"Trust me. Take it." He handed it to Dana, paid the man, and they left.
"Would you like to see a Moscow nightclub?" Tim Drew asked.
"Sounds interesting."
"Great. Let's go."
The Night Flight Club on Tverskaya Street was lavish and ornate and crowded with well-dressed Russians dining, drinking, and dancing.
"There doesn't seem to be any economic problem here," Dana commented.
"No. They keep the beggars outside on the street."
At two o'clock in the morning, Dana returned to her hotel, exhausted. It had been a long day. A woman was seated at a table in the hallway, keeping a record of the movements of the guests.
When Dana got to her room, she looked out the window. She had a picture-postcard view of soft snow falling in the moonlight.
Tomorrow, Dana thought determinedly, I'll know what I've come here for.
The noise from the jet overhead was so loud it sounded like the plane might hit the building. The man quickly rose from his desk, snatched up a pair of binoculars, and stepped to the window. The tail of the receding aircraft was rapidly descending as it prepared to land at the small airport a half mile away. Except for the runways, everything in the stark landscape was covered with snow as far as his eyes could see. It was winter and this was Siberia.
"So," he said to his assistant, "the Chinese are the first to arrive." His comment did not call for a reply. "I am told that our friend Ling Wong will not be back. When he returned from our last meeting empty-handed, it was not a happy homecoming for him. Very sad. He was a decent man."
At that moment, a second jet roared overhead. He did not recognize the make. After it had landed, he trained his high-powered glasses on the men descending from the cabin onto the tarmac. Some of them made no effort to hide the machine pistols they were carrying.
"The Palestinians are here."
Another jet roared overhead. Still twelve to go, he thought. When we start negotiations tomorrow, it will be the biggest auction yet. Nothing must go wrong.
He turned again to his assistant. "Take a memo."
CONFIDENTIAL MEMO TO ALL OPERATION PERSONNEL: DESTROY IMMEDIATELY AFTER READING.
CONTINUE CLOSE SURVEILLANCE ON SUBJECT TARGET. REPORT ACTIVITIES AND STAND BY FOR HER POSSIBLE ELIMINATION.
Chapter Twenty
WHENDANA AWAKENED, she telephoned Tim Drew.
"Have you heard any more from Ambassador Hardy?" he asked.
"No. I think I offended him. Tim, I need to talk to you."
"All right. Grab a cab and meet me at the Boyrsky Club at one-fourth Treatrilny Proyez Street."
"Where? I'll never - "
"The cabbie will know. Take one that's beat-up."
"Right."
Dana stepped outside the hotel into a freezing, screaming wind. She was glad she was wearing her new red woolen coat. A sign on a building across the street informed her it was -29 degrees Centigrade. My God, she thought. In Fahrenheit, that's about 20 below zero.
There was a shiny new taxi in front of the hotel. Dana stepped back and waited until a passenger got into it. The next taxi looked old. Dana took it. The driver looked at her inquiringly in the rearview mirror.
Dana said carefully, "I want to go to one-quarter Teat - " She hesitated. " - rilny - " She took a deep breath. " - Proyez - "
The driver said impatiently, "You want the Boyrsky Club?"
"Da."
They took off. They drove along avenues heavy with motor traffic and forlorn pedestrians hurrying along the frozen streets. The city seemed overlaid with a dull, gray patina. And it isn't just the weather, Dana thought.
The Boyrsky Club turned out to be modern and comfortable, with leather chairs and couches. Tim Drew was in a chair near the window waiting for her.
"I see you found it all right."
Dana took a seat. "The cabdriver spoke English."
"You're lucky. Some of them don't even speak Russian, they come from so many different distant provinces. It's amazing that this country can function at all. It reminds me of a dying dinosaur. Do you know how big Russia is?"
"Not exactly."
"It's almost twice as big as the United States. It has thirteen time zones and borders on fourteen countries. Fourteen countries. "
"That's amazing," Dana said. "Tim, I want to talk to some Russians who had dealings with Taylor Winthrop."
"That includes about everybody in the Russian government."
Dana said, "I know. But there must have been some Russians he was closer to than others. The president - "
"Perhaps someone a little lower in rank," Tim Drew said dryly. "I would say that of all the people he dealt with, he was probably closest to Sasha Shdanoff."
"Who is Sasha Shdanoff?"
"He's the commissar of the Bureau for International Economic Development. I believe Winthrop saw him socially as well as officially." He looked at Dana closely. "What are you after, Dana?"
"I'm not sure," she said honestly. "I'm not sure."
The Bureau for International Economic Development was an enormous redbrick building on Ozernaya Street, taking up a full block. Inside the main entrance, two uniformed Russian policemen stood by the door, and a third uniformed guard sat behind a desk.
Dana walked up to the desk. The guard looked up.
"Dobry dyen,"Dana said.
"Zdrastvuytye. Ne - "
Dana stopped him. "Excuse me. I'm here to see Commissar Shdanoff. I'm Dana Evans. I'm with the Washington Tribune Network."
The guard looked at a sheet in front of him and shook his head. "Do you have an appointment?"