The Einstein Code (15 page)

He handed Kate a photo of the man.

‘Another ugly bastard,’ Lou commented peering at the picture of Max in the half-light – a flabby-faced bald man with large protruding eyes and no eyebrows.

‘Quite so, but hopefully more genuine than our friend Zero.’

They had reached the end of the main road and turned right, heading towards Ploshchad Revolyutsii, the Revolution Square Metro station, its impressive pillared frontage and art-deco friezes
standing in sharp relief against the gloom. Straight ahead stood Resurrection Gate, the entrance into Red Square. Sixty seconds later, they were through the gate with the stunning panorama of Red
Square spread out before them. The bricked ground was decorated with a patina of frost and snow left behind after a snowplough had, minutes earlier, swept away the worst of the overnight fall. Snow
draped the line of bedraggled trees edging the plaza and lay banked up close to the State Department Store GUM, which took up most of the north-eastern side of the square. At the far end, some
three hundred yards away, stood the onion domes and tent peaks of St Basil’s.

‘Has this guy Max suggested the next move?’

‘He has promised a direct meeting with Sergei before any negotiations or mention of money changing hands.’

‘A good sign,’ Lou commented.

They walked across the plaza in silence for a while, overawed by the view. Fleming had been to Moscow many times, but this was a first for Lou and Kate. Neither of them could have guessed as
they stood on the deck of the
Inca
that, a few days later, they would be walking across Red Square with temperatures in the minus double figures.

‘It is an encouraging step forward,’ Fleming said, stopping. They stood together close to the centre of the square. ‘But I have to make some things clear. Sergei is a renegade.
He won’t be helping us. He is only interested in himself and he knows he possesses something valuable.’

‘Well, he claims he does,’ Kate said.

Fleming nodded and stamped his feet in a futile effort to get warm. ‘My team are confident he is genuine. Sergei is a busy man. He runs a mini empire. Twenty or thirty million dollars is
not a lot of money to him, but it is worth him getting out of bed for. And who knows? Maybe he has a personal agenda, some other reason to communicate with us and to spend some of his precious time
negotiating an exchange.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We’re due to meet Max at 9 p.m. at Moscow State University, Building 6. He hasn’t said what he wants to do after that, but we should expect the unexpected.’

Building 6 of the Moscow State University in the suburb of Ramenki, about three miles from the centre of Moscow, was a four-storey anonymous block of concrete and steel:
utilitarian, predictable, with small windows, stains running vertically down the sheer walls, snow heaped at its base. Girdled by a galvanized steel fence, it nestled up against a busy road,
Michurinskiy Prospekt.

The cab pulled away and Fleming led Kate and Lou towards a gate in the metal fence. The building housed off-campus geophysics labs. A few lights remained on and they could hear the strains of a
Coldplay song tumbling down from one of the windows overhead. The traffic was lighter than usual: CSKA Moscow were playing Spartak in a crucial semi-final game in the Russian Cup.

The path was slippery and they took it slowly to the reception area on the ground floor of the block. The reception itself was closed up, the place quiet except for the hum of fluorescent strips
overhead and the far-off thud of a generator. The clock on the wall said it was 20.59. A corridor to the left of reception led to a set of double doors. Against the east wall stood a row of
well-used grey plastic chairs.

They were about to walk over to the chairs when a short man wearing a fur-collared greatcoat appeared at the door. He beckoned them over. ‘I am Max. Come . . . please. I have a car
outside.’

It was a Mercedes CL500. Fleming climbed into the front passenger seat. Max shook hands with him and turned to offer his hand to Kate and Lou in the back. The vehicle was warm and comfortable
and lit with gentle, expensive light. From beyond the windows the sound of cars churning the sooty snow was muffled very effectively.

‘You are extremely punctual,’ Max observed. ‘I like that. This is perhaps not the most salubrious meeting point, I know, but I was going for discretion. I hope you
approve.’

Nobody replied.

‘The way this works is that I will take you to my boss’s home,’ he continued. ‘You will of course appreciate that this is a massive privilege and it comes with some . . .
process.’

‘Process?’ Lou asked, searching Max’s face.

‘Sergei allows very few to enter his realm. He trusts no one.’

