The Eleventh Commandment

The taxi stopped outside Jackson’s hotel. He paid the fare and ran inside. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, he leapt up the stairs until he reached the first floor and then sprinted down the corridor to Room 132. Sergei had only just caught up with him by the time he had turned the key and opened the door.

The young Russian sat on the floor in the corner of the room and listened to one half of a conversation Jackson had with someone called Lloyd. When he eventually put the phone down, Jackson was white and trembling with rage.

Sergei spoke for the first time since they had left the square: ‘Maybe it’s time I called one of my mother’s customers.’

‘Congratulations,’ said Dexter the moment Gutenburg entered her office. The Deputy Director smiled as he took the seat opposite his boss and placed a folder on her desk.

‘I’ve just been watching the headlines on ABC and CBS,’ she said. ‘They’ve both run with Symonds’ version of what took place in Freedom Square. Is there any feel yet as to how big the press are going to play the story tomorrow?’

‘They’re already losing interest. Not a shot was fired, not even a punch was thrown, and the suspect turned out to be unarmed. And no one’s suggesting that the man they’ve arrested might be an American. By this time tomorrow, the story will only be making the front pages in Russia.’

‘How are we responding to any press enquiries?’

‘We’re saying that it’s an internal problem for the Russians, and that in St Petersburg hired gunmen come cheaper than a decent wristwatch. I tell them they only have to read Time’s piece on the Russian Godfather last month to appreciate the problems they’re facing. If they push me, I point them in the direction of Colombia. If they keep on pushing, I throw in South Africa. That gives them several column inches to feed their hungry editors.’

‘Did any of the networks show footage of Fitzgerald after he’d been arrested?’

‘Only the back of his head, and even then he was surrounded by police. Otherwise you can be sure they’d have run it over and over.’

‘What chance is there of him appearing in public and making a statement that would compromise us, and that the press might follow up?’

‘Virtually none. If they ever do hold a trial, the foreign press will certainly be excluded. And if Zerimski’s elected, Fitzgerald will never set foot outside the Crucifix again.’

‘Have you prepared a report for Lawrence?’ asked Dexter. ‘Because you can be sure he’ll be trying to make two and two equal six.’

Gutenburg leant forward and tapped the file he had placed on the Director’s desk.

She flicked it open and began reading, showing no sign of emotion as she turned the pages. When she reached the end, she closed the file and allowed a flicker of a smile to cross her face before passing it back across the table.

‘See that it’s signed in your name and sent over to the White House immediately,’ she said. ‘Because whatever doubts the President may have at this moment, if Zerimski becomes President, he will never want to refer to the subject again.’

Gutenburg nodded his agreement.

Helen Dexter looked across the desk at her deputy. ‘It’s a pity we had to sacrifice Fitzgerald,’ she said. ‘But if it helps to get Zerimski elected, it will have served a double purpose. Lawrence’s Arms Reduction Bill will be rejected by Congress, and the CIA will have far less interference from the White House.’

Connor swung his legs off the bunk, placed his bare feet on the stone floor and faced his visitor. The Chief took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke high into the air. ‘Filthy habit,’ he said, in flawless English. ‘My wife never stops telling me to give it up.’

Connor showed no emotion.

‘My name is Vladimir Bolchenkov. I am the Chief of Police of this city, and I thought we might have a little chat before we think about putting anything on the record.’

‘My name is Piet de Villiers. I am a South African citizen working for the Johannesburg Journal, and I wish to see my Ambassador.’

‘Now there’s my first problem,’ said Bolchenkov, the c

igarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. ‘You see, I don’t believe your name is Piet de Villiers, I’m fairly sure you’re not South African, and I know for certain that you don’t work for the Johannesburg Journal, because there’s no such paper. And just so we don’t waste too much of each other’s time, I have it on the highest authority that you were not hired by the Mafya. Now, I admit that I don’t yet know who you are, or even which country you come from. But whoever it is that sent you has, to use a modern colloquialism, dropped you in deep shit. And, if I may say so, from a very great height.’

Connor didn’t even blink.

‘But I can assure you that they are not going to do the same thing to me. So if you feel unable to assist with my enquiries, there is nothing I can do except leave you here to rot, while I continue to bask in the glory that is currently being undeservedly heaped upon me.’

Connor still didn’t react.

‘I see that I’m not getting through to you,’ said the Chief. ‘I feel it’s my duty to point out that this isn’t Colombia, and that I will not be switching my allegiance according to who I’ve spoken to most recently, or who offers me the thickest wad of dollars.’ He paused and drew on his cigarette again before adding, ‘I suspect that’s one of the many things we have in common.’

He turned and began walking towards the cell door, then stopped. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over. But if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t wait too long.’

He banged on the door. ‘Let me assure you, whoever you are,’ he added as the door was opened, ‘there will be no thumbscrews, no rack, or any other, more sophisticated forms of torment while I’m St Petersburg’s Chief of Police. I don’t believe in torture; it’s not my style. But I cannot promise you everything will be quite so friendly if Victor Zerimski is elected as our next President.’