M
cGarvey spent the afternoon in the lobby of the Metropol Hotel sipping mineral water and scouring a dozen of the newspapers and news magazines published in Moscow for anything pertaining to Tarankov.
As he suspected there was plenty of coverage about President Yeltsin's heart attack, but none of the articles offered any speculation on the real cause of his death. No one was making a connection between the attack on the Riga nuclear power station in the Moscow suburb of Dzerzhinskiy and the bomb blast in Red Square. Nor did any of the articles on the power plant explosion mention Tarankov's name. In fact most of the articles reported that the attack had been staged by so far unknown terrorists or dissidents, who possibly were disgruntled workers at the plant.
Russia's capacity for self-inflicted delusions was almost as great as the nation's capacity for suffering. If you're hungry read a cookbook. But read it alone, because your neighbors might see it and want to come to your house for a meal.
Novy Mir
, the magazine that had serialized Solzhenitsyn's
Gulag Archipelago
, however, reported, in a two paragraph piece buried in the middle under a column headed “Upheavals,” that General Yevgenni Tarankov gave a speech recently in Dzerzhinskiy, and was scheduled to speak again tomorrow in Nizhny Novgorod, a city about three hundred miles east of Moscow that under the Soviet rule had been renamed Gorki.
It was Russian doublespeak. Anyone in the know reading the article would immediately understand that the magazine suspected the attack on the Riga power plant had been staged by Tarankov. By reporting his next speaking engagement, the magazine was practically daring the government to do something about it.
Considering the liberties that Russian journalists had been taking for nearly ten years, the lack of coverage Tarankov was getting bespoke the seriousness with which his campaign was being taken. Everyone in Moscow was frightened to death that if and when Tarankov took over he would purge every newspaper or magazine that had given him bad press.
McGarvey's guide book provided the information that the most convenient train to Nizhny Novgorad left at 11:10 P.M. from the Yaroslavl Station arriving overnight just before 7:30 A.M. But taking the train presented two immediate problems. The first was that going there just now as a foreigner would be dangerous. If Tarankov's people were as well organized as McGarvey thought they must be, the airport and train stations would probably be monitored for any suspicious people. He did not want to blow his Belgian cover yet. It would provide a solid track that would mysteriously disappear should the need arise.
The second problem was his hotel room. In Russia if you checked out of your hotel you had only two choices. You either checked into another hotel or you left the city.
In one of the newspapers he'd read an article about the prostitution rings that operated out of several of the hotels in Moscow, using women from the former East Germany and Poland. The Metropol was not one of them, but McGarvey circled several of the hotel names in the article, underlining one of them several times as if for emphasis. His bellman Artur had gone through his things. Nothing was missing yet, but he would be sure to see the newspaper with the circled articles and believe that McGarvey hadn't simply abandoned his room.
Leaving everything behind except for his money, his gun and the clothes on his back, he emerged from the hotel a few minutes before 5:00 P.M., the afternoon dusk already deepening in the still falling and blowing snow. Two blocks away he found a cab to take him out to the flea market at the Dinamo
Stadium beyond the outer ring road near the Frunze Central Airfield. The going was difficult but the driver didn't seem to mind. He kept slyly looking at McGarvey's image in the rearview mirror.
The stadium's parking lot was huge. Despite the horrible weather hundreds of entrepreneurs sold everything from Kalashnikov rifles to western currencies from stalls, or from the backs of their cars or trucks. Barrels filled with burning trash or oily rags lent a surreal air to the place. Perhaps a thousand people wandered from stall to stall. Some huddled around the wind-whipped flames. Still others, many of them well dressed and accompanied by armed men, lugged their purchases back to Mercedes and BMWs parked at the fringes, and guarded by other armed men.
“This is not such an easy place,” his driver said pulling up. “Maybe you could use some help.”
McGarvey held up a British hundred-pound note. “I collect military uniforms. Identity cards. Leave orders, pay books. That sort of thing.”
“I know a guy who has that stuff,” the cabby said, reaching for the money. But McGarvey pulled it back.
“I don't want any trouble. I want to buy a few things, and then I want you to bring me back downtown to the same place you picked me up.”
“You need some muscle. Five hundred pounds.”
“A hundred now and another hundred when we get back to the city.”
“I don't want any bullshit,” the driver protested as he reached for something in his jacket.
McGarvey pulled out his pistol, jammed the barrel into the man's thick neck, and pulled the hammer back. “
Don't fuck with me, I'm not in the mood
,” he said in guttural Russian.
The driver froze, his eyes on McGarvey's in the rearview mirror.
“You can either make an easy two hundred pounds, or you can try to take everything I have.”
The cabby shrugged and laughed nervously. “Your Russian is pretty good, you know. Where'd you pick it up?”
“School One,” McGarvey said. It was the KGB's old spy training school. One of the best in the world.
“Okay,” the cabby said, blanching. “No trouble.”
McGarvey uncocked his gun, stuffed it in his pocket and gave the cabby the hundred pounds.
They drove around to the west side of the vast parking lot where the cabby led McGarvey to a ring of a half-dozen army supply trucks and troop transports. Within a half-hour McGarvey bought a canvas carryall and an army corporal's uniform, including greatcoat, olive drab hat, gloves and cheap leather boots. He also bought the identity papers and leave orders for Dimitri Shostokovich stationed at Zakamensk in the far southeast along the Chinese border. The burly entrepreneur who sold him the lot for a hundred pounds stamped the current dates on the orders, and flashed McGarvey a gold-toothed grin.