‘Realm?’ Kate said, giving the Russian a puzzled look.

‘Forgive me,’ Max said quickly. ‘Habit. In some senses we think of it as a realm. I know my boss Sergei does, and I think it is a justifiable tag. Soon perhaps you will be able
to make your own judgement on the matter.’

‘OK,’ Fleming said impatiently. ‘Where to first?’

‘The Metro station, Universitet,’ Max replied and opened the door. ‘It’s not far, just along the street.’

It was almost deserted, the entrance a single-storey circular building standing on a large traffic island. Across the street stood a row of tatty electrical stores; along the opposite side, a
block of apartments, faceless and bedraggled. A young couple dressed in similar brightly coloured parkas with fur-lined hoods zipped up to their cheeks came towards them in the freezing night.
Inside, an escalator descended one floor to a small ticket hall. Curved stone walls funnelled into a corridor lined with blue ticket machines and a row of grilled booth windows.

The ticket offices were all closed. Max stepped towards the nearest machine and in a few moments he had tickets for all of them. He handed them round and led the way along the tunnel, through a
turnstile, down a wide staircase to a stark platform lined in brown concrete, over-lit and oppressive.

A train thundered into the station, its flat silver snout emerging from the tunnel beyond the platform and out into the neon brightness.

The carriage was almost empty with no more than a handful of figures in overcoats hunched up in their seats.

‘We only need to go one stop . . .’ Max said, clinging on to a leather strap dangling from a suspended rail above his head as the train rocked on its axis. ‘. . . Prospekt
Vernadskogo.’

The train had barely stopped accelerating when it began to slow; the flash of the multicoloured conduit and junction boxes of the tunnel interior gave way to neon and concrete as they pulled
into the station.

They were the only ones leaving their carriage and spotted two other passengers disembarking further along the train. They walked quickly along the platform and disappeared into a side tunnel.
Max led the way towards an exit.

As they took a left and then a right, the passages were eerily quiet. Max stopped abruptly. On the wall to their left was plastered a poster for a new Tom Cruise movie and they could just make
out next to that the outline of a door sunk into the brickwork. Max had a key in his hand; he leaned in and twisted it in a small partially hidden lock.

A middle-aged man in a trilby and heavy coat and carrying a leather briefcase rounded the corner.

‘Tom Cruise . . .’ Max said as he began shuffling away from the door and pointing to the poster. The others huddled together as though they were old friends who had stopped for a
moment to discuss the movie. The man in the trilby ignored them and in a moment he had disappeared around a bend at the end of the passage. Max glanced round, pulled the door outward and beckoned
Fleming, Kate and Lou into the opening.

Max ducked inside, pulled the door to and flicked on a light switch. They were in a maintenance tunnel running parallel to the passenger route. It was illuminated by a low voltage strip light
embedded in the ceiling. The floor was scuffed and worn concrete, oil smears decorated the walls, and from nearby they could hear the sound of dripping water. It smelled of damp.

‘Well, this I didn’t expect,’ Lou said, looking around.

‘Perhaps I should have explained,’ Max said. ‘Sergei is not what you might consider a conventional man. While some in his political and financial position establish themselves
abroad, others are persecuted and imprisoned by our so-called rulers. Sergei has found a unique solution that allows him to stay in his homeland and the city he loves but far removed from his
enemies.’

‘Explain some more, please, Max,’ Fleming said. He couldn’t straighten up in the maintenance tunnel for fear of hitting his head on the ceiling.

‘This’ – Max waved a hand around in the half-light – ‘is one of many entrances to the outer ring of Metro 2.’

‘Metro 2?’ Fleming exclaimed. ‘You’re telling me there really is such a thing?’

Kate looked at Lou and then said: ‘Could one of you please tell me what you are talking about?’

