The file said that Craig was recruited by the CIA in 1968. No authority was cited for this statement; so, said Krapotkin, the information must have been volunteered by Craig himself. The American had worked at the biological warfare research institute at Fort Detrick, Maryland, from 1968 to 1972 and was then posted to the Far East.
‘What was a biochemist doing in Vietnam?’ Bogdanov asked.
This biochemist, Krapotkin explained, was not in Vietnam. He was establishing a clandestine facility in Taiwan producing poisons and biological warfare agents for CIA covert operations in South-East Asia. He did this until 1975 when the war ended and the operation was terminated and the physical plant converted to civilian production.
‘Who owns it now?’
‘The Mimosa Drug Company. It’s a small operation, owned by the Taiwanese.’
‘Does Craig have any continuing involvement?’
Krapotkin liked that question. ‘I did a check on the company. The Lee Foundation is trying to stop Mimosa’s products from being circulated. It seems that Mimosa has some of the Lee Foundation’s formulations. You might like to ask where they got them from.’
After the Vietnam war, Craig was removed from the CIA’s operational staff and took employment with the Lee Foundation in Europe. In 1980 he showed up in Bulgaria to negotiate a licence with Pharmachim, the foreign-trade organisation for the drugs industry. The result was the Bulpharma plant. That was when he came to the attention of KGB as a result of a violent sexual incident that occurred on one of his trips. ‘I can’t get any more details on what happened,’ Krapotkin said in answer to the inevitable question.
‘KGB,’ he said, ‘passed him over to GRU because of Craig’s background in the military use of drugs and other pharmaceuticals. The Army used him to set up a plant in Tbilisi — partly to produce drugs based on the Lee Foundation’s technology, and partly to use his experience at Fort Detrick to help out with their own military installation at the same plant.’
And that, according to Krapotkin, was all there was, other than a suspicion that Craig still maintained some sort of contact with the CIA — it would be unusual if he didn’t.
‘Where’s the woman?’ Bogdanov asked. He was smoking a cigarette and examining Jack Melchior’s framed certificates from bogus American universities and the faded photograph of Melchior and his buddies in the Palestine Police, grinning with glossy hair oil and sunburnt knees, glasses of beer clutched in their hands.
‘I’ve left her at Grishin’s place.’
‘With his wife? Is she really an idiot, the wife?’
From the bedroom came the laughter of Melchior and his women and a breep-breep as Melchior did his trimphone impression for their amusement.
‘Not an idiot,’ Kirov answered distractedly. ‘Innocent, perhaps.’
Krapotkin shuffled himself and said, ‘Well, I’ll be going. I hope what I had to say was helpful.’
‘What? Oh, sure,’ said Bogdanov. ‘I’ll be seeing you around.’
‘Thanks,’ said Kirov and offered a hand, which Krapotkin took gratefully. He bumbled after his hat and coat and then left. Melchior must have heard the door close; he came out of the bedroom.
‘Everything all right here? You blokes finished?’ He stared at Kirov seriously for a second. ‘I knew there was something bothering me. You’ve grown a moustache, haven’t you?’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ Bogdanov retorted.
‘No? Oh — well, if you say so. A nod’s as good as a … yes, well, mum’s the word.’
‘Bog and I still need to talk,’ Kirov told him.
‘You heard. Sod off,’ said Bogdanov.
‘Righty-ho,’ Melchior agreed apologetically. He returned to the bedroom where his wives were complaining.
Bogdanov took a leisurely bite at one of his nails. ‘Is Grishin going to help?’ he asked.
‘He’s agreed to provide travel papers.’
‘Is he still in a position to fix that?’
‘He says so. He has friends. They don’t want to see the Committee come up with the wrong answers. Investigating the past makes them uncomfortable.’
‘It makes a lot of us uncomfortable. Nobody expected virtue to come back into fashion.’ Bogdanov took his hat off and started to pick the dirt from it. ‘What are you going to do with the Mazurova woman?’
‘Take her with me.’
‘Abroad? After Craig?’
‘It won’t be expected,’ Kirov answered. He didn’t know whether that was true or if it was the real reason for his decision, but he couldn’t dissociate the woman from the solution to all the mysteries. She still bore herself as if she carried the clue deep inside her — as if there were another version of the Ring, shared only by Nadia Mazurova, the dead Vera and the rest of Viktor’s women, a version that explained their loyalties and the tears at the Aragvi that no one claimed to understand. Kirov looked up to find Bogdanov studying him.
‘It’s your funeral.’
‘My funeral,’ Kirov agreed.
‘You’re crazy!’ Bogdanov said with exasperation. ‘You don’t even know where Craig is!’
Kirov shook his head. ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘Craig has gone back to the source. It’s where he feels safe. He thinks he can sit events out there and watch the game.’
‘Where is “there”?’ Bogdanov asked.
‘The plant that Craig set up to produce drugs using the formulations he stole from the Lee Foundation.’ Kirov glanced at the notes he had taken from Krapotkin’s explanation. He remembered the smell of cloves from the oriental cigarette that Craig smoked as he killed the woman Vera. ‘Craig is in China,’ he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The road to Taiwan led through Budapest and Vienna. Grishin provided travel papers to Hungary and two Austrian passports bearing photographs with a passing resemblance to anyone who combed his hair a particular way and wore heavy spectacles. There are no visa requirements for Austrian citizens visiting Hungary, and the border can be crossed with a simple entry and exit stamp and no formality. Bogdanov obtained currency from Yuri the Bazaar. Hungarian forints are not officially convertible, but in practice can be exchanged for hard currency in Vienna, where Kirov and Nadia Mazurova stayed for two days waiting for clearance to travel to Taiwan. Visas are required for Taiwan, but, since the country has few foreign embassies, they are issued on entry at Taipei. All that is required is a letter of introduction from one of Taiwan’s foreign liaison offices. In Vienna letters can be obtained from the Institut für Chinesische Kultur in the Stubenring. The office is concerned mainly with whether the applicant has connections in the Eastern bloc. Kirov told the diffident Chinese clerk that he had never been to a Communist country.
Taipei like other vigorous cities appears to lack a middle ground. The flashy towers that house the banks and the international hotels jostle for space with ramshackle workshops, spice emporiums and old wooden go-downs, with no sense of transition. The present sits on the past like an army of occupation and the population act as collaborators, defrauding the occupier even as they smile and clean his boots.
Kirov and Nadia Mazurova checked in at the Howard Plaza in Jen Ai Road. The clerk produced a message in an envelope along with the room key. Kirov opened the envelope and found a slip of paper printed in Chinese. He showed it to the clerk. ‘Chinese opera,’ said the clerk. ‘This is ticket for performance — seven-thirty this evening. Opera is at Armed Forces Cultural Activities Centre.’ He wrote some characters on a slip of paper. ‘Give to taxi man and he take you to Chung Hua Road. Stop at building seven of China Bazaar and cross street. OK?’ Kirov pocketed the ticket and asked the bellboy to take up the bags.