Moscow Rules

She drank some of the wine. At the front entrance, Stalin was negotiating with two male customers over a table. One of them had been at the cemetery. Olga seemed not to notice.

“Like all the children of Party elite, he was automatically granted a place at an elite university. In Ivan’s case, it was Moscow State. After graduation, he was admitted directly into the ranks of the KGB. Despitehis fluency in English and German, he was not deemed suitable material for a life as a foreign spy, so he was assigned to the Fifth Main Directorate. Do you know about the Fifth Main Directorate, Mr. Golani?”

“It was responsible for internal security functions: border control, dissidents, artists and writers.”

“Don’t forget the refuseniks, Mr. Golani. The Fifth Directorate was also responsible for persecuting Jews. Rumor has it Ivan was very diligent in that regard.”

Stalin was now seating the two men at a table near the center of the restaurant, well out of earshot.

“Ivan benefited from the magic hand of his famous father and was promoted rapidly through the ranks of the directorate. Then came Gorbachev and glasnost and perestroika, and overnight everything in our country changed. The Party loosened the reins on central pla

“Ivan Kharkov.”

She raised her glass in salutation to his correct answer. “With the blessing of his masters at Lubyanka, Ivan was allowed to leave the KGB and start a bank. He was given a single dank room in an old Moscow office building, a telephone, and an American-made personal computer,something most of us had never seen. Once again, the magic hand was laid upon Ivan’s shoulder and within months his new bank was raking in millions of dollars in profit, almost all of it due to State business. Then the Soviet Union crumbled, and we entered the roaring nineties period of gangster capitalism, shock therapy, and instant privatization. When the State-owned enterprises of the Soviet Union were auctioned off to the highest bidder, Ivan gobbled up some of the most lucrative assets and factories. When Moscow real estate could be purchased for a song and a promise, Ivan snatched up some of the gems. During the period of hyperinflation, Ivan and his patrons at Lubyanka Square made fortunes in currency speculation-fortunes that inevitably found their way into secret bank accounts in Zurich and Geneva. Ivan never had any illusions about the reason for his astonishing success. He had been helped by the magic hand of the KGB, and he was very good at keeping the magic hand filled with money.”

A waiter appeared and began laying small dishes of Georgian appetizers on the table. Olga explained the contents of each; then, when the waiter was gone, she resumed her lecture.

“One of the State assets Ivan scooped up in the early nineties was a fleet of cargo planes and container vessels. They didn’t cost him much, since at the time most of the planes were sinking into the ground at airfields around the country and the ships were turning to rust in dry dock. Ivan bought the facilities and the perso

“Russian weapons,” said Gabriel.

Olga nodded. “And not just AK-47s and RPG-7s, though they are a substantial part of his operation. Ivan deals in the big-ticket items, too: tanks, antiaircraft batteries, attack helicopters, even the occasional frigate or out-of-date MiG. He hides now behind a respectable veneer as one of Moscow ’s most prominent real estate developers and investors. He owns a palace in Knightsbridge, a villa in the South of France, and the chalet in Courchevel. He buys paintings, antique furniture, and even a share of an English football team. He’s a regular at Kremlin functions and is very close to the president and the siloviki. But beneath it all, he’s nothing but a gunru

“If we’re going to find out whether Ivan has really made a deal with al-Qaeda, we have to get inside his network. And to get inside Ivan’s network, we need the name of your original source.”

“You can’t have it, Mr. Golani. Two people are already dead. I’m afraid the matter is closed.” She looked down at her menu. “We should eat something, Mr. Golani. It’s better if the FSB thinks we’re actually hungry.”

For the remainder of di

She turned up the radio very loud and embraced him without passion. “Would you be so kind as to see me to my door, Mr. Golani? I’m afraid my building isn’t as safe as it once was.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“It’s not far from here. Ten minutes at most. There’s a Metro stop nearby. You can-”

Gabriel placed a finger to her lips and told her to drive.

16 MOSCOW

It is said that Moscow is not truly a city but a collection of villages. This was one of them, thought Gabriel, as he walked at Olga’s side. And it was a village with serious problems. Here a band of alcoholics swilling beer and tots of vodka. Here a pack of drug addicts sharing a pipe and a tube of glue. Here a squadron of skateboard punks terrorizing a trio of old babushkas out for an evening stroll. Presiding over it all was an immense portrait of the Russian president with his arm raised in the fashion of Lenin. Across the top, in red lettering, was the Party’s ubiquitous slogan: FORWARD AS ONE!

Her building was known as K-9, but the local English-speaking wits called it the House of Dogs. Built in the footprint of an H, it had thirty-two floors, six entrances, and a large transmission tower on the roof with blinking red warning lights. An identical twin stood on one side, an ugly stepsister on the other. It was not a home, thought Gabriel, but a storage facility for people.

“Which doorway is yours?”

"Entrance C.”

“Pick another.”

"But I always go through C.”

“That’s why I want you to pick another.”

They entered through a doorway marked B and struck out down a long corridor with a cracked linoleum floor. Every other light was out, and from behind the closed doors came the sounds and odors of too many people living too closely together. Arriving at the elevators, Olga stabbed at the call button and gazed at the ceiling. A minute elapsed. Then another.