Alexei Romanov and Stefan Ivanitsky accompanied Jackson through the open door. Jackson and the young Romanov followed the butler down a long marble corridor, while Ivanitsky remained standing by the entrance. Jackson would have liked to stop and admire the paintings and statues that would have graced any museum in the world, but the steady pace of the butler did not allow it. The butler stopped when he reached two white doors at the end of the corridor that stretched almost to the ceiling. He knocked, opened one of the doors, and stood aside to allow Jackson to enter.
‘Mr Jackson,’ he announced, and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Jackson stepped into a vast, lavishly furnished drawing room. The floor was covered by a single carpet a Turk would have traded his life for. From a Louis XIV winged chair of red velvet rose an elderly man in a blue pin-striped suit. His hair was silver, and the pallor of his skin suggested that he had suffered a long illness. His thin body was slightly stooped as he took a step forward to shake hands with his guest.
‘It is kind of you to come all this way to see me, Mr Jackson,’ he said. ‘You must forgive me, but my English is a little rusty. I was forced to leave Oxford in 1939, soon after the war broke out, although I was only in my second year. You see, the British never really trusted the Russians, even though we were later to become allies.’ He smiled sweetly. ‘I’m sure they show much the same attitude when dealing with the Americans.’
Jackson wasn’t sure how to react.
‘Do have a seat, Mr Jackson,’ said the old man, gesturing towards the twin of the chair he had been sitting in.
‘Thank you,’ said Jackson. They were the first words he had spoken since leaving the hotel.
‘Now, Mr Jackson,’ said Romanov, lowering himself slowly into his chair, ‘if I ask you a question, be sure to answer it accurately. If you are in any doubt, take your time before replying. Because should you decide to lie to me - how shall I put it? - you will find that it’s not only this meeting that will be terminated.’
Jackson would have walked out there and then, but he knew that the old
man was probably the one person on earth who could get Connor out of the Crucifix prison alive. He gave a curt nod to show that he understood.
‘Good,’ said Romanov. ‘And now I should like to learn a little more about you, Mr Jackson. I can tell at a glance that you work for a law enforcement agency, and as you are in my country’ - he emphasised the word my - ‘I assume it has to be the CIA rather than the FBI. Am I right?’
‘I worked for the CIA for twenty-eight years, until quite recently when I was - replaced.’ Jackson chose his words carefully.
‘It’s against the rules of nature to have a woman as your boss,’ commented Romanov, without even the suggestion of a smile. ‘The organisation I control would never indulge in such stupidity.’
The old man leant across to a table on his left and picked up a small glass full of a colourless liquid that Jackson hadn’t noticed until that moment. He took a sip, and replaced the glass on the table before asking his next question.
‘Are you currently working for another law enforcement agency?’
‘No,’ said Jackson firmly.
‘So you have gone freelance?’ suggested the old man.
Jackson didn’t reply.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘From your silence I am bound to deduce that you are not the only person who doesn’t trust Helen Dexter.’
Again Jackson said nothing. But he was quickly learning why it wouldn’t pay to lie to Romanov.
‘Why did you want to see me, Mr Jackson?’
Jackson suspected that the old man knew exactly why, but played along with the charade. ‘I came on behalf of a friend of mine who, because of my stupidity, has been arrested and is currently locked up in the Crucifix Prison.’
‘An establishment that isn’t known for its humanitarian record, especially when it comes to considering appeals or granting parole.’
Jackson nodded his agreement.
‘I am aware that it was not your friend who was responsible for informing the press that my organisation had offered him a million dollars to remove Zerimski from the presidential race. Had that been the case, he would have been found hanging in his cell long before now. No, I suspect that the person peddling that particular piece of misinformation,’ Romanov continued, ‘is one of Helen Dexter’s minions. If only you had come to me a little earlier, Mr Jackson, I could have warned you about Mitchell.’ He took another sip from his glass and added, ‘One of the few of your countrymen I would consider recruiting into my organisation. I see you are surprised by the extent of my knowledge.’
Jackson thought he hadn’t moved a muscle.
‘Mr Jackson, surely you wouldn’t be shocked to learn that I have my own people well placed in the upper echelons of both the CIA and the FBI?’ The thin smile returned to his face. ‘And if I thought it would prove useful, I would also have someone working for me in the White House. But as President Lawrence will reveal anything he is asked at his weekly news conference, it’s hardly necessary. Which leads on to my next question. Your friend works for the CIA?’
Jackson didn’t reply.
‘Ah, I see. Just as I thought. Well, I think he can be confident that Helen Dexter will not be riding to his rescue on this occasion.’
Jackson still said nothing.