The Defector

spell.”
    “Viktor?”
    “Viktor Orlov.”
    Gabriel recognized the name, of course. Viktor Orlov was one of the original Russian oligarchs, the small band of capitalist daredevils who gobbled up the valuable assets of the old Soviet state and made billions in the process. While ordinary Russians were struggling for survival, Viktor earned a king’s ransom in oil and steel. Eventually, he ran afoul of the post-Yeltsin regime and fled to Britain one step ahead of an arrest warrant. He was now one of the regime’s most vocal, if unreliable, critics. Orlov rarely allowed trivial things like facts to get in the way of the salacious charges he leveled regularly against the Russian president and his cronies in the Kremlin.
    “Ever had any dealings with him?” Gabriel asked.
    “Viktor?” Olga gave a guarded smile. “Once, a hundred years ago, in Moscow. It was just after Yeltsin left office. The new masters of the Kremlin wanted Viktor to voluntarily sell his businesses back to the state—at bargain-basement prices, of course. For understandable reasons, Viktor wasn’t interested. It got nasty—but then it always does. The Kremlin started talking about raids and seizures. That’s what the Kremlin does when it wants something. It brings to bear the power of the state.”
    “And Viktor thought you could help?”
    “He asked me to lunch. He said he had an exclusive for me: a man whose job was to procure young women for the president’s personal entertainment. Very young women, Gabriel. When I told him that I wouldn’t touch the story, he got angry. A month later, he fled the country. Officially, the Russians want him back to face tax and fraud charges.”
    “And unofficially?”
    “The Kremlin wants Viktor to surrender his majority stake in Ruzoil, the giant Siberian energy company. It’s worth many billions of dollars.”
    “What did Viktor want with Grigori?”
    “Viktor’s motives for opposing the Kremlin were hopelessly transparent and hardly noble. Grigori gave him something he never had before.”
    “Respectability.”
    “Correct. What’s more, Grigori knew some of the regime’s darkest secrets. Secrets Viktor could wield as a weapon. Grigori was the answer to Viktor’s prayers and Viktor took advantage of him. That’s what Viktor does. He uses people. And when they’re of no value to him, he throws them to the wolves.”
    “Did you say any of this to Grigori?”
    “Of course. But it didn’t go over terribly well. Grigori thought he could take care of himself and didn’t like being told by a journalist to watch his step. He was like an older man in love with a pretty girl. He wasn’t thinking straight. He liked being around Viktor, the cars, the parties, the houses, the expensive wine. It was like a drug. Grigori was hooked.”
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “Two weeks ago. He was very excited. Apparently, Irina was thinking seriously about coming to London. But he was also nervous.”
    “About Irina?”
    “No, his security. He was convinced he was being watched.”
    “By whom?”
    “He didn’t go into specifics. He gave me the newest pages of his manuscript. Then he gave me a letter for safekeeping. He told me that if anything ever happened to him, a friend would look for him. He was confident this man would eventually make his way to Oxford to see me. Grigori liked this man and respected him very much. Apparently, they made some sort of pact during a long drive through the Russian countryside.” She slipped the letter into Gabriel’s hand and lit another cigarette. “I have to admit, I don’t remember hearing it. I must have been asleep at the time.”

18
    OXFORD
    YOU’VE NEVER READ IT?” Gabriel asked.
    “No, never.”
    “I find that hard to believe.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you were once the most famous investigative reporter in Russia.”
    “And?”
    “Investigative reporters are natural snoops.”
    “Like spies?”
    “Yes, like spies.”
    “I don’t read other people’s mail. It’s unseemly.”
    They were seated in the Queen’s Lane Coffee House against a latticed window. Gabriel was facing the street; Olga, the busy interior. She was holding the letter in one hand and a mug of tea in the other.
    “I think it puts to rest the debate over whether Grigori redefected or was abducted.”
    “Rather conclusively.”
    Coincidentally, the letter was five sentences in length, though unlike the forged letter announcing Grigori’s redefection, it