Beside him, Pavel Sorokin breathed a huge sigh of not-so-silent relief. It was short-lived.
“But the price per ton has to come up. I can’t swing the deal for what you’re offering.”
“No haggling, Ushenko. Remember? You’ll meet our needs and our price, or I’ll make sure you lose your licenses for doing business inside this republic. Clear enough?”
“Yes.” Banich grimaced. “And just how in God’s name am I supposed to explain this to my bosses? Doing business at a loss, I mean.”
“Simple.” Soloviev smiled again, looking more than ever like a tiger toying with its prey. “Tell them that you’re buying my continued goodwill.” He nodded toward the door in an abrupt dismissal.
In the first hour after sunrise, Russia’s capital city lay wrapped in a deep, deceptively peaceful silence.
Erin McKenna ran southward beside the gray-tinted Moskva River, long legs eating up distance with every easy stride. Her long auburn hair streamed out behind her, tied into a bobbing ponytail with a length of black ribbon. There weren’t any other people in sight. For the moment at least, she moved alone in splendid isolation.
She shook her head irritably as the watch on her wrist chimed suddenly in an unwelcome reminder. It was time to head back for the start of another working day. She turned left, circling deeper into Gorky Park.
Fallen leaves in rich autumn colors littered the park’s winding paths and lay heaped below bare-limbed trees. For the first time in weeks, the sky overhead was a deep cloudless blue, although temperatures still hovered near the freezing mark. Despite the pale sunshine, the tree-covered grounds were completely deserted. Few of Moscow’s hungry citizens had the time or physical energy for jogging during these hard times.
Erin hoped she would never find herself in the same state. Running recharged her mind. It helped her clear away the cobwebs accumulated by hours spent reading densely written reports or searching through packed computer data bases. It also gave her time to herself — time she’d always treasured. Time for her own thoughts, or time for her mind to go blank, absorbed by the comforting rhythm of her legs covering ground at high speed. She’d proven her ability and competitive edge by winning a string of long-distance medals in high school and college. Now she ran for pure pleasure.
Not that she’d had much pleasure lately.
So far her assignment to the CIA’s Moscow Station had been one big bust. Despite their best efforts, Banich’s field operatives were still only able to gather the information she needed in dribs and drabs — small nuggets of fact and fancy that were barely worth analyzing and not worth reporting back to Washington. Her own moves to make contacts in the city’s foreign business community were going somewhat better, but they were still painfully slow. She couldn’t push too hard without raising unnecessary suspicions among the businessmen and women who managed Western trade with Russia and the other Commonwealth republics.
And now both Alex Banich and Len Kutner were busy with some hush-hush project of their own. For the past two days, they’d been closeted together in one of the embassy’s secure sections — emerging only long enough to send coded reports to Washington or to grab a quick bite in the staff canteen. The field agents who’d been working with her were being sent away on other rushed assignments. Something big was happening. And they’d shut her out of whatever it was.
Just the thought of that made her angry. She was tired of being labeled an amateur, interfering busybody. Her security clearances were just as good as Banich’s, and it was past time that he and his people started treating her like a full partner. She frowned at her thoughts. Winning his respect wouldn’t be easy. Not when they could only seem to agree on two things. One was that Moscow was the capital of Russia. The other was that most politicians needed help to tie their own shoes.
Erin pushed down the beginnings of a smile as she considered that last point of agreement. She’d developed her own cynical attitude toward Washington’s pontificating power brokers during a stint as an analyst for the Senate Commerce Committee. Too many senators who preached about their devotion to equal rights by day tried to grope their female staffers by night. Fending off their unwanted advances had been far more difficult than doing her assigned work. She suspected that Banich’s disdain for politicians had a very different origin.
She came out of the park and turned north onto a stretch of pavement paralleling a wide, multilane avenue. Once known as Lenin Prospekt, the street had long since reverted to its prerevolutionary name — Kaluga Road. It was one of Moscow’s principal thoroughfares and usually one of its busiest. But not today.
Only a few cars and taxis zoomed down the deserted street, racing over the speed limit along a road normally choked with bumper-to-bumper traffic. That was strange. Maybe the gasoline shortages she’d been reading about in the newspapers were finally starting to pinch the capital. Or maybe the government’s underpaid workers were staging another wildcat strike.
The deep roar of diesel engines moving up the street behind her ripped those idle speculations to shreds.
Wheeled armored personnel carriers thundered past at high speed, rumbling northward toward the river, the Kremlin, and the two-level Grand Boulevard that ringed the city center. Soldiers armed with assault rifles rode standing up, scanning the buildings to either side through open roof hatches. Wolf whistles and leers drifted her way as they sped by.
“Hey, pretty lady! Need a real man?”
“Nice tits, baby!”
Erin flushed angrily but she kept running. She had to get back to the embassy and find out what the hell was happening. Whatever it was, the Russian Army was certainly out in force, she thought, counting vehicles as they rumbled past. She stopped counting at thirty.
The long armored column split up as it entered October Square. Some of the turreted APCs turned left or right along the Grand Boulevard. Others roared straight ahead, advancing toward the Kammenyj Bridge and the Kremlin. Three vehicles bringing up the rear slowed down and wheeled in line to block the Kaluga Road.
Troops tumbled out of the APCs, urged on by shrill blasts from a high-pitched command whistle. Several took up firing positions near the entrance to the Hotel Warsaw while others trotted across the street. Still more men followed them, uncoiling twisted, razor-sharp strands of concertina wire.
Despite herself, Erin was impressed. These soldiers were putting together a very solid roadblock very quickly. Unfortunately they were also cutting her off from the nearest Metro station.
She slowed to a walk. Running headlong into a platoon of overexcited Russian infantrymen didn’t seem like a particularly good idea. Her hand slipped into the travel pack she wore around her waist, reaching for her passport and diplomatic identity card. With luck, they’d see that she wasn’t any threat and simply wave her through.
“Halt!”
Damn. She stopped, feeling her heartbeat starting to speed up. More than a dozen pairs of eyes and rifles were pointed in her direction.
The officer who’d yelled at her marched closer, backed by two of his soldiers. He had a narrow, arrogant face and he didn’t look friendly. Wonderful. She had the sinking feeling that getting past this checkpoint wasn’t going to be easy.
“You! Show me your papers! And be quick about it.” The officer snapped his fingers at her impatiently, but he seemed far more interested in studying her breasts. The two privates behind him were openly smirking.
“I’m an American diplomat. You have no authority over me.” Erin spoke carefully, in Russian, holding out the documents he’d demanded. “You see?”