Private Moscow (Private 15)

“Prizrak,” Leonid said to Dinara.

I looked at her for an explanation.

“Ghost,” she said. “It’s another word for a sleeper. A deep-cover agent.”

I was reeling and refused to accept the possibility. “Karl—the man I knew—he served his country with distinction. He was no traitor.”

Leonid’s phone rang, and he stepped away from the table to take the call.

“How are you feeling?” Dinara asked.

I looked at her clear, penetrating eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know. I came here and risked everything for a friend. And now it turns out I never knew him at all.”

“I don’t think we can ever truly conceal what we are,” Dinara said. “Even when we’re deep under cover, I think our true character shines through.”

I took little comfort from her words. A man prepared to lie big was certainly willing to lie small. All his interactions, every moment, everything he was and everything he stood for was all an illusion. Nothing he’d ever done was beyond question.

“Can you email Justine?” I asked. “Let her know what the chief told me. I can’t face explaining it again.”

I slapped the tabletop in frustration. “I feel like a fool!” I exclaimed, drawing the attention of a handful of people lingering over their late lunches. “The head of the world’s best detective agency couldn’t figure out his own friend was a fraud.”

“Assuming he was, he will have been trained by the very best,” Dinara said. “I’ll let Justine know. And Jack …” She hesitated. “You weren’t looking for it. That’s why you didn’t see the lie. He was your friend and teacher, and you trusted him.”

Leonid returned before I could answer.

“That was Anna Bolshova. She says she’s got something for me. She wants to meet.”

“When?” Dinara asked.

“Thirty minutes, the Arts Park, by the river,” Leonid replied.

“Want some company?” she asked.

Leonid shrugged. “Sure.”

“Jack?” Dinara asked.

“I’m going to stay here,” I replied. “See if I can figure out when the man I knew took over the real Karl Parker’s identity.”

“OK,” Leonid said. “Hopefully we’ll bring you back something useful.”

Dinara got to her feet and followed the grizzled former detective out. I sat staring at the remains of their meals for a few moments, before I shook off my self-pity and headed back to the library.

CHAPTER 76

AN OLD WOMAN stood by the frozen edges of the river and tossed crumbs across the ice. A solitary robin flitted from spot to spot, pecking at the bounty, and the old woman chatted to the little bird as though it was a friend.

Dinara watched her, and wondered at her story. What kind of life had led her to this small park, where she sought the company of birds? Leonid shuffled on the spot and rubbed his gloved hands together before pushing them into his coat pockets.

It was only 3:45 p.m., but it was already gloomy. Heavy clouds had hung over the city for the past few days, threatening snow, but they were yet to deliver. They seemed to get lower and darker with each passing moment, and even though this winter had already seen more than enough snow to last a lifetime, Dinara wished they would shed their load and get the inevitable storm over with.

“She’s late,” Leonid observed, checking his watch.

Dinara caught sight of Anna Bolshova the moment the words had left Leonid’s mouth. She was hurrying along the wide boulevard that ran alongside the roadway that led to Krymsky Bridge. She wore her police uniform and standard-issue long winter coat. The boulevard had been cleared of snow, but the park itself was buried. Dinara and Leonid stood where the boulevard met the embankment, near the bridge. The only other person around was the old woman feeding the friendly robin. High to Dinara’s right, traffic rumbled over the bridge. To her left, the long pavilion, which usually housed hundreds of paintings by local artists, was empty. Robbed of vital people and civilizing artwork, the Muzeon Park of Arts seemed a desolate, foreboding place. The Interior Ministry stood approximately half a kilometer to the east, along Krymsky Bank, and Dinara was glad Anna hadn’t arranged to meet any closer to the department.

“Sorry,” the detective said as she drew near. “I was called in for another corrective meeting.”

Dinara was puzzled.