Private Moscow (Private 15)

“Alone?” Leonid asked.

“Dinara and I will take the other strands, Ernie Fisher’s death and Maxim Yenen.”

I could see Leonid consider the suggestion as he slowed to join a line of rush-hour traffic.

“Maybe we have some budget for support?” he suggested.

I looked at Dinara.

“Yenen’s given us a blank check,” she said.

“Good. Then I can buy some help,” Leonid responded.

“Who?” I asked.

“Our new housemates,” he said. “My old police friends.”

We had a pool of experienced police officers at our disposal, many of whom were time rich and cash poor. It made sense, as long as they could be trusted.

“OK,” I said, “but choose your people carefully.”

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; “Of course,” Leonid agreed.

Dinara’s phone rang and she answered. She listened for a moment and hung up without saying a word.

“Maxim Yenen will meet us tonight,” she said. “Eleven p.m., Bolshoy Moskvoretskiy Bridge.”

“Is he crazy?” Leonid asked. “That’s by Red Square. Not exactly a private spot.”

“He said it’s there or nowhere,” Dinara replied.

Leonid shook his head disapprovingly.

“We’ll be careful,” I assured him. I turned to Dinara. “That gives us time.”

“For what?” she asked.

“I want to take a look at Ernie Fisher’s apartment. See what we can learn about the man.”

CHAPTER 53

NIGHT WAS FALLING by the time Leonid dropped us off in Rochdelskaya Street, two blocks from Ernie Fisher’s riverfront apartment building. Warning us to be careful, Leonid drove off in the spluttering Lada to muster a surveillance team made up of ex-cops from the Residence.

Dinara and I walked the icy streets toward the river. The buildings on the other bank were lit up and the freezing mist that rose above the water made their lights shimmer like stars.

It didn’t take Dinara long to pick the front door again, and we were soon inside.

“Where did you learn how to do that?” I asked.

“FSB training module,” she replied. “Everywhere we go, we meet closed doors. I thought it would be useful to know how to get through them.”

She flashed me a smile, and I replied in kind. She was strong, capable and beautiful and in different circumstances, perhaps …

I killed the idea before it took flight. Had Karl’s death hit me so hard I’d become desperate for human connection? Or was I just lonely? I lived a difficult, solitary life. Was I secretly longing for someone to share it with?

I followed Dinara through the grand old building. It was located in the heart of the government district, next to one of the centers of Russian power, Federation House, and, according to Leonid and Dinara, it was inhabited by mid-level civil servants, politicians and diplomats. The richly patterned, worn carpet, grimy old chandeliers and cracked marble trim pointed to people who liked the trappings of power, but lacked the funds to maintain them.