“Meaning that the wife did not just happen to return home, and the Virginia police did not just happen to be in the area before General Pasternak’s men could abort and flee.”
Sokalov knew what Lebedev was suggesting and what the rat bastard was attempting to do. He was looking to place blame on anyone but himself, likely Pasternak.
“I am suggesting that perhaps the Americans intended this to appear to be a coincidence in order to protect a high-level mole within Lubyanka who leaked the information.” Lebedev shifted his girth and looked directly at Sokalov.
Sokalov, initially surprised, took several moments to gather himself. He fumed. “If your suggestion is intended to implicate me, need I remind the deputy director that the president and I go back a very long way, to childhood in fact, that we have been friends for more than sixty years. So please, do not be discreet. Take your implication directly to the president and see how far it goes.”
Lebedev smiled like the cat who had caught his prey. “You are too defensive, Dmitry.” The use of Sokalov’s first name, a sign of disrespect, was purposeful and did not go unnoticed. “I did not intend to implicate you. There was someone else from your office in our most recent meeting. Someone from your directorate whose presence you insisted upon, despite my objections. A woman, in power, over the age of sixty.”
Sokalov fought against overreacting. “I will have you know . . . Gavril, that Maria Kulikova has worked for me for nearly four decades. Her parents were proud and prominent Communist Party members, and she has been vetted on a number of occasions with no findings of even the smallest stitch of impropriety.”
“Perhaps you are . . . too close to Ms. Kulikova to be objective? Is it not your task force’s job to interrogate Russian women over sixty years of age and in positions of power? And yet, she has not yet been interrogated.”
Sokalov sought another way to defend and deflect. “Your comment is not only offensive to Ms. Kulikova and to me, it is an offense to my wife, Olga, and to her father, General Portnov.” Sokalov did not like his father-in-law, but he was not averse to playing that card when it was to his benefit.
“We all know your father-in-law,” Lebedev said, but with a tone of caution. “I’m asking why Ms. Kulikova has not yet been questioned by your task force.”
“Perhaps you would like to bring something to his attention?”
“If you are through stabbing each other in the back, put your daggers away,” Petrov said. “We have more important matters to deal with. General, I want a full update as soon as you have it. Dmitry, as charming as I find Ms. Kulikova, you will undertake an internal investigation to ensure nothing untoward has occurred.” He sighed. “I have the unenviable task of breaking the news to the president. But let me make myself very clear, gentlemen. A head . . . or heads . . . will roll. And it will not be mine. I would suggest that you get busy finding the president an alternative he can use to save face if you wish to keep your heads attached to your bodies.”
14
Do or Dye Beauty Salon
Moscow, Russia
Jenkins led Petrekova down the narrow staircase to the cramped storage room. Upstairs, Sergei increased the volume of the music. Jenkins turned a dial on what appeared to be an old-fashioned radio on a shelf. It emitted white noise.
“I did not pick up on a tail this afternoon,” Petrekova said, speaking Russian.
“A young woman waiting by the Metro stairs. She followed you this morning on the platform, though she changed her appearance this afternoon. Shorts, a T-shirt, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Black-framed glasses.”
“I spotted the woman this morning at the train, as well as a man. The woman got off the train two stops early.” Petrekova wrapped an arm around her waist. In the basement she had dropped her guard. She looked and sounded frightened. “I have gone back over everything I have done the past six months. I can think of nothing to warrant this attention.”
“When did you first notice that you were being followed?”
“Four days ago I picked up on the tail as I commuted to work. I was not certain, but I saw the same man that afternoon when I left the office. He communicated by cell phone to a woman, the same one as this morning. I did this for several days to be certain before I sent word to my handler.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Jenkins explained the president’s authorization of Operation Herod.
“He’s gone from a rifle to a shotgun then,” Petrekova said.
“I’m afraid so.”