The man did as instructed. After several starts and stops, the camera focused on two people, Jenkins and Kulikova hurrying into the square toward the fountain and eventually to the back side, where the fountain obscured them. “This is where they entered the tunnels, beneath this fountain.”
“Ramenki,” Sokalov said, referencing the underground city beneath Moscow State University.
“Do you have cameras in the underground?” Zhomov asked Ugolov.
“No,” Ugolov said. “We have tried, many times, but the Diggers destroy them and the motion sensors. We are working—”
Zhomov raised a hand. “Stop.” Ugolov did. Zhomov studied the map. The technician remained at the ready. Sokalov assumed that, like most people in Moscow, the technician had no real knowledge of the Moscow underground and certainly no information of its extent. To most Muscovites, the underground was more rumor than reality.
After a minute, Zhomov lowered the map and pointed over the technician’s shoulder. “We proceeded northeast for approximately one hour. A man generally walks five to six kilometers an hour.” Zhomov looked to be calculating in his head. “Draw me a line roughly four kilometers northeast of the fountain.” The technician typed on the keys and used the mouse, drawing a straight line that further along the map roughly intersected Gorky Park. Zhomov alternately studied the map and considered the live feed on the computer monitor. “Draw me another line northeast roughly three kilometers.” Again, the technician complied. Zhomov provided additional directions and the technician drew lines as instructed until Zhomov’s finger touched the screen for Zaryadye Park.
“Pull up the CCTV feeds from cameras in this area and along the streets surrounding it,” he said, drawing a circle on the map. “Go back one hour and have the cameras search for the photographs you have been provided. With few people on the street at that hour this should not take long, if my calculations are correct.”
Zhomov stepped back and the technician went to work. Zhomov motioned Sokalov over to one of the tables, where he set the map. “They climbed up a level to Metro-2,” he said, keeping his voice low and using a finger to draw lines on the map of the underground. “I was close, but a train came and they disappeared down a storm drain cover.” He pointed to a winding waterway.
“The Neglinnaya,” Sokalov said. “Could they have drowned?”
“Maybe,” Zhomov said. “The river empties into the Moskva River here, here, and here. It is also possible they survived and are in this general area. They will not ride public transportation because of the cameras. More likely they will walk or take a taxi. Kulikova will not return home. It is too risky. They will not go to a hotel because their clothes, wet and soiled, will draw too much attention. They need to go to a place that provides privacy. No cameras.”
As Zhomov spoke, Sokalov felt a sick burning in his stomach. The apartment he kept for his trysts with Kulikova was on Varsonof’yevskiy, within walking distance of the park. Kulikova also knew Sokalov had the camera on that street removed to provide secrecy. Revealing the existence of the apartment was not his concern, though. His concern was the contents of the apartment, what Zhomov would find upon entering it.
Zhomov stared at him, his eyes no doubt reading Sokalov’s facial expressions. “You know where she went?” Zhomov asked.
Sokalov nodded. “If she exited at the park then yes. Most likely to an apartment, but, Alexander, there are things in that apartment—”
“I don’t give a shit about what you may have done there, Dmitry, or about any of your prurient interests. That is your business. You are paying me to do mine. Where did she go?”
“An apartment on Varsonof’yevskiy.”
“Give me the address. Then stay here. Call me if and when they are spotted on the cameras.”
28
Varsonof’yevskiy Pereulok
Moscow, Russia
Kulikova punched in an access code on the keypad mounted to the right of the thick wooden exterior door. The entrance to the apartment building was beneath a small iron pergola. The buildings on this block were high-end, built before the rise of communism and its cheap, box-shaped, uniform construction. Each had a stone fa?ade with ornamental details—sconces, alcoves, small balconies surrounded by wrought iron, and modern, white vinyl windows. At this hour of the morning, the sidewalks were devoid of people and only a few cars passed on the streets. A man walked a dog on a leash in a small park surrounded by a six-foot fence, a place to take children to get outdoors and for a dog to relieve itself.