Brian Freemantle - No Time for Heroes

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

‘I’ve lost contact.’

‘You introduced me, once. I could re-introduce you.’

‘People will have changed, surely?’

‘I’ve made other friends: important friends. It’s much better than it was in your day: better organised.’

‘The work I do now is a lot different from a uniformed division. It wouldn’t be as easy to co-operate, like it was before.’

‘Things can always be worked out. Don’t forget I want a transfer. I could be there, ensuring things run smoothly.’

One team replaced by another, recognised Danilov. A lot of careful thought had gone into this approach. ‘I need to think about it.’

‘You do need to think about it. I’m your friend, so I think I can talk honestly: you’ve been stupid, for far too long.’

Not as stupid as you’re going to be proven to be, thought Danilov. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

‘You know I’m right! I can introduce you to the proper people,’ persisted Kosov. ‘Fix everything.’

Danilov nodded, wondering how far he might be able to utilise that boast. ‘Let’s keep in touch.’

‘ Close touch,’ insisted Kosov. ‘Friends should help friends.’

‘You’re right,’ said Danilov. ‘They should.’ He still had time to meet Larissa, before the Federal Prosecutor. He didn’t feelat all hypocritical.

The Tatarovo apartment had two full-sized bedrooms, as well as a separate living room with a dining annexe, and kitchen fittings better even than Larissa’s existing flat. It was on the eighth floor, and from the balcony there was a view of the river.

‘It’s fabulous!’ declared Larissa. ‘I want it!’

‘How much is it?’ asked Danilov.

‘Four hundred and fifty roubles a month if you’re paying in Russian; three hundred if you give the concierge twenty dollars a week for himself. And the bribe to jump the list is two hundred and fifty dollars.’

‘I don’t have two hundred and fifty dollars.’

Larissa looked at him uncertainly. ‘We need it, to get the flat,’ she said simply.

Larissa wouldn’t know how to live any other way, he remembered. ‘I’ll have to try to get it.’

‘Yes darling, you will,’ Larissa agreed. ‘Why don’t you ask Bill?’

Danilov went to Pushkinskaya unsure if it would be as easy to convince a trained lawyer as it had been to deceive Kosov. He still believed he was correctly pursuing the investigation by holding things back from Nikolai Smolin, so strongly did he believe the man would make any ultimate decision about the case thinking of government sensitivity first and the law second. But until now it had been nothing more than delaying the information, until he was sure. What he was attempting that afternoon was going further: it was deception, even if the eventual outcome might be justified. And if it didn’t turn out to be justified, he’d be open to the sort of tribunal that had condemned Anatoli Metkin.

‘What’s the development?’ prompted Smolin. He had a notepad open, ready, in front of him.

‘Not here,’ warned Danilov, edging out on to creaking ice. ‘The Americans have decided it’s sufficiently sound for Cowley to examine. I think we should consider my going, too.’

‘Going where?’

‘Sicily,’ announced Danilov. ‘The information came from America: specifically Brighton Beach,’ he elaborated. ‘The rumour, confirmed from several different sources, was of a forthcoming meeting between Russian and Italian Mafia. The American authorities are already liaising with the Italians.’

‘What has it got to do with the investigation here?’

‘The people named in the Serov documents are thought to be involved,’ said Danilov, lying openly.

‘It’s vague,’ complained the Federal Prosecutor.

‘I can only pass on what I have been told.’ It wasn’t as easy confronting a legal mind.

‘Why didn’t Cowley come with you this afternoon?’ frowned Smolin.

A mistake: it would have been more convincing for an American to have talked about a development supposed to have come from America. ‘He’s been ordered to leave, as soon as he gets the final go-ahead from Washington,’ improvised Danilov. The earlier rehearsal with Cowley provided the escape. ‘And there are implications about it I felt best only discussed between the two of us.’

‘What implications?’

‘I suspect the Americans have had this information for several days,’ said Danilov. ‘If the decision had not been made to involve Cowley, I don’t think we would have been told at all. The Americans and Italians could have handled it quite independently.’

‘Meaning?’

‘They don’t trust us.’ Danilov paused, wanting to get the argument absolutely right, although Smolin had earlier not rejected the sort of thing he was going to say. ‘They’ve got every reason not to. If whatever might happen in Sicily is linked with our enquiry, and it becomes generally known in advance at Petrovka and in the ministries most closely involved, it will almost inevitably leak.’

‘Or be leaked?’ The Federal Prosecutor was subdued, but showed no surprise at the suggestion.

‘It’s a danger we’ve got to accept,’ insisted Danilov. Too soon to judge how it was going, but he was encouraged.

‘You got names of people you don’t trust, at Petrovka or the ministries?’

‘If I had I would have given them to you officially,’ said Danilov. And still would, if he ever understood the significance of Ilya Nishin and Ivan Churmak and Gennardi Fedorov. What, he wondered, would officially happen after he did?

‘Not even an indication of rank?’

‘I would have considered that sufficient for an official report, as well.’

Smolin nodded, slowly. ‘I suppose the American attitude is unavoidable.’

It was moving in the right direction. Danilov said: ‘But they have told us.’

Smolin took the point. ‘So if nothing happens in Sicily – if it is a rumour, without foundation – we’re damned, suspected of leaking it from here without any chance of defending ourselves?’

‘Unless we absolutely restrict the number of people to be told. At the moment there are only four, here in Moscow: Cowley, myself, Major Pavin and yourself. There is nothing in any of the case files at Petrovka.’

‘Are you suggesting we do not tell Vorobie or Oskin?’

‘I think they should have it made clear to them what I believe the American attitude to be, and ensure nothing about Sicily is passed to anyone in their departments.’

‘That still wouldn’t cover us if it is an unsubstantiated rumour.’

‘The Americans don’t believe it is.’ Could he escape censure, if it went wrong or nothing did happen? Hardly.

‘You should go, of course,’ decided Smolin.

There was relief but little satisfaction. ‘And by a very special route.’

Smolin had given his agreement distantly, as if he was preoccupied with something else. Now he came fully back to the investigator, frowning. ‘What special route?’

‘We won’t be able to avoid people at Petrovka knowing I am away. We need a deception.’ It was the moment he and Cowley had accepted to be the most difficult to steer past the other man. It was essential, further to convince Kosov of the collapsing murder case, but it was flawed if examined too closely. Determinedly Danilov pressed on. ‘A way has already been suggested: it might, too, reassure the Americans of our genuine co-operation.’

‘How?’

‘There has still been no public announcement about our having to release Antipov,’ reminded Danilov. ‘If the announcement about the release was made, it would be entirely understandable for me to return to America to review the progress of the case of far, wouldn’t it?’