They drove for about an hour through heavy traffic. The three Russians listened to Moscow’s twenty-four-hour sports news station and talked among themselves – shop gossip, retirement benefits, children, girlfriends – then turned off on what seemed to be a dirt and gravel road. They continued for another fifteen minutes before the car came to a stop. Thankful for the fresh air, Steve was hauled out of the car and hustled along a path into a building, down a flight of stairs, and finally, prodded into a chair.
What interrogation techniques would his captors use? How long could he resist? Had he left any trail that might lead them to Maya? As for the Sirotskys, they’d be able to fend for themselves. Perhaps they’d already left the country.
The blindfold was suddenly removed.
But instead of a hulking inquisitor from Russia’s security services seated across from him, there was a florid man with piercing gaze and bushy white eyebrows in the uniform of a Russian general. He looked sternly at Steve then ordered the two plainclothesmen to wait outside. Only after they had left, did he spread his hands in welcome and introduce himself in Russian,
“I am General Artyom Borovik, commander of Russian Land Forces. And you are?”
“Douglas Robb,” said Steve. Of course, he knew who Borovik was. But why the hell was one of Russia’s most powerful generals concerned with Steve Penn?
“You can speak freely,” said the general. “This is my private office outside Moscow. I use it for my own purposes. I have it regularly swept. The people who brought you here are completely loyal to me.”
“My name remains Douglas Robb,” said Steve, still trying to fathom what was happening.
The general shrugged, “As you wish. I am not going to tell you how I learned of your presence in Moscow, but I decided to have you picked up before less sympathetic authorities discover you and put a bullet in the back of your neck.” He smiled slightly and gestured to a side table where there was a bottle of Stolichnaya, an ice bucket, and three crystal glasses. “Whatever your name, I imagine you might like a drink,” he said.
Still dazed, Steve nodded silently.
The general filled two of the glasses, handed one across the desk to the American, and raised his glass to toast, “Na Zdorove.”
“Na Zdorove,” Steve replied, lifting his own glass. What the hell kind of interrogation was this? He took a large sip. Only a few hours before, he’d been toasting two notorious Russian hackers. Now he was drinking with one of Russia’s most formidable generals.
“You probably need an explanation,” said Borovik, settling into his seat.
“Probably.”
The general knit his heavy brow. “None of what I am going to tell you can go beyond this room. I have been told that I can trust you.”
“You can,” said Steve. He had no idea who spoke so favorably about him, or what Borovik might say next.
“The reason you are here,” said the general, “is that I am very interested in what you are doing and wish you well. There are others in our armed forces who feel the same way.” He stood and began pacing behind his desk holding his glass of vodka. “We would like to see your President Stokes out. We also want to cut our own president down to size. We were against his meddling in your elections. We were against his intervention in the Crimea. But his head is swollen with what he thinks is success.”
He stopped pacing to have another large sip of vodka then continued, “Kozlov listens to no one. Like Stokes, he is a dangerous narcissist. Thanks to him, corruption is destroying our country. It will destroy yours if you let it. If you get rid of Stokes, that may help us get rid of Kozlov and his rotten gang.”
He returned to his seat and leaned forward, gazing directly at Steve. The shadows from the overhead light played across his face. “You want information about Kozlov and his billionaire thieves and their ties with Stokes. I already have that. We’ve been collecting it for years, but we have not been able to do anything with it. We will give it to you.”
He picked up a brass paperweight on his desk in the shape of Sputnik, turned it over in his hands, and looked at Steve with a sly grin. “It will be interesting to see how our information compares with the information you got from the Sirotsky couple.”
Steve blanched.
“I assume you haven’t had time to look at that yet,” said the general. “I am curious. How much did it cost you?”
“You mean there is something you don’t know?” said Steve.
The general made a disparaging wave of his hand. “I would imagine many millions. In any case, it is irrelevant. Here is one of the USB keys they gave you. If you don’t mind, I’ll keep the other for myself. I assume they are both the same.”
“I believe so,” said Steve.
“You can pick up your laptop and other material from my men when you leave,” said Borovik. “Now go back to your hotel and be quiet. Wait for a day for someone to come and give you what you need.”
Steve shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it? I just walk out of here a free man and wait for your gift package? And no one says anything?”
“I told you the people who picked you up work directly for me, they are completely loyal.”
“Then how do you or I explain their arresting me to anyone at the hotel, for instance, who might have seen what happened. Surely, the FSB and the other services have agents there. The lobby and sidewalk must be crawling with them.”
“My men didn’t arrest you,” said the general, continuing to turn the paperweight. “They brought you in for questioning.”
“On suspicion of being an American spy,” Steve added.
“Exactly,” the general brightened. “Our story is that we had been following you as you contacted various hi-tech start-ups in Moscow. You had long, detailed conversations with them about their advanced technologies. All very suspicious. Which is why, when I found out, I immediately ordered you to be picked up so we could find out what you are up to,” The general smiled and raised his hands. “I see now that you are exactly what you claim to be: an independent investor looking for possibilities in Russia. A totally reasonable activity.”
He finished his glass of vodka. “So that is it. My driver will take you into Moscow. You will get a taxi back to your hotel, and you will wait there for a day or so as I asked. Someone will contact you.
“One more thing, Mr. Robb – or whatever your name is.” The general leaned forward and fixed Steve with his dark piercing eyes. “You must never reveal to anyone that you’ve ever met me. Never. I have too many enemies. I am putting my life in your hands. Now go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR:
Moscow
So all Steve had to do was sit back and wait to be contacted. But there were other intelligence agencies out there, and as long as Steve remained in Moscow, he had his cover to maintain. The next morning, he visited two more start-ups: a food delivery service programmed to bombard you with menus curated to suit your specific tastes, and a bicycle-sharing app modeled after one that had made already made billions in China. The problem was that the first company had no real business plan; as for the second, well, Moscow wasn’t Shanghai.
Afterward, Steve swam in the hotel pool, had the steam and massage he’d been planning to enjoy the day before, and then ate alone at Olivio’s, a trendy Italian restaurant up the street from the hotel. Who was it, he wondered as he ate his spaghetti alle vongole, who was it who tipped General Borovik to his secret mission in Moscow? The Sirotskys? They had worked with military intelligence in the past. Were they playing both sides? What about Jake Pearlstein? His financial interests spanned the globe. Did they include connections with the Russian military?