Twenty minutes later, Abramov was escorted back to the interview room by the two guards, pushed inside and the door locked. Zharkov hadn’t accompanied him back, but had remained in the network manager’s office suite, inspecting the rooms occupied by Abramov and Raya Kosov.
This time the major had a longer wait. Nearly an hour passed before Zharkov returned, clutching a bulky file in his hand. He slammed it down on the table, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Abramov.
For several seconds he just stared at the major, his mouth compressed into a straight, hard line and his expression unblinkingly hostile.
Abramov dropped his own gaze, unable to face such blatant aggression. He looked down at the folder and recognized it immediately as a personnel file. The name printed on its front cover was ‘Kosov, Raya’.
‘Was it your plan?’ Zharkov began.
‘What?’
‘Was it your plan — or was it all Kosov’s idea?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
Zharkov lifted the cover of the file and pulled out a slim red folder. He opened it and glanced at the first page, taking his time. Finally, he looked up again.
‘Then let me explain it to you. Kosov used a travel warrant taken from your safe to escape from Russia. She cannot possibly have known the combination of your safe, because that would be in direct contravention of Yasenevo standing orders. So obviously you yourself must have supplied her with the warrant, and therefore you must have known that she intended to defect. Or am I wrong, Major?’
Abramov held the colonel’s gaze for less than a second this time, then dropped his eyes. He had already guessed the direction Zharkov’s questioning was likely to take, and he knew that the only possible chance he had of getting out of this mess was to make a clean breast of everything, while trying as far as possible to exonerate himself. If he attempted to obstruct the investigation, or conceal anything, he knew he could face the same fate that was being planned for Raya.
‘Please believe me, Colonel,’ he replied. ‘I had no knowledge, no knowledge at all, of what Kosov planned to do. I didn’t know she had the combination of my safe, nor did I ever tell her what it was. I can only assume that she must have watched me open the door and noted the numbers I was using.’
That was the first lie Abramov had told, and he mentally crossed his fingers as he spoke the words. Zharkov’s next words chilled him.
‘Perhaps,’ the colonel said, his eyes never leaving Abramov’s face. ‘Or perhaps not. When we get her strapped down on a table in the cellars at the Lubyanka, we’ll find out the truth. And,’ he added, leaning forward for emphasis, ‘if I even begin to suspect that you’re not cooperating fully with this investigation, that’s where we’ll continue your questioning, too.’ Zharkov sat back. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘why did she run?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Abramov replied truthfully. ‘I thought she was happy here and enjoyed her work. Her mother—’
‘Her mother,’ Zharkov interrupted, ‘was dead even before Kosov requested compassionate leave, you fucking idiot.’
‘I know,’ Abramov said miserably. ‘I know that now,’ he amended.
‘Precisely. Didn’t it ever occur to you — didn’t you even think — to check on what she was telling you? One telephone call, that’s all it would have taken. One call to Minsk and we wouldn’t be sitting here now, having to mount a recovery operation that’s going to cost us millions of roubles.’
‘I trusted her,’ Abramov muttered. ‘I know I—’
‘Trust is for idiots. I trust no one, and nothing I can’t prove. So you’ve no idea why she ran?’
Abramov shook his head, but didn’t reply.
‘I haven’t had time to read her personnel file. Did she have any relatives outside Russia — outside the Federation?’
‘None that I knew of.’
‘So why did she choose to go to Italy?’
Again, Abramov shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘We’re just lucky that a border guard at Sheremetievo wasn’t satisfied with her explanation, and decided to check her story. Otherwise we might not have even known she’d run until Monday, and by then she could have got to almost anywhere in Europe. It’s just a shame he didn’t call us before she got on that flight.’
‘But you will find her?’
Zharkov smiled unpleasantly. ‘Don’t worry, Major, we’ll track her down. And I’ll make sure we get all the answers from her, before I order someone to put a bullet in the back of her head.’
For a few seconds Abramov just stared down at the surface of the table in front of him, weighing up his options, few though they now were. He knew he’d be lucky to survive the purge that would inevitably follow Raya Kosov’s defection, but maybe, just maybe, if he could show that he was fully committed to helping find her, he might at least escape with his life. He murmured a silent apology to his subordinate, then looked up at Zharkov.
‘There is something,’ he began.
The colonel looked interested. ‘Yes, Major?’
‘Well, two things, actually,’ Abramov said. ‘I know Kosov, and you don’t, and I don’t think she’ll be easy to find. She’s obviously been planning this for a long time, and I know the way her mind works. She must have had some good reason for choosing to fly to Rome.’
‘To defect. We already know that,’ Zharkov snapped.
‘No, that’s not what I meant. Why did she pick Rome? Why not Paris or London or Madrid? What was her reason for choosing Italy?’
‘That’s a good point.’ Zharkov nodded slowly. ‘So why did she select that city?’
‘I don’t know, but it might be worth somebody going through her personnel record to see if she’s ever had any connection with anyone in Italy. I’m not aware of any relevant association, but I’ve never fully checked.’
‘Perhaps you should have done, Major.’
‘Perhaps,’ Abramov snapped, ‘but I was under the impression that investigating the background of Yasenevo staff was the responsibility of the SVR security staff, not its line officers. The responsibility of your department, in fact, Colonel.’
Zharkov’s cold eyes bored into him, though Abramov met his stare levelly. ‘I’m not responsible for internal security, Abramov,’ he snapped back. ‘I just have to solve the problem once it’s arisen. I’m the senior colonel in the Zontik Directorate. Perhaps you know what that means?’
Abramov nodded and dropped his gaze. He knew exactly what Zharkov was talking about.
In 1988, a specialist and ultra-secret unit had been created within the SVR itself. The Spetsgruppa Zaslon — special operations or spetsnaz team ‘Barrier’ or ‘Shield’ — was formed ostensibly to provide armed backup for SVR operations. But in fact its remit was more wide-ranging, and it was given a virtually unlimited budget. It was also known as the Zontik or ‘Umbrella’ Directorate, or sometimes just as the ‘Z Directorate’, by those few people within the corridors of Yasenevo who even knew about it.
Spetsgruppa Zaslon had been involved in a variety of different types of operations since its first creation. These included a clandestine mission deep into Iraq, at the time Saddam Hussein still held the reins of power, when the operatives successfully located and removed a large quantity of highly sensitive and secret documents from the dictator’s palaces. Those were documents that would have severely embarrassed Moscow, had they been found by the invading American forces.
Some three hundred very experienced officers were selected for Spetsgruppa Zaslon, all characterized by two criteria: all had extensive experience in special operations and also in working outside the borders of the Russian Federation. Many of the officers selected had a further qualification that wouldn’t normally be on their CVs. For, during some of their special operations, they’d been involved in what the old KGB used to refer to euphemistically as mokrie dela, ‘wet affairs’, meaning that blood had been spilt.