“As clean as we can be in a place like Moscow.”
Gabriel turned without a word and led Lavon across the square to the entrance of GUM. Before the fall of the Soviet Union, it had been the only department store in the country where Russians could reliably find a winter coat or a pair of shoes. Now it was a Western-style shopping mall stuffed with all the useless trinkets capitalism had to offer. The soaring glass roof reverberated with the chatter of the evening shoppers. Lavon stared at his BlackBerry as he walked at Gabriel’s side. These days, it was a very Russian thing to do.
“Gennady Lazarev’s secretary just sent an e-mail to his senior staff about tonight’s dinner at Café Pushkin,” Lavon said. “Pavel Zhirov was on the invitation list.”
“I never heard his voice when Mikhail was inside Volgatek today.”
“That’s because he wasn’t there,” Lavon replied, still gazing at his BlackBerry. “After leaving his apartment in Sparrow Hills, he went straight to Yasenevo.”
“Why today of all days? Why wasn’t he at Volgatek to meet the new boy?”
“Maybe he had other business to attend to.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe there was someone else who needed to be kidnapped.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Gabriel paused in the window of a jewelry store and gazed at a display of glittering Swiss watches. Next door was a Soviet-style cafeteria where plump women in white aprons joylessly spooned cheap Russian food onto gray Brezhnev-era plates. Even now, more than twenty years after the fall of communism, there were still Russians who clung to the nostalgia of their totalitarian past.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Lavon asked.
“It’s December in Moscow, Eli. It’s impossible not to.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
“I’d like the hotel to give Nicholas Avedon his special amenity a little earlier than planned.”
“Amenities like that are frowned upon at Café Pushkin.”
“Anyone who’s anyone carries a gun at Pushkin, Eli.”
“It’s risky.”
“Not as risky as the alternative.”
“Why don’t we skip dinner and go straight to dessert?”
“I’d love to,” said Gabriel, “but the rush-hour traffic won’t allow it. We have to wait until after ten o’clock. Otherwise, we’ll never be able to get him out of town. We’ll be dead in the water.”
“A poor choice of words.”
“Send the message, Eli.”
Lavon typed a few characters into his BlackBerry and led Gabriel outside, into Il’inka Street. The wind was getting up again, and the temperature had plummeted. Tears flowed freely from Gabriel’s eyes as they walked past the Easter-egg facades of the heavy imperial buildings. In his earpiece he could hear Nicholas Avedon humming softly to himself as he ran a bath in his room at the Ritz.
“I want full coverage on him the entire time,” Gabriel said. “We take him to dinner, we sit with him at dinner, and then we take him back to his hotel. That’s when the fun begins.”
“Only if Pavel agrees to ride to Mikhail’s rescue.”
“He’s the chief of Volgatek security. If Volgatek’s newest executive believes his life is in danger, Pavel will come running. And then we’ll make him very sorry that he did.”
“I’d feel better if we could take him to another country.”
“Which one, Eli? Ukraine? Belarus? Or how about Kazakhstan?”
“Actually, I was thinking about Mongolia.”
“Bad food.”
“Terrible food,” agreed Lavon, “but at least it isn’t Russia.”
At the end of the street, they turned to the left and climbed the hill toward Lubyanka Square.
“Do you think it’s ever been done before?” asked Lavon.
“What’s that?”
“Kidnapping a KGB officer inside Russia.”
“There is no KGB, Eli. The KGB is a thing of the past.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s called the FSB now. And it occupies that big ugly building directly ahead of us. And they’re going to be rather upset when they find out one of their brethren is missing.”
“If we get him cleanly, they won’t have time to do anything about it.”
“If we get him cleanly,” Lavon agreed.
Gabriel was silent.
“Do me a favor tonight, Gabriel. If you don’t have the shot, don’t take it.” He paused, then added, “I’d hate to miss out on the opportunity of working for you when you become the chief.”
They had arrived at the top of the hill. Lavon slowed to a stop and gazed at the enormous yellow fortress on the opposite side of Lubyanka Square. “Why do you suppose they kept it?” he asked seriously. “Why didn’t they tear it down and put up a monument to its victims?”
“For the same reason they didn’t remove Stalin’s bones from the Kremlin wall,” answered Gabriel.
Lavon was silent for a moment. “I hate this place,” he said finally. “And at the same time, I love it dearly. Am I crazy?”
“Certifiable,” said Gabriel. “But that’s just one man’s opinion.”