Moscow Rules

repeatedly. Eventually, Stalin and his engineers surrendered to the inevitable and turned the land into a public swimming pool—the world’s largest, of course.
     
     
    Rebuilt after the fall of communism at enormous public expense, the cathedral was now one of Moscow’s most popular tourist attractions. Gabriel decided to skip it and made his way directly to the river instead. Three men were standing separately along the embankment, gazing across the water toward a vast apartment building with a Mercedes-Benz star revolving slowly atop the roof. Gabriel walked past them without a word. One by one, the men turned and followed after him.
     
     
    Upon closer inspection, it was not a single building but three: a massive trapezium facing the riverfront, with two L-shaped appendages running several hundred yards inland. On the opposite side of Serafimovicha Street was a melancholy patch of brown grass and wilted trees known as Bolotnaya Square. Gabriel was seated on a nearby bench next to a fountain when Uzi Navot, Yaakov Rossman, and Eli Lavon came over the bridge. Navot sat next to him, while Lavon and Yaakov went to the edge of the fountain. Lavon was chattering away in Russian like a movie extra in a cocktail party scene. Yaakov was looking at the ground and smoking a cigarette.
     
     
    “When did Yaakov take up smoking again?” asked Gabriel.
     
     
    “Last night. He’s nervous.”
     
     
    “He’s spent his career operating in the West Bank and Gaza and he’s nervous being in Moscow?”
     
     
    “You’re damn right he’s nervous being in Moscow. And you would be, too, if you had any sense.”
     
     
    “How’s our local station chief?”
     
     
    “He looks a little better than Yaakov, but not much. Let’s just say he’ll be quite happy when we get on that plane tomorrow night and get out of town.”
     
     
    “How many cars was he able to come up with?”
     
     
    “Four, just like you wanted—three old Ladas and a Volga.”
     
     
    “Please tell me they run, Uzi. The last thing we need is for the cars to break down tomorrow.”
     
     
    “Don’t worry, Gabriel. They run just fine.”
     
     
    “Where did he get them?”
     
     
    “The station picked up a small fleet of old Soviet cars and trucks for a song after the fall of communism and put them on ice. All the papers are in order.”
     
     
    “And the drivers?”
     
     
    “Four field hands from Moscow Station. They all speak Russian.”
     
     
    “What time do we start leaving the hotel?”
     
     
    “I go first at two-fifty. Eli goes five minutes after that. Then Yaakov five minutes later. You’re the last to leave.”
     
     
    “It’s not much time, Uzi.”
     
     
    “It’s plenty of time. If we get here too early, we might attract unwanted attention. And that’s the last thing we want.”
     
     
    Gabriel didn’t argue. Instead, he peppered Navot with a series of questions about cell phone jammers, watch assignments, and, finally, the situation at the apartment house on the Kutuzovsky Prospekt where Elena was now staying with her mother. Navot’s answer did not surprise him.
     
     
    “Arkady Medvedev has placed the building under round-the-clock surveillance.”
     
     
    “How’s he doing it?”
     
     
    “Nothing too technical. Just a man in a car outside in the street.”
     
     
    “How often is he changing the watcher?”
     
     
    “Every four hours.”
     
     
    “Does he change the car or just the man?”
     
     
    “Just the man. The car stays in place.”
     
     
    Gabriel adjusted his tinted eyeglasses. His gray wig was making his scalp itch terribly. Navot was rubbing a sore patch above his elbow. He always seemed to develop some small physical malady whenever he was anxious about an operation.
     
     
    “We should assume that Arkady has instructed the watchers to follow Elena wherever she goes, including tomorrow afternoon when she leaves for the airport. If the watcher sees her making an unannounced detour to the House on the Embankment, he’ll tell Arkady. And Arkady is bound to be suspicious. Do you see my point, Gabriel?”
     
     
    “Yes, Uzi,” Gabriel said pedantically. “I believe I do. We have to make sure the watcher doesn’t follow her tomorrow or all our work could go up in flames in a Moscow minute.”
     
     
    “I suppose we could kill him.”
     
     
    “A minor traffic accident should suffice.”
     
     
    “Shall I tell the station chief that we need another