Danilov went to Pushkinskaya unsure if it would be as easy to convince a trained lawyer as it had been to deceive Kosov. He still believed he was correctly pursuing the investigation by holding things back from Nikolai Smolin, so strongly did he believe the man would make any ultimate decision about the case thinking of government sensitivity first and the law second. But until now it had been nothing more than delaying the information, until he was sure. What he was attempting that afternoon was going further: it was deception, even if the eventual outcome might be justified. And if it didn’t turn out to be justified, he’d be open to the sort of tribunal that had condemned Anatoli Metkin.
‘What’s the development?’ prompted Smolin. He had a notepad open, ready, in front of him.
‘Not here,’ warned Danilov, edging out on to creaking ice. ‘The Americans have decided it’s sufficiently sound for Cowley to examine. I think we should consider my going, too.’
‘Going where?’
‘Sicily,’ announced Danilov. ‘The information came from America: specifically Brighton Beach,’ he elaborated. ‘The rumour, confirmed from several different sources, was of a forthcoming meeting between Russian and Italian Mafia. The American authorities are already liaising with the Italians.’
‘What has it got to do with the investigation here?’
‘The people named in the Serov documents are thought to be involved,’ said Danilov, lying openly.
‘It’s vague,’ complained the Federal Prosecutor.
‘I can only pass on what I have been told.’ It wasn’t as easy confronting a legal mind.
‘Why didn’t Cowley come with you this afternoon?’ frowned Smolin.
A mistake: it would have been more convincing for an American to have talked about a development supposed to have come from America. ‘He’s been ordered to leave, as soon as he gets the final go-ahead from Washington,’ improvised Danilov. The earlier rehearsal with Cowley provided the escape. ‘And there are implications about it I felt best only discussed between the two of us.’
‘What implications?’
‘I suspect the Americans have had this information for several days,’ said Danilov. ‘If the decision had not been made to involve Cowley, I don’t think we would have been told at all. The Americans and Italians could have handled it quite independently.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They don’t trust us.’ Danilov paused, wanting to get the argument absolutely right, although Smolin had earlier not rejected the sort of thing he was going to say. ‘They’ve got every reason not to. If whatever might happen in Sicily is linked with our enquiry, and it becomes generally known in advance at Petrovka and in the ministries most closely involved, it will almost inevitably leak.’
‘Or be leaked?’ The Federal Prosecutor was subdued, but showed no surprise at the suggestion.
‘It’s a danger we’ve got to accept,’ insisted Danilov. Too soon to judge how it was going, but he was encouraged.
‘You got names of people you don’t trust, at Petrovka or the ministries?’
‘If I had I would have given them to you officially,’ said Danilov. And still would, if he ever understood the significance of Ilya Nishin and Ivan Churmak and Gennardi Fedorov. What, he wondered, would officially happen after he did?
‘Not even an indication of rank?’
‘I would have considered that sufficient for an official report, as well.’
Smolin nodded, slowly. ‘I suppose the American attitude is unavoidable.’
It was moving in the right direction. Danilov said: ‘But they have told us.’
Smolin took the point. ‘So if nothing happens in Sicily – if it is a rumour, without foundation – we’re damned, suspected of leaking it from here without any chance of defending ourselves?’
‘Unless we absolutely restrict the number of people to be told. At the moment there are only four, here in Moscow: Cowley, myself, Major Pavin and yourself. There is nothing in any of the case files at Petrovka.’
‘Are you suggesting we do not tell Vorobie or Oskin?’
‘I think they should have it made clear to them what I believe the American attitude to be, and ensure nothing about Sicily is passed to anyone in their departments.’
‘That still wouldn’t cover us if it is an unsubstantiated rumour.’
‘The Americans don’t believe it is.’ Could he escape censure, if it went wrong or nothing did happen? Hardly.
‘You should go, of course,’ decided Smolin.
There was relief but little satisfaction. ‘And by a very special route.’
Smolin had given his agreement distantly, as if he was preoccupied with something else. Now he came fully back to the investigator, frowning. ‘What special route?’
‘We won’t be able to avoid people at Petrovka knowing I am away. We need a deception.’ It was the moment he and Cowley had accepted to be the most difficult to steer past the other man. It was essential, further to convince Kosov of the collapsing murder case, but it was flawed if examined too closely. Determinedly Danilov pressed on. ‘A way has already been suggested: it might, too, reassure the Americans of our genuine co-operation.’
‘How?’
‘There has still been no public announcement about our having to release Antipov,’ reminded Danilov. ‘If the announcement about the release was made, it would be entirely understandable for me to return to America to review the progress of the case of far, wouldn’t it?’
‘Review the failure of the case so far,’ qualified Smolin. ‘That’s how it would be interpreted.’
‘That’s how I want it to be interpreted,’ seized Danilov. ‘It has failed: is failing. I very much want the people we’re trying to find to believe that.’
‘By publicly humiliating ourselves!’
‘There’s no choice about that: it’s got to happen, sooner or later. And there wouldn’t be any humiliation in the end, if we made it clear we allowed the impression, to create a trap.’
Smolin’s head moved, in further acceptance. ‘Vorobie and Oskin will have to know the truth, if there is going to be a public declaration.’
‘But no-one necessarily beyond them. A return to Washington can be the explanation throughout the lower levels of the ministries.’
‘It’s a convoluted scheme,’ protested the prosecutor, although not forcefully.
‘Which could work,’ asserted Danilov.
‘If it doesn’t, we could be made to look even more foolish.’
Me most of all, thought Danilov.
‘What in the name of Christ is going on over there!’ exclaimed the Secretary of State.
‘Not enough. Or maybe too much,’ said Leonard Ross. ‘I’ve spent most of the day back and forth with Cowley, trying to make sense of it.’ The FBI Director decided lateafternoon meetings at the State Department were preferable to breakfast sessions: Happy Hour bourbon was an improvement on coffee and eggs.
‘We’re to co-ordinate our statement with that from Russia, regretting the release of a suspect and agreeing the need for consultations?’ clarified Henry Hartz. ‘The two of them are seen publicly to fly in, to make it look kosher, then take off from another airport to Italy. All because every goddamned policeman and official in Moscow is crooked! Sure these two guys aren’t just building up their air miles?’
‘Cowley’s sure of the intercept: he’s bringing a lot of stuff back for the experts at Quantico. But he thinks what they’ve got already is good enough to move on, and I’m backing him. He’s an experienced agent and wouldn’t go off half cocked. I’ve already alerted my guys in Rome to get organised with the anti-Mafia people in Italy.’
‘It’s the worst of what we didn’t want to hear, Mafia worldwide,’ recalled Hartz soberly.
‘Precisely the reason to go with it,’ said Ross. ‘If we’ve got a chance in a million to bust something before it becomes established, I want to take it.’
‘I’ll cable the Moscow ambassador to release our matching statement as close to the Russians’ as possible,’ agreed Hartz. ‘We can duplicate from here as soon as we hear.’
‘You can buy things I want!’ said Olga, happily, offering the re-written list.
‘I’ll try,’ said Danilov. Would he be able to pad his expenses sufficiently to amass the $250 bribe for the Tatarovo apartment? Where was his much-vaunted integrity now? He waited until Olga went to the kitchen to make supper, before calling Kosov.
‘There’s going to be an official statement. It’s a disaster.’