Private Moscow (Private 15)

“I would like to claim political asylum,’ Yenen replied. “And will offer in exchange everything I know.”

Carrie studied Yenen for a moment. “If you’d like to follow me, we’ll put you somewhere safe while we figure out what happens next.”

Somewhere safe turned out to be a windowless meeting room on the third floor, at the heart of the embassy. I had little doubt it was one of the hardened communications centers designed to provide staff with a secure working environment in the event Russia turned hostile. The long walnut table seated twenty-eight, and the wall furthest from the three-inch-thick door had been given over to screens, computers and communications equipment, all of which were idle. The door matched the table, but there must have been steel beneath the veneer, and the rubber trim that lined the interior and exterior edges looked as though it could inflate to create an airtight seal. I studied the wood-paneled walls and wondered if there were any weapons concealed somewhere within them.

News of Maxim Yenen’s arrival and his role in feeding America information rippled through the building, and a handful of people came to meet the billionaire who’d been leaking Kremlin secrets. After his interrogation at Boltino Army Base, we’d given Yenen some old clothes salvaged from the Residence, and he looked more like a dock worker than an oligarch, but if he felt uncomfortable, he didn’t show it. He talked to the FBI legal attaché, the embassy’s in-house counsel, and a handful of other men and women who didn’t give their job titles, but who could well have been Agency. They came and went, buzzing excitedly, and with good reason. If he defected, Yenen would be the most significant intelligence win for Uncle Sam since Arkady Schevchenko.

After forty minutes, a tall, thin woman with sinewy fingers and a gaunt face entered. Her blond hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore a red trouser suit.

She greeted the three of us, and introduced herself as Erin Sebold, the CIA Head of Section.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Mr. Yenen. We’d given you the codename Bishop, and we had six possible candidates for your real identity. I’m sorry to say you weren’t on the list of possibles our analysts came up with,” she said.

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Yenen replied. “It means I covered my tracks well.”

“When the communication channel dried up, we thought something had happened,” Erin said.

“It had,” Yenen remarked. “To my associate. She was murdered.”

“The Boston Seafood Grill a few nights back,” I remarked.

“Mr. Yenen hired us to find the killer,” Dinara added.

“I had hoped to find out who’d discovered Yana’s identity without risking my life,” Yenen explained. “That’s why I engaged Private. When I realized they were also looking into the Bright Star killings, it was too dangerous to be anywhere near them.”

“Bright Star?” Erin asked.

“It’s one of many things I can share with you once we’ve agreed the terms of my asylum,” Yenen said.

“What do you know about this Bright Star, Mr. Morgan?” Erin asked.

“I know it’s something you need to know about,” I replied. “I’ll leave it to Mr. Yenen to explain.”

Carrie Underwood entered the room.

“Erin, you mind if I grab these two?” she asked, indicating Dinara and me. “The ambassador wants to see them.”

“Sure,” Erin replied.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You ever been the cause of an international incident?” Carrie asked. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but the Russians are mad, and it looks like all hell is about to break loose.”

CHAPTER 88

AS AN FSB agent Dinara could never have dreamed of getting inside the American embassy, and yet here she was as a private citizen, not only inside it, but on her way to the ambassador’s office. She knew she should have been impressed, but there was no lifting the shroud Leonid’s death had placed over the world. She was still numb and his passing was too recent for her to feel much beyond hollow grief.

Dinara followed Carrie Underwood and Jack Morgan through the building. The common areas were deserted, since the embassy was closed to the public on Sundays. When they reached the large, traditionally decorated room on the top floor, Ambassador Thomas Dussler was waiting with Master Gunnery Sergeant West. The Marine was in a somber mood, but the ambassador was genial and upbeat.

“Well, you sure know how to anger the bear, Mr. Morgan,” Dussler said. “Have a seat.” He gestured at a couch and some chairs.

“This is Dinara Orlova, the head of Private Moscow,” Jack said as they all took seats.

“Thomas Dussler. Pleased to meet you,” the ambassador replied.

“Thanks for getting us inside,” Jack said to West, who responded with a gracious nod.

“The Russians have lodged a formal complaint with State, saying we’re harboring a couple of murder suspects,” Dussler revealed. “They say you’re wanted in connection with the murders of Ernie Fisher and Leonid Boykov.”