A decanter of brandy was visible on a sideboard, two glasses next to it, all on a silver tray, placed for his host and him to drink while they talked. On a whim he poured himself a glass while he waited. To pour oneself a drink without invitation could be considered particularly rude, but Aniskovach believed his host would see it as a sign of strength and be impressed with his confidence.
Most people would have been nervous if they were put in a similar position, but Aniskovach was as calm as he had ever been in his life. He checked his reflection in an oval mirror hanging above the room’s fireplace. He’d nicked himself shaving, just a tiny cut on his chin that regrettably marked his looks but, he noted, gave a certain rugged manliness to his striking features. He had a jaw set like an anvil, and with his dark, absorbing eyes he knew he was easily the best-looking man in his department — and, if he wasn’t being modest, the whole organization. He liked to imagine that most of the female employees at headquarters lusted after him.
Aniskovach heard the footsteps in the hallway outside, but he pretended to be taken by surprise when a voice behind him said, ‘Forgive my tardiness, Gennady.’
Aniskovach turned around and bowed his head briefly. ‘It is an honour to meet you, comrade Prudnikov.’
The man in the doorway was tall and heavy-set and wore a well-fitting dinner jacket that shaved off at least ten pounds. He was in his late fifties but looked younger by some years. He wore a friendly smile and was by all reports very personable, but Aniskovach knew him to be quite ruthless. This was the first time he had met the head of the Sluzhba Vneshney Razyedki.
Aniskovach placed his brandy down and approached his superior. They shook hands, Aniskovach letting Prudnikov be the one to grip harder, though only marginally.
‘It is to my regret that we have not had a chance to meet before, Colonel Aniskovach.’ Prudnikov’s eyes glanced at the glass of brandy and then to the decanter, and for a second Aniskovach feared he had offended him, but Prudnikov smiled. ‘You’re a drinker, then, I see — good.’ He released Aniskovach’s hand and moved to pour himself a large measure. ‘I don’t trust a man who doesn’t drink.’
Aniskovach smiled internally at having judged the situation so aptly. ‘I’m inclined to agree with you.’
Prudnikov tilted his head slightly in Aniskovach’s direction. ‘Are you saying that because you actually believe it, or just because I’m your superior?’
Aniskovach shrugged, showing nothing in his expression as he was studied. ‘A bit of both.’
The head of the SVR turned fully and smiled. ‘I’ve been familiarizing myself with your file. Very impressive.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘There is no need to thank me for realizing what is as obvious as my waistline.’
Aniskovach knew Prudnikov was hoping for a smile and he didn’t disappoint.
‘You’ve had a distinguished career,’ Prudnikov continued. ‘A pride to our organization and your country.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I can tell you are an ambitious man.’
‘Yes.’
‘You want my job one day.’
Aniskovach nodded. ‘Naturally.’
Prudnikov smiled. ‘Ambition can be a positive trait; it makes us strive to succeed, to conquer.’ He paused. ‘But it can also be a hindrance or a danger, even, if used unwisely.’
‘It will be ten years before I’m in a position to have a chance at running the SVR,’ Aniskovach said. ‘I’m no threat to you now.’
‘But how do you know I will have retired then?’
Reliable sources told Aniskovach that Prudnikov had a hole in his heart. He wouldn’t be alive in ten years, let alone running the SVR at the time. ‘I don’t, sir,’ Aniskovach lied. ‘Only that if you do indeed see me as a potential threat you would not have brought me here and made me aware of your concerns.’
‘And why wouldn’t I?’
‘It would have been more effective to sabotage my career and halt any chance of advancement without my knowing you were behind it. You are too shrewd not to do so.’
Aniskovach knew he’d slipped the compliment in without it being obvious, and Prudnikov nodded slowly. ‘Very good. So why have I brought you here?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘If you were to guess?’
‘I don’t guess as a general rule.’ He looked around briefly. ‘But judging from the fact that we are talking at your home and not at headquarters you either need my help with something you cannot trust to those close to you or you enjoy my company. So unless my invite to your party was lost in the post I think it’s safe to say it isn’t the second option.’
‘My wife’s party,’ Prudnikov laughed. ‘I was right about you, I can see that already. You’re quite correct, I do want you to do something for me that I need to be completed with the utmost secrecy. A delicate matter I can entrust to you alone.’
Aniskovach took a sip of brandy and waited for Prudnikov to continue.
‘Something has come to my attention, something that you are particularly suited to dealing with.’ Prudnikov paused theatrically. ‘You remember the circumstances of General Banarov’s demise?’
Aniskovach felt his pulse quicken. ‘Yes.’
‘And they were?’
‘He supposedly shot himself in the head after drinking heavily.’
‘And you did not believe this.’
‘I believed he was murdered.’
‘Believed?’
‘Believe,’ Aniskovach corrected.
‘But you never apprehended the killer.’
Aniskovach took a breath. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘At first it appeared to be a suicide, and no one questioned that explanation. It was only later I discovered a professional assassin was spotted in the area the week Banarov died. There was no direct evidence of his involvement, but Banarov had a habit of making enemies and was not known to be suicidal. I made some inquiries, but as it was a domestic matter, I had no authority to pursue it in depth. The FSB were not interested in my theory.’
‘You pursued it anyway, did you not?’
‘As much as I was able. I believe in being thorough.’
‘And ruffled many feathers while doing so.’
‘It just meant I was getting close to a truth someone did not care to have revealed. I’d always suspected that parties within our own intelligence services had sent the killer, either us, the FSB, or the GRU. The unknown resistance I met during my investigation confirmed this.’
‘Indeed,’ Prudnikov said thoughtfully. ‘The assassination of one of our former generals by one of our own has potentially huge repercussions. None of us want a return to the bad old days where we feared our own colleagues might be plotting our demise over something we have done or might one day do.’
‘Quite.’
‘You spoke to a former acquaintance of this assassin as part of your own investigation.’
‘The only known acquaintance. Aleksandr Norimov, a former KGB, then FSB, agent. He’s now a criminal operating out of St Petersburg. He claimed to believe the assassin was dead until I proved to him otherwise. I would have liked to take him away for more intensive questioning, but I had no power to do so.’
Prudnikov nodded. ‘Norimov’s name has surfaced again.’
Aniskovach was surprised and intrigued, but he did his best to maintain a detached composure. ‘In what context?’
‘On the desk is a transcript of a telephone conversation. Read it.’
Aniskovach walked to the large mahogany desk and picked up the piece of paper. He read it carefully, despite his growing excitement. When he was finished he looked at Prudnikov. His mouth felt dry. ‘What do you want me to do?’