“I am afraid Maria is having an affair with an FSB officer. I understand from my sources that this has been going on for quite some time, years in fact.”
Helge sat back. “I suspected her many late nights at the office and her weekends away were not all work related.”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
The waitress returned with the vodka and set it on the table. Helge eagerly sipped it, struggling to keep his hand from shaking. He would have downed the drink in a single gulp but decided it best to at least appear to be in control.
“That is the bad news,” Sokalov said. “But there is some good news.”
“Good news?” Helge said.
“Yes. Because this man is an FSB officer, he comes under my jurisdiction, and I have the ability to fire him from his position for violating one of the tenets of employment, adultery.”
“He is married then?”
“With three young children.”
Three young children. Helge hadn’t thought the man would have a family. He only wanted to punish Maria. “And what of disciplining Maria?”
“That is up to you. I can’t very well fire the officer and not fire Maria, as much as it would pain me to do so. But she, too, broke one of our tenets.”
Helge gave this some thought. His retirement income from his work at the parks department was no more than a pittance. Without Maria’s salary and her position, they would have to give up their apartment. Where would they live? Without her salary, how would they live?
“I don’t think we need to go so far, Dmitry.”
“No?”
“Perhaps you could speak to them . . . both . . . Warn them. Yes. Warn them. I think a warning from you would be sufficient to end it.”
“That is magnanimous of you, Helge, I must say. I’m not certain most men could do such a thing. Too many would be blinded by jealousy and rage. I can certainly do as you suggested, and I wanted you to know that the officer involved has expressed his sincere apologies.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure he is sorry,” Helge said. Then, not wanting to sound like a pushover, he added, “But can we be certain he is sorry for what he did, or only sorry that he got caught?”
“Very wise of you, Helge, which is why I thought it important that you have the chance to confront him . . . to determine whether he is truly sincere.”
“Confront him?”
Sokalov raised a fist. “I knew you would desire this, Helge, a man of your prominence, a professional football player. I have no doubt that once he meets you, and understands who you are, he will think twice about ever doing something like this again.”
Helge sat a little straighter. The deputy director understood what Helge had achieved, what so many others had failed to understand. “Yes. Yes, I would wish this. Of course. If you provide me with this man’s name and number—”
“He is here,” Sokalov said. “I insisted that he come so you had the chance to confront him.”
“Now?” Helge looked around the bar.
“He is in the alley in back, waiting in my car. Again, I wanted to be discreet and provide you with some privacy. I thought you might like to vent.” Sokalov smiled. “I know I certainly would.”
“I appreciate that, Dmitry, but . . .”
“Come. It is best to get this resolved and put it behind you so that you and Maria can move forward. I will talk to her, but I anticipate a stern talking-to from you would have more impact, no?” Sokalov stood from the table.
Helge did not want to confront the man. What would he say? This man was also an FSB officer, probably trained to fight. Still, he could think of no way out of the confrontation, not if the deputy director had arranged it. Not if Helge wanted to save face. Besides, he had Sokalov, and the threat of this man being fired to empower him. The FSB officer, after all, was the one who would suffer if Helge chose not to forgive. Helge held control over this man’s livelihood, over the livelihood of his family. That alone should be sufficient to shame him.
“You know, Dmitry, I do want a shot at this man. I will do my best to be calm and rational, but I can’t promise anything.”
“I understand, certainly, and . . . If you decide you want to rough this man up a bit, just to get the point across . . .” Sokalov winked and smiled. “I wouldn’t say a word to anyone.” Sokalov pushed open the metal door and they stepped to the back of the building, where a black Mercedes had parked.
Charles Jenkins drove the Third Ring Road that circled downtown Moscow. He did his best not to speed, not wanting to get pulled over. Lemore had advised Jenkins that Maria Kulikova’s handlers received an urgent message requesting immediate exfiltration, but Kulikova had failed to show at her dead drop at the designated time that evening. Lemore said a tap on Kulikova’s home phone line had revealed a call from Dmitry Sokalov, the deputy director of counterintelligence, requesting Kulikova’s husband meet Sokalov at a bar near Moscow State University to discuss a “delicate situation.”
Lemore had no further information on whether the husband had somehow exposed his wife. The husband did not work for the FSB or any other intelligence office. He had been employed by the Moscow parks department and had recently retired. In other words, there was no professional reason for Sokalov to request a meeting.
As Jenkins took the exit, he spoke again with Lemore. “What would the deputy director of counterintelligence want to discuss with a parks and recreation employee?” Jenkins asked.
“I don’t know,” Lemore said. “It sounds like a setup.”
“And you’re assuming this meeting is somehow the reason Kulikova didn’t show at her dead drop?”
“Again, that is not presently known, but further attempts to communicate with her have been unsuccessful. How far away are you from the bar?”
“Three minutes,” Jenkins said.
“Do not engage unless it is absolutely necessary,” Lemore said. “This could be an elaborate trap.”
“I understand,” Jenkins said. He remained in disguise, an old man, which should give him the ability to at least get into the bar and determine the situation. “And if she is there? What then?”
“Get her the hell out, by any means necessary.”
“I’m going to need help.”
“We’re looking at all available options,” Lemore said.
Whatever the hell that meant, Jenkins thought. He disconnected and checked the map on his phone. He was one minute away—from what, he had no idea.
Maria Kulikova exited the Metro station sprinting. Her Pilates and yoga classes had been about keeping in shape for the job she had to do, but now they might just keep Helge alive, if she could reach him before he got to the bar. Before he met Sokalov, or whatever henchman Sokalov had dispatched. She had her phone out, an app providing her directions. Previous attempts to call Helge had gone immediately to his voice mail.