Fleming tilted his head and put out a hand towards their guide, who said: ‘Metro 2 is the popular name for a vast network of tunnels and chambers lying beneath the Moscow underground
system. It was built by Stalin’s minions, beginning in 1947, just as the Cold War began. Some of it has not been explored in recent times and was sealed off in the early 1960s. In the
mid-1990s, my boss, Sergei, began making a section of Metro 2 habitable. The periphery of the network is more or less public. Excitable teenagers and various cranks calling themselves
“diggers” make forays into Metro 2, thinking they will find hidden treasure or perhaps nuclear silos. There are even organized media tours that can be booked secretly on the Internet.
None of it is officially sanctioned of course. In fact, the government continually insists there is no such thing as Metro 2.’ He produced a gruff laugh. ‘Sergei tolerates these people
because it is easier for him to do so. But none of them has a clue about the real subterranean places he has occupied, expanded and made habitable in the lowest reaches of Stalin’s network
under Moscow – what I referred to earlier as Sergei’s realm. Security is incredibly tight and our own intelligence team, headed up by a former KGB bureau chief, is world class in the
art of disinformation.’

‘Unreal,’ Lou said.

‘May I suggest we move along?’ Max said. ‘You look very uncomfortable, Mr Fleming.’

He took them along the narrow tunnel. ‘Watch out,’ Max said. ‘The ceiling dips even lower here.’

At the end of the section they came to another locked door. It was card-operated. A metal rectangular box with a small slit at the front hung on the wall next to the door. Max ran a card along
the groove, there was a low hiss and the door slid open. They passed through into a wider corridor with a higher ceiling and better lighting. It stretched away into the distance, sloping downwards
very gradually so that the end lay out of sight.

Fleming rubbed his neck. ‘Thank God for that!’

They walked on for several minutes until the corridor opened out into a roughly circular space. The light here was fainter, the neon strips left behind, replaced by a pair of ceiling lights that
did not quite illuminate the corners and crannies. Three corridors led away from the room.

‘I’m afraid I have to insist on a security measure,’ Max said. ‘You will of course understand that I cannot lead you straight to Sergei. The route to the inhabited zone
must be revealed to no one. You will have to agree to be blindfolded for a while.’

Fleming stared into the man’s little eyes. ‘I’m not comfortable with that.’ He glanced at Kate then Lou.

‘Be that as it may, Mr Fleming, I have very clear instructions. If you wish to meet Sergei you will have to abide by his terms. This is his domain. It is merely a security precaution. We
have not preserved our home for almost a quarter of a century by being careless.’

‘How long do we need to be blindfolded for?’ Kate asked.

‘Ten minutes at the most,’ Max replied. ‘It is just so that you may not retrace the journey.’

Lou shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

Max fixed the blindfolds to each of them, a strip of black cloth tied at the back of the head. He then started to bind Kate’s wrists.

‘Hang on, you didn’t say anything about tying our hands.’

Kate spun round and lifted her blindfold.

‘I’m sorry, but I have my orders. Forgive me, but we have only just met. I have no way of knowing I can trust you to keep the blindfolds in place.’

‘Shit,’ Lou hissed, pulling his blindfold off. ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘Well, if you do, Dr Bates, I can take you back to the Metro station. From there you may return to your cosy hotel room.’

Lou gave the man a fierce look and felt Kate’s calming hand on his shoulder.

‘Please, put yourself in our position,’ Max went on, his voice softer. ‘I’m sure you would feel the same way. The government has been trying to bring Sergei before a
rigged court for decades. They want his money. I assume you have heard of Mikhail Borisovich Khodorkovsky? He was the richest man in Russia, imprisoned in 2004 on trumped-up corruption charges, his
assets seized. My boss does not have the luxury of freedom of movement about the city, the freedom you probably take for granted. But at least he is not in jail or exiled.’

‘Very well,’ Fleming said. ‘Ten minutes, not a second longer.’

Max tied their wrists behind them as loosely as possible, tied their blindfolds back on, and then joined each of them together with a length of rope so they could walk single file behind
him.

At first they made slow progress and kept tripping over each other’s feet, but soon they found a rhythm. Max shouted back instructions as they came to bends, and then they slowly descended
a long flight of stairs. They stopped at every junction and Max turned them round a few times so they had no idea in which direction they were then taken.

‘This is not my idea of fun,’ Kate hissed.

Lou heard her. ‘Mine neither. You OK?’

‘I guess.’

They stopped for a moment.

‘I have to open another set of doors with my card. It may take a second, please be patient. We are nearly through to the release point.’