Moscow Blue. Philip Kurland
He felt on safer ground now.
Burov paused his smoking, considering. ‘Perhaps you should see this.’
The inspector leant over his desk and reached into a drawer. ‘This is Kolyunov’s little book that you mentioned.’ He flicked through a few pages. ‘And here’s the entry which concerns you.’
A heavily nicotine-stained finger pointed with a smoker’s tremor. Crocker was suddenly excited, but having seen the entry for himself felt even more concerned. It was clearly his name, with a big black cross against it, scrawled in a strong, perhaps impatient, hand. He scanned the writing twice. Was the notebook genuine? And was the writing Kolyunov’s? Crocker had a fertile mind, and these questions came to him in a flash. Nonetheless it was still distinctly alarming seeing his name like that, allegedly written by a murdered man.
‘We checked out both you and your company,’ Burov was saying. ‘‘It was easy to tie up your visa number and your arrival in Russia. And as the victim was a high-ranking government official, it was natural that the police should look into the matter with some urgency. But I wouldn’t worry about being connected with him; I’m sure there’s nothing in it for you to be concerned.’
‘And that number at the end of the line, Inspector,’ asked Crocker, pointing to a row of characters adjacent to his name. ‘What’s the significance of that?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know yet. We’re still making enquiries.’
The Russian replaced the book and slammed the drawer shut. His hair began to fall back onto his face.
‘May I contact you again if I discover anything of interest concerning my brother, Inspector?’ asked Crocker, closing his coat.
‘But of course, Mr Crocker. I would expect you to. For a trader, you seem to be heavily involved in death.’
‘And when can I claim my brother’s body for burial?’
‘Good question. I don’t know the answer right at this minute, but I’ll enquire. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was some time before the state is prepared to release it, especially in a murder case. But I’ll let you know.’
‘I intend to get to the bottom of both murders, Inspector.’
Burov tidied back his hair as he opened the door for his visitor. ‘Be careful, Mr Crocker. Be careful.’
- o -
‘What do you think of our ex-KGB President?’ asked the licensed taxi driver as they headed back towards the centre of Moscow.
‘How about that?’ responded Crocker, not wishing to become involved in internal politics with someone he didn’t know. Having to suffer taxi drivers practising their English was a bore, but as a captive audience, he knew he had to tolerate it for as long as the driver had need. There were more important things on his mind.
‘No more the old USSR,’ continued the Russian, shouting at the windscreen.
‘That’s a pity,’ said Crocker. ‘Now there are fifteen republics to deal with instead of just one.’
Although he said it glibly, this was a real problem for Crocker’s company and the beginning of its financial difficulties. It had been hard enough dealing with one set of established contacts in Moscow. But now the bureaucratic and logistical nightmares multiplied fifteen times, with new and volatile governments, made life very difficult for the company. But this was no concern of the taxi driver.
‘Is that not good for you, mister?’ the driver insisted.
‘Probably not,’ replied Crocker, trying to sound unconcerned, ‘but we’ll just have to wait and see.’
‘Say, Mister. Do you have dollars?’
‘Yes,’ said Crocker, knowing exactly what was coming.
‘You know roubles are, maybe, ten for a dollar?’
‘Yes.’ Crocker tried hard not to sound too uninterested.
‘Well, I can give you twenty roubles for a dollar; special deal, Mister.’
‘No thanks,’ said Crocker, not wanting to break the strict currency laws by falling into a possible trap, commonly set for foreigners.
‘You need roubles, Mister. I can give you twenty-five for a dollar.’
‘I already have my roubles. Thanks anyway. Perhaps next time.’
Business over, the rest of the journey to Crocker’s office was made in comparative silence.
Crocker had barely settled himself behind his desk when the phone rang.
‘This is Burov, Mr Crocker. You remember me of course.’ He didn’t wait for Crocker to laugh at his Russian humour. ‘I’m not sure of the relevance in this case yet, but just after you left we were advised of something you may find of interest. That entry in Kolyunov’s book you asked about. The number. It was one of the reference codes used by Kolyunov’s department and relates to a folder in their “Moscow” area filing system, in what they call the “blue” section. That’s one of the dead, archived financial sections. The “Moscow” area concerns only ministerial matters. It was among several others regarding some financial transactions with Egypt.’
‘Did you say, Egypt, Inspector?’
‘Yes. That’s right, Egypt.’
Crocker’s jaw dropped.
11
London, 10 January
‘Good to hear you, Gerry,’ said Crocker. The combined effects of caffeine and adrenaline were beginning to shoot through his system and for a seasoned trader he felt absurdly flushed at the prospect of this deal.
‘I’m here with Mark as you asked,’ said Gerry in his loud, penetrating voice. ‘Calling from the Langham Hotel in London’s West End. Never had to bring my big brother before. I hope whatever it is at least pays for his airfare. You know what I’m saying?’
‘See you in the lobby in half an hour?’ Crocker suggested, ignoring his colleague’s comment.
Crocker’s pulse raced as the taxi crossed Berkeley Square.
The Weinbergs were waiting, and after handshakes, greetings and the passing on of good wishes from mutual friends, Crocker ordered coffee as they sat in a quiet corner of the lounge.
‘Before we start with your news, Lee,’ said Gerry, looking serious, ‘I thought you should know that Citibank are not too happy with us. Especially after the news of your brother.’
Crocker’s hands were suddenly cold.
‘Our receivables are mounting to over five million dollars, and we’re onto that. But we’re not doing too well on new deals. We need some cash flow. Basically, the Moscow side is pulling us all down.’
‘And?’ queried Crocker.
‘I went to see them downtown the other day,’ started Gerry, ‘and they said they’ll hold on a for few more months, but they expect to see something happening real soon.’
Crocker’s lean face sagged. He hated this aspect of commerce.
‘Sorry to drop this on you as I know you’re doing your best over there on your own without Paul.’
‘Well thanks, Gerry, for that news. I didn’t need it right now.’
He stared at Gerry as he drank his coffee. After a few seconds, when the unwelcome facts had been digested, he put on his bravest face.
‘So,’ he started, ‘let me tell you my news, which brought you two here, and could be the answer to your news.’
Simply