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With Marshak at his side, Ambassador Kharkov entered the Russian Consulate and went immediately to the vice-consul’s office.
“Good morning, Mr. Ambassador,” said Katia.
“What did you find?” replied Kharkov.
Katia handed him a slip of paper. “Ivan has two cousins by the name of Yuri,” she said. “One is in Moscow, the other in New York.”
Kharkov considered the information for several seconds then looked his watch. “It’s early evening on the East Coast of the United States,” he said. “Phone the cousin in New York and tell him Ivan received an urgent call several days ago from someone named Yuri, but that his secretary lost the message slip. Say you are trying to locate the correct person. If he didn’t make the call, phone the cousin in Moscow. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Katia, picking up the phone.
“Major, come with me,” said Kharkov, leading the way to the communications center.
Pushing open a fire door, Kharkov led the way into a stairwell and down some steps. “You said someone was trying to access the Tango Blue file?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Marshak. “An alert was sent to my phone.”
Pulling open another metal fire door, Kharkov led the way to the communications center, where he stationed Marshak by the door with orders that he was not to be disturbed. Once inside, he sat down at the mainframe and opened a concealed utility log. He did a search on Ivan Lazovic and saw no record of Ivan using the computer yesterday. He then checked the utility log on the Tango Blue file and saw that it had been accessed.
“You were right, we have an intruder,” Kharkov said on their way back upstairs.
“Was it Lazovic?” asked Marshak.
“It doesn’t look like it,” Kharkov replied.
They entered the vice-consul’s office just as Katia was hanging up the phone. “The New York cousin admitted to having phoned Ivan and gave me the specific dates of his calls. When I asked the nature of those calls, he said they were of a private and personal nature.”
“Did he sound legit?”
Katia shrugged.
“Buzz Lazovic. Tell him I want to see him.”
“I would but Ivan’s not here. He called in sick.”
“Called in sick?”
“Yes, sir. He did not look well yesterday when I saw him using the mainframe.”
“Lazovic was using the mainframe yesterday?”
“Yes, sir. I saw him myself.”
“What’s his address?”
Katia wrote it down.
“Come on, Major. Ivan Lazovic has got some explaining to do.”
Using a white Consulate sedan, Marshak drove Kharkov to Ivan’s flat, which was a three-story building of cream-colored brick. Ivan’s unit, 3C, was on the top floor. It overlooked a shaded park with playground equipment.
“I’ll go make sure that he’s home,” said Marshak.
“If he is, bring him to the car. This interrogation will be on our turf.”
While Marshak went for Ivan, Kharkov touched a speed dial button and put his phone to his ear. Before long, a man’s voice answered. “Bob, it’s Andrei,” said Kharkov.
“Has Talanov been caught?” asked Bob.
“Not yet, but I suspect one of my staff has been helping him.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Ivan Lazovic.”
“The son of Dmitri Lazovic? Are you sure?”
“Actually, no, but I’m about to find out. If he has, his career is over.”
Kharkov looked up to see Marshak approaching the car. “Just a moment,” he said, rolling down the window. “What is it, Major? Where is he?”
“You’d better come with me.”
“Can’t it wait? I’m on a call.”
Marshak took a steadying breath. “Ivan’s dead. His neck’s been broken.”
