Now Grishkov’s frown became a scowl. “Fine, I’ll come right out and ask.
Why aren’t we working with the Americans on this? They certainly have greater resources and more contacts in this country than we do. Or am I wrong about that?”
Now Vasilyev’s smile disappeared, and he put down his cappuccino.
“You are not wrong. Of course, the decision about whether or not to work with the Americans, or for that matter the Saudis, was made far above our level. Probably above Smyslov’s, and considering the stakes possibly by the President himself. So, I can only speculate about why we are dealing strictly with unofficial contacts during this trip.”
Vasilyev paused and looked at Grishkov, who nodded acknowledgment that he understood what would follow was only Vasilyev’s best guess.
“You are correct to think that the direct approach would have many advantages. Your police training has taught you to look for the most effective solution to a problem, and sharing all we know with both the Saudis and the Americans would appear to be just that. But, there are many possible negative consequences as well.”
Vasilyev picked up his cappuccino and took a sip while he gathered his thoughts.
“The first problem is our friendly relationship with Iran, at least as far as military sales go. Though we do not believe the attack is sanctioned by the Iranian government, what we have learned so far suggests that the organization planning it includes multiple Iranian government officials. So, if the attack is not stopped, we may be blamed for assisting it.”
Grishkov gestured impatiently. “That makes no sense. If we were involved with the attack, why warn its target?”
Vasilyev nodded. “I understand your confusion. However, consider that so far we don’t even know the specific targets. The vague warning we could provide now could be dismissed as an attempt to evade responsibility, particularly if the attack is not prevented.”
Grishkov paused, and then shrugged acknowledgment. “But I am sensing that even if we learn of the targets, we may not automatically tell the Saudis and the Americans.”
Vasilyev smiled broadly, and nodded vigorously. “You are a quick study, my friend. Yes, even then there would be problems. Do you imagine we would be free to intervene in this matter if the Saudis and Americans knew about it? Even if we weren’t escorted to the first flight back to Moscow, any supposed joint effort would just be a way to track our every move. How likely would our success be then? And how likely do you think it is that our President would leave the solution to this problem in the hands of the Americans?”
Grishkov grimaced, and shook his head.
Vasilyev laughed. “Yes, exactly. Add to that the possibility that the plotters may have ears within the Saudi government that could tell them about our warning. Though I doubt they do within the American government, remember that their security is truly very poor.”
Grishkov nodded, and said simply, “Wikileaks.”
Vasilyev smiled. “Just so. Can you believe a low-ranking officer was able to put thousands of highly classified documents on a USB drive, and simply walk out with them? And that the documents had no encryption to slow down their distribution on the Internet even a little?”
Vasilyev paused, and lowered his voice. “We must also acknowledge that after certain recent actions by our government, some Americans may not believe our warning would be… well-intentioned.”
Grishkov shrugged. “Everything you have said makes sense. But at some point we may have to call on the Saudis for help, yes?”
Vasilyev nodded. “Yes. We will hardly be able to take on a well-funded and highly capable terrorist organization on our own. We have agents in place throughout the Kingdom, and there are Saudi officials we consider reliable. But we are not to contact them unless we have actionable intelligence, and then only if we cannot deal with the matter ourselves.”
Grishkov glanced at his watch, a metal specimen that was obviously far from new. Vasilyev smiled and gestured towards it.
“That looks like a Sturmanskie. Is it original?”
Grishkov shrugged. “I have no idea. The pilot who gave it to me in Chechnya said it was the most valuable thing he had. I tried to refuse, but he insisted.”
Vasilyev nodded. “You saved his life, I suppose?”
Grishkov frowned, obviously annoyed. “I told him I was simply doing my duty, but he wouldn’t listen. I finally accepted the watch just to be done with the matter.”
Vasilyev laughed. “Well, you’ve obviously taken good care of it since then. Did you know that’s the same model watch Yuri Gagarin wore when he became the first man in space? Or that for years they were only available to Soviet Air Force pilots?”
Grishkov’s eyes widened, and he simply shook his head.
Vasilyev nodded. “Yes, and the company that made them has an interesting history. The Soviet government bought two American companies in the 1930s. All of their equipment along with about two dozen former employees from Ohio were brought to the USSR to start our first watch factory. After they produced your watch and many others, the company went on in the 1970s to produce Poljot, the most popular watch brand of the Soviet era.”
Grishkov smiled. “My father had a Poljot. He loved that watch. We buried him with it.”
Vasilyev nodded. “And unlike many young people today, you do not rely on your phone for the time.”
Grishkov snorted. “Certainly not. Phones are far less reliable. I have had many fail over the years. This watch has never failed to tell the correct time.
And now it is telling me that the meeting with our contact is due.”
Vasilyev smiled. “Well, as in many countries, how late he is will tell us much. In particular, how much does he need us, versus how much we need him.”
Grishkov shook his head. “While we wait, I have to ask you how you could take that business at the intersection so calmly.”
Vasilyev smiled. “Traffic here is far less dangerous now than during my first trip to the Kingdom, which was even before we opened our embassy.
Then the rumor was that the death rate from traffic accidents was higher than the birth rate.”
Grishkov stared. “Surely an exaggeration!”
Vasilyev shrugged. “Perhaps. But the government was certainly concerned.
For example, truly spectacular wrecks would be featured on the evening news. I remember one in particular where the voiceover said, as the camera panned over pieces of wood with Arabic lettering on them, ‘Yes, the driver of this Maserati drove right through this sign saying The Bridge Isn’t Finished Yet.’ The camera then zoomed to the scorch mark on the other side of the gorge as the voiceover continued. ‘Yes, the driver almost made it across — but not quite.’ Then the camera angle zoomed down about two hundred meters to the bottom of the gorge, where you could see pieces of a white Maserati scattered over a considerable distance.”
Grishkov shook his head. “Come now, we have such stories in the news in Russia, and I’m sure in many other countries.”
Vasilyev nodded. “True. Very well, imagine this. A TV program which begins with an Indian doctor on the top floor of a Riyadh hospital. He looks into the camera, and without preamble opens one of the windows. He then asks, ‘If you were in a big hurry to leave this hospital, would you jump? No?
So, why are you driving double the posted speed limit inside the city? You need to stop doing this.’ He then walks down the hallway and stops in front of a door. ‘Let’s talk to some people who did not follow my good advice.’ He then opens the door to the quadriplegic ward.”
“No,” Grishkov said, horrified.
“Oh, yes,” Vasilyev nodded. “He then proceeds to ask the patients questions like ‘Are you sorry you drove double the posted speed limit inside the city?’ This program was rebroadcast multiple times.”