now seemed like a grown-up woman rather than an activist. Other things mattered to her than when they had met for the first time. Holger fully understood this, as their relationship began when she was pretty young. She was a glowing idealist, borderline naive, something he had exploited to the fullest extent possible. Over the years, their conversations had developed in tandem with both of them getting older. She did not attempt to hide that she had missed his company and their tête-à-têtes as he gave her an intellectual challenge that Tatjana had never found in the Russian men she met. Holger waited until they had ordered coffee before opening up about the real purpose of his trip to Russia. Although Tatjana had known from the start that it was not a social visit, the details made her thoughtful.
‘If you ask me, I have zero doubt that Andrej Nitchenko and 293his half-witted Mother Russia are behind everything you’ve mentioned. You should hear his speeches. He makes Lukashenko in Belarus look like a democratic boy scout,’ she told him in a low voice, gesturing wildly caricaturing Andrej Nitchenko: ‘“Our treacherous government has not only let our natural borders crumble but have allowed our archenemies in NATO to draw nearer and nearer. Our so-called leaders starve our nation’s soul of the pride given by generations. We must rally around a strong leader who will take back the Baltic States, Central Asia, and the Caucasus under Russia’s protective wings. Mother Russia answers the people’s demand to restore Russia’s honour!” Can you picture that?’ giggled Tatjana and reached across the table to squeeze Holger’s hand.
‘No one in the West really takes him seriously,’ Holger answered, trying to conceal his awkwardness at the thrilling, almost jolting feeling of holding her hand.
‘That has always been your problem. You think we Russians are Westerners just because we share a border. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth, but you probably have to be Russian to understand the full extent of what is going on. I have found something I will show you at my place,’ she replied, smilingly.
Holger sensed that her smile and dramatic performance masked genuine anxiety and that what she wanted to show him was genuinely important. His gaze met hers intently, but he could not see anything other than a distant flicker. He let go of her stare and signalled to the waiter that he would like to have the check, and moments later, he flagged down a cab in the street. Be patient. Like an angler letting the fish run with the line before reeling it in, he thought as he climbed into the back seat with Tatjana.