Glen Allen - The shadow war

"Nyet," she replied. "Prosto znakomiy."

At that, Yuri's resistance to whatever Natalya was asking of him seemed to weaken.

Finally, he sat back, shook his head. "Te pozhaleyesh," he said. Then he rose and went into another room. Benjamin could see through the door that he went to a desk, began looking through a small book he had there.

Natalya turned to him. "I have asked for his help," she said.

"To do what?" Benjamin asked.

"To get us into Russia," she said.

Before Benjamin could ask her about the "us" part, Yuri came into the room and handed a piece of paper to Natalya. He asked her something again, and she replied, "Spasiba, nyet." Then she kissed him on the cheek and they left, Yuri shaking Benjamin's hand on their way out-though it seemed a reluctant shake, at best.

After they'd gone, Yuri walked back into his study. He picked up the telephone, dialed an international number. While it was ringing, he pressed a small button on the side of the phone.

He spoke for several minutes. When he was finished, he hung up, then sat for a long time, smoking and thinking.

Once outside Yuri's apartment, Natalya and Benjamin began looking for another cab to hail. There were several questions in Benjamin's mind; he finally settled on the one uppermost.

"Is Yuri…," he stumbled. "Well, are you two-"

"Chiort!" Natalya said with some exasperation. "Men! Do you know, he asked me the same thing about you?"

"Oh," said Benjamin. For some reason, Benjamin felt flattered. "But then, what did you ask him, exactly? And what's this about going to Russia? About us going to Russia?"

By then a cab had pulled up, and they climbed into the backseat. Natalya gave the driver an address.

"I have a diplomatic passport, of course," Natalya said. "But I think it would be better not to use it, at least not to enter the Russian Federation. And as for you, if there are indeed people following you-"

"I'm going with you, then?" Benjamin asked.

Natalya was still somewhat upset. "Would you rather stay here and wait for your shadow from the library to find you?" she asked, not looking at him.

Benjamin didn't have to answer that. "But then, what was all that about?"

Now Natalya looked at him.

"I told you, Yuri is FSB. They keep track of people who deal with this sort of… situation. I explained it was very important that I see my father as soon as possible. Basically, I asked him for a name. A name of someone who could help us."

"A travel agent?" Benjamin asked, trying to make a joke.

Natalya smiled, relaxed. "In a way, yes," she said. "But a very expensive travel agent. Our 'tickets' into Russia will cost perhaps five thousand dollars each, Yuri thinks. So, I am going to my bank, to see if I can somehow-"

Benjamin had an idea. He leaned over the seat. "Wait," he said to the driver. "Do you know where the Credit Agricole bank is?"

"Yes," said the driver.

"Take us there," Benjamin said.

He leaned back. Natalya was looking at him questioningly.

"Remember Anton's note?" he said. "I don't know how much this will help, but it's worth a try."

When they reached the bank, Benjamin realized he had no idea what would happen. Perhaps Henri Vielledent no longer worked there; perhaps he would insist on some sort of notarized signature from Anton, and they'd simply be out of luck. He didn't relish the thought of looking the fool in front of Natalya.

But in fact Henri Vielledent did indeed still work at the Credit Agricole-and high up enough in their organization to rate a rather ornate office on the second floor. Benjamin and Natalya were shown in and found behind the desk a rather short man with a goatee and a manner so reserved as to be almost hostile. Benjamin's confidence dropped yet another notch.

But the moment Benjamin mentioned Anton Sikorsky's name, Henri became entirely different. Now it was all " Monsieur Wainwright" and " s'il vous plait " and " merci. " And when Benjamin gave him the account number from Anton's note, Henri looked very impressed, indeed.

"And how much would Monsieur Wainwright wish from this account?" he asked.

"Well, all of it, I suppose," he said.

"All of it?" Henri said, surprised.

Benjamin glanced at Natalya. "Well, yes. Those were Mr. Sikorsky's instructions," he lied.

"Let me think." Henri tapped his fingers nervously on his desk. "Do you have a valise, a briefcase?"

"A briefcase?"

"Well, yes," Henri said. "Or were you perhaps planning on leaving with two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in your pockets?"

"Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?!" said Benjamin. Then he tried to recover his composure. "No, of course not."

The solution they settled on was considerably smaller than a valise. Henri had disappeared for a while, then reappeared with an envelope. He handed the envelope to Benjamin.

Benjamin looked at him, at Natalya, and back to Henri. "And what's this?" he asked.

"A carte de solvabilite, " said Henri. "It will provide you access to the account from almost any bank in the world. Just use the card and enter the account number."

"And the password?" asked Benjamin.

Henri smiled. "For this type of account," he said, "a password is not required."

They stood and Benjamin thanked Henri, shaking his hand. As they were leaving, Henri said, "When you see Monsieur Sikorsky, give him my greetings."

Benjamin hesitated a moment, then said, "I will, certainly."

Once outside and another cab hailed, Natalya turned to Benjamin.

"A quarter of a million?" she said. "In dollars? I thought you said Anton taught at Georgetown. That seems a bit affluent for an academician."

"I know," said Benjamin, looking worried. "Perhaps it was some sort of… settlement from the government. For defecting."

"But from which government?" asked Natalya.

Benjamin looked at her. Then, oddly, he smiled. "I see what you meant about a 'professional paranoid,' " he said. "But for now, let's go with the flow."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh… let's assume the best," he said. And then Benjamin realized he didn't know where that flow was taking them.

"Where now?" he asked. "Where is this friend of Yuri's with the expensive passports?"

Natalya leaned over the seat. "Reagan airport," she said to the driver. "The international terminal."

Then she leaned back and turned to Benjamin.

"Have you ever been to Nice?" she asked.

Eight time zones away, an old man hung up a telephone and sat back, lighting a cigarette. But whereas Yuri's had been a Camel, this one was a Kosmos.

Had Benjamin been in the room, he would maybe have recognized the old man-from the photos in Anton's hallway. But now, rather than wearing the broad officer hat and wide military epaulets, he was dressed as so many other ex-Soviet pensioners, with no outward sign that he'd once wielded enormous power.

Across the table from him sat another old man, also from Anton's photos, also now without his military garb. They were sitting in an apartment in a huge complex near the Moscow River. In the thirties when it was built, it had been considered among the most luxurious addresses in all Moscow. Only the highest of the Party faithful were given apartments there. Of course, such largess hadn't been entirely without guile, as was everything in those days. Behind each apartment were narrow hallways where the watchers would stand, listening to every word spoken in those apartments. And by the end of the purges, nearly all the original inhabitants had… moved.

Out of nostalgia or macabre irony, the old man had appointed the apartment with relics from that time. The table at which they sat-large, rectangular, covered with green felt-was in fact from the old KGB offices in Lubyanka; even the lamp, with its octagonal green-glass shade, was a "signature" of KGB style. He switched it on now, as it was getting dim in the apartment.