Private Moscow (Private 15)

Dinara noticed a laundry basket at the end of the bed, and lifted the lid to sift through Yana’s dirty clothes.

“You’re right,” she said. “These clothes have been sorted by type. Someone’s thrown in all the underwear and blouses first and put the trousers and socks on top.”

Leonid looked puzzled.

“When people get undressed, they put their clothes into the laundry, so you get outfit one, then the second layer is outfit two and so on. This bin has been emptied and refilled. The underwear went in first because there’s nowhere to hide anything. Then the T-shirts. Trousers and socks take longer to search, so they went in last.”

Leonid nodded. “Whoever has been here would have fooled most cops. But I am not most cops.”

“Will you ever stop boasting?”

“How can a statement of fact be considered boasting?” Leonid asked.

“The real question is what they were looking for,” Dinara said. “And whether they found it.”

CHAPTER 25

“KEEP LOOKING,” DINARA said.

She left Leonid and returned to the living room. She checked the small two-seater couch that stood in front of the television, but found nothing. She searched the TV unit, but drew a blank. Her attention was caught by a flash of color across the room, and she saw a tank of tropical fish concealed behind a gilt tri-fold screen. Dinara went over to the aquarium and watched colors dart and dance through the water. Dinara felt sorry for the little creatures. With Yana gone, who knew when they would be fed again? She picked up a bottle of fish food and shook a little into the tank. The fish must have been hungry because they shimmered toward the tiny pellets and gobbled them up. The aquarium only added to Dinara’s sense of Yana as a solitary person. Dinara could picture the lonely woman talking to her fish as she fed them, and there was something tragic about the image. Dinara never wanted to end up like this.

There was a small net next to the aquarium and as the light from the tank flickered with the movement of the darting fish, Dinara noticed a faint line on the net’s bamboo handle. The mark, possibly made by water, was about half an inch from the end of the cane. Dinara studied the fish tank more closely and saw something glinting among the tiny pebbles heaped on the bottom.

She picked up the net and put it into the tank, handle first. She used the end of the bamboo to clear some of the pebbles and saw a brass button not much wider than the cane. She centered the handle over the button and pushed. The button depressed about half an inch, and the edge of the housing rubbed the cane where the faint mark was. Something clicked in the base of the tank, and a concealed compartment opened. Dinara pulled it wide.

“I’ve found something,” she said, peering inside.

Leonid hurried into the room as Dinara reached into the secret compartment that stretched the length and width of the tank. She pulled out a silver laptop and her mouth widened as she saw the sticker on the machine.

“What is it?” Leonid asked.

Dinara held the computer sideways so he could see the sticker. It said “Otkrov” and they both understood its significance immediately. It was short for otkroveniye, the Russian word for revelation. Otkrov was the pen name of Russia’s most notorious conspiracy blogger, a thorn in the Kremlin’s side and a source of alternative news and sensational stories for dissidents and malcontents all over the country. Such stickers were sold in vaping stores across Moscow and were popular with young rebels who wanted to stick it to the establishment, but there was something about the way this laptop had been hidden …

“Don’t even think it,” Leonid said. “She can’t have been. Look around you. Otkrov’s stories don’t come from a place like this.”

Dinara wasn’t so sure. “We should go. We need to find out what’s on this machine.”

CHAPTER 26

I WAS SITTING at the bar, drinking a highball. Mo-bot had gone to Private New York to make use of the tech systems that would help her open Karl’s computer. I knew she preferred to work without someone at her shoulder, so I’d returned to the Nomad, the hotel Jessie’s assistant had booked us into.

A middle-aged couple at a nearby table were having a conversation in hushed but strained tones. The woman looked as though she might cry. At the other end of the long counter, a couple of guys sat side by side, drinking beer wordlessly as they watched an NBA game on an iPad. The Library at the Nomad wasn’t a sports bar, but the Knicks were playing the Wizards, and the New Yorkers were running away with the game, so the barman cut the pair some slack and let them watch with the volume down. There weren’t many customers to complain about them lowering the tone of the grand drinking hole. The tables on the gallery level that ringed the bar were all empty, and only a couple of the booths that nestled among the high bookcases were occupied. If the bar was anything to go by, the hotel was experiencing a post-Christmas lull, but the quiet suited me. Free from distraction, I was thinking about what we’d discovered in Karl Parker’s secret basement. What had my friend been doing?

Karl had gone to great lengths to set up a trail designed specifically for me, which meant he didn’t want anyone else, not even Victoria, knowing his secret. I hoped my old friend hadn’t got caught up in anything illegal. I was already struggling with his loss and didn’t want to have to face anything that might tarnish my memories of him. I wanted to remember Karl as an honorable man who’d served his country with distinction, but the cache of false passports, weapons and money led me to suspect I was clinging to false hope.

“I know that face,” Justine said, sliding onto the stool beside me. “Something bothering you?”

She was a welcome sight. Truly the only person I wanted to be with at this moment.

“We found weapons, fake passports and foreign currency that might have belonged to Karl Parker,” I replied. “Not the sort of stuff the average CEO has lying around.”

Justine pursed her lips.

“Can I get you anything?” the barman asked.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she replied.

“One highball,” the barman said, before stepping away to prepare her drink.