I dialed Justine’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. It was just gone eleven in Moscow, which meant it was a little after 4 a.m. in New York. I left a message, letting her know I was OK and asking her to call. I also tried the New York office in case Mo-bot or anyone else was working through the night. I got the company message service and left one for Jessie.
“I spoke to Miss Fleming yesterday,” Dinara said after I’d hung up. “I let her know what happened. She was worried about you, but I was able to put her mind at rest.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Any leads from yesterday? I saw the killer get into a van which went down the alley toward Federation House. It turned right onto the street that runs to the river.”
Leonid shook his head. “Federation House is even more secure than the Pentagon. They have surveillance everywhere. There are two government cameras in the alleyway behind Fisher’s building, but when I made a request, they said they have no footage of the incident.”
“Without evidence, it’s going to be difficult to prove what you saw,” Dinara said.
“And it’s clear there are people who don’t want you on the street,” Leonid remarked.
“The Otkrov article?” I guessed.
Leonid nodded.
“What’s your read on that?” I asked. “Has there always been another writer? Or was the blog hacked?”
“Hacked would be my assessment,” Dinara replied. “The writing style is different to any of Otkrov’s previous posts. Whoever did it must know Otkrov is dead and won’t take down the post or interfere with the fake news.”
“Which means our investigations might be connected,” I observed.
“Possibly,” Dinara conceded.
“Feels like FSB,” Leonid said. “Dirty sneaks with some big plot, trying to control what people think.” He glanced at Dinara. “No offence.”
“Of course,” she replied generously. “I’m no longer FSB, and even if I was, do you think the opinion of an unimaginative beat cop would have mattered to me?”
“Beat cop?” Leonid scoffed.
“Whoever is behind these murders, it’s clear you’ve made powerful enemies, Jack, so we’re going to take steps to keep you safe,” Dinara said.
“How?” I asked.
Leonid glanced in the rear-view mirror and gave me a wry smile. “We’re taking you somewhere even the FSB wouldn’t dare go.”
CHAPTER 48
WE DROVE FOR an hour, passing through the city center and out east to a place called the Kuzminki District. We’d driven through areas of wealth and plenty where high modern apartment blocks mixed with classical villas, but Kuzminki was a blue-collar neighborhood with dormitory blocks inhabited by working Russians. We turned off a six-lane overpass and drove under the busy highway. A group of teenagers were racing mini-bikes in the space beneath the overpass. We crossed a major slip road and went up a tree-lined street, past a large red church with a golden dome, which dazzled in the crisp January sunlight.
“This is Kuzminki,” Dinara explained. “It was where the Soviet government housed people it considered undesirable. If the Central Committee didn’t like you, this is where you lived.”
“Here or the gulag,” Leonid added.
We drove past huge estates of high-rise apartment blocks, some dating from the Soviet era, others more recent, and no more than ten minutes from the highway we turned north onto a service street that ran between two sprawling estates. A group of young men stood in a clearing in the snow, huddled around an oil-drum fire. They eyed us as we drove by. Up ahead, beyond the gardens that lay behind the tower blocks, the road was cut short by a gate, and next to it was a small hut. A grim-faced man in a heavy black coat emerged as the old SUV rattled to a halt. When Leonid wound down the window, the guy smiled warmly.
“Leonid Boykov!” he exclaimed.
The rest of what he said was lost on me as he and Leonid conversed in Russian. The tone was light-hearted and friendly and I got the impression these men knew each other well.
“Welcome, welcome,” the man said to me as he raised the gate.
“That was Evgeniy Ertel. He used to be a captain in the riot police,” Leonid said as he drove on. “Tough as army boot leather,” he added as we turned into a large parking lot full of vehicles.
Beyond it stood a huge two-story concrete building that dominated the heart of a ten-acre lot. It looked like an old school or hospital. A handful of men and women gathered outside the main entrance, smoking cigarettes.
“This is your new home,” Leonid said. “Well, our new home.”
Dinara replied in Russian.