“The photographs don't match, but no one will look very closely,” he said. His breath smelled like onions and beer. “You've got eleven days until you're AWOL. But nobody gives a fuck about that either.” He stuffed everything into the carryall.
Several men came into the circle of trucks and stood around one of the barrels of burning rags.
“Time to go,” McGarvey's driver warned.
McGarvey reached his hand into his coat pocket and partially withdrew his gun. He looked directly into the salesman's eyes. “I don't think those gentlemen mean us any harm.”
“No,” the salesman said after a moment. “But if there is nothing else you wish to buy, perhaps it is time to go. Unless you would like some help with your ⦠project.”
“What project would that be?” McGarvey asked easily.
The salesman motioned toward the carryall. “Maybe you yourself are a businessman. I have certain connections.”
McGarvey seemed to think about it for a moment. “How do I find you?”
“I'm here every night. Just ask for Vasha.”
“The ⦠project could be big. Maybe you couldn't handle it.”
Vasha licked his lips. “You might be surprised.”
McGarvey picked up the carryall. “I'll keep you in mind.”
“Okay, you do that.”
On the way back into the city the cabby once again kept looking at McGarvey's image in the rearview mirror. He sensed that some kind of a deal was going down and he was hungry. He wanted to be a part of it.
“I know this city. I could take you anywhere you want to go,” he said hopefully. “Nobody can watch their own back one hundred percent. I've got good eyes and plenty of guts. And I've got some pretty goddamned good connections. I brought you to Vasha with no trouble.”
“What's your name?” McGarvey asked.
“Arkady.”
“How can I reach you? Day or night?”
Arkady snatched a business card from a holder on the dash and passed it back. “How do I reach you?”
“You don't,” McGarvey said. The cabby's name was Arkady Astimovich and he worked for Martex, one of the private cab companies in the city. “We'll see how you do this time, Arkasha. Keep your mouth shut like you promised, and I might have something for you.”
“What about tonight?”
“No. And don't try to follow me. A little bit rich is better than very much dead. Do you understand?”
They pulled up at the curb a couple of blocks from the Metropol near the Moscow Arts Theater. Traffic was heavy tonight. The driver stared at McGarvey's reflection for a few moments. “I understand,” he said.
McGarvey handed him the second hundred pounds, got out of the cab and disappeared into the blowing snow and crowds with his canvas carryall.
He ducked into the shadows of a shop doorway just around the corner, and waited for five minutes, but the cab never showed up. Astimovich was hungry, but apparently he was also smart.
Hefting his carryall, McGarvey walked down to the metro station on Gorki Street and bought a token for a few kopecks. Just inside he studied the system map which showed the stop for the Leningrad, Kazan and Yaroslavl Stations was Leningradskaya. He put his token in the gate, and when the light turned green he descended to the busy platforms. It took him several minutes to figure out which train was his, and he got aboard moments before the doors closed. There were less than a dozen people aboard the car, among them four roughly dressed young men, whom McGarvey took to be in their twenties. They eyed him as he took a seat by the door, the carryall between him and the window.
He had no illusions about what Russia had become, but since his arrival in Moscow this morning the only cop he'd seen was the one directing traffic near the hotel. In the past the Militia seemed to be everywhere, including the metro stations. But Moscow, and presumably the entire country, had sunk into an anarchy of the street. The only faction with any real power was the Mafia and the armies of private bodyguards. Street crime was not completely out of hand yet because businessmen and shopkeepers paid protection money called
krysha,
which literally meant roof. Without it you were either a nobody or you were dead. And the Militia might come if they were called.
At the next stop a couple old women got aboard, spotted the four young men, and immediately stepped off. A couple of the other passengers also got out, and the remainder kept their eyes downcast.
Three stops later all the other passengers got off the car, leaving only McGarvey and the four men, who got up and languidly took up positions at the front and rear doors. They didn't speak nor did they make any effort to approach McGarvey, but they watched him.
The public address system announced the next stop was Leningrad Station, and as the train slowed down McGarvey got up and went to the back door. One of the young men grinned, showing his bad teeth. He started to say something when McGarvey smashed the heel of his heavy boot into the man's right kneecap, the leg snapping with an audible pop.
He went down with a piercing scream. The second man shoved him aside with one hand while fumbling in his ragged coat pocket with his other.
Before he could pull out a weapon, McGarvey smashed him in the face with a roundhouse right, his head bouncing off the door frame. McGarvey pulled him forward, off balance, and as he doubled over, drove a knee in the man's face.
McGarvey pulled out his gun, and brought it up as he swiveled around in one smooth motion to face the other two men charging up the car toward him.
“Nyet,”
he warned.
The two men pulled up short, angry and confused and a little bit fearful. In a matter of seconds the man they'd targeted to rob had taken out two of their friends, and now held a gun on them as if he knew what he was doing.
The train came to a halt, the doors slid open, and McGarvey stepped off, pocketing his gun before anyone on the crowded platform could see what was going on. He headed directly for the escalators to the street level.
There was a commotion on the platform behind him, but he didn't think the other two men would be coming after him. They'd be getting their two injured friends out of there before someone else moved in and took advantage of them.
Yaroslavl and Leningrad Stations were directly behind the metro entrance, separated from each other by a large brown brick building where advanced reservation train tickets were sold to Russians. Only tickets that were to be used within twenty-four hours were sold from the train stations in a complicated system that separated foreigners from Russians, and Russian civilians from veterans and active duty soldiers. Even most Russians didn't understand the system, and sometimes the lines were endless.