easier. Stephasin and Ivankov spend the next five minutes reminiscing about a scam Ivankov set up when he was in Afghanistan and Stephasin was in KGB military counter-intelligence. Stephasin discovered what he was doing and cut a deal with him to cover it up in return for a share of the action. Ivankov was a major in logistics at the time. He used his position to divert materiel intended for pro-Soviet militia to a number of middlemen who then traded it for him to the other side in exchange for heroin. He was selling the Mujaheddin the AK47s and rocket launchers they were using to kill and maim our own men.”
Vari was flicking through the typescript, his head running from side to side as he scanned the lines. Nikolai had read it so many times already that he could have practically recited the dialogue from memory.
“It seems he was running the heroin back through Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan then cashing it in with a mafiya ring based in Omsk. Sounds to have been a highly lucrative operation that ran right up to the time Ivankov quit the military in ‘88. So, now at least we know how he got his start.”
Vari shook his head in dismay and looked up at Nikolai. “This is dynamite.” He turned back to the screen. “This meeting. Do we know when it was held?”
Nikolai took another drink. “There’s nothing marked on the tape, but take a look at the first page of the transcript. The footer in small print.”
Vari scrabbled back through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He read it once to himself, then a second time, aloud. “Ivankov/Stephasin Meeting: 18 April 1995.” His brow furrowed as he did the calculation. “The investigation… when did we start?”
Nikolai met his gaze and nodded slowly. “The week before. I had to get clearance from above, remember?”
Vari stared at him. “Holy Mary, Niko!” He looked at the transcript again and shook his head. “How the hell did Gilmanov get hold of this? No wonder they gutted him. Shit!” He lifted a hand to his face and ran it back and forth across his jaw. “You know what this means?”
“We’re not finished yet,” Nikolai answered flatly. He raised the remote and pointed it at the screen, holding the fast-forward button until he came to the scene he wanted. Vitaly Kolbasov had risen from his chair and was leaning forward, pouring liquor from a crystal decanter into a row of glasses set at the center of the table. Nikolai lifted his finger from the button and the tape spooled forward. Kolbasov returned to his seat as Stephasin began to speak.
“You know, I miss the old days, Marat.” He took a sip – cognac by the shape of the glass – savored it and nodded an aside to Kolbasov. “Excellent, thank you, Vitaly.” His eyes came back to Ivankov. “As you know, these last five or six years I’ve been concentrating on the development of my career… as, of course, you have also, Marat.” He smiled. “But, you know, I wonder if it isn’t time now for us to renew our business association. We’ve both come a long way since those early days.” Stephasin tipped his head to the side. “A sort of parallel path, really. Anyway, now we are both quite well established in our spheres of influence, it occurs to me there may be ways we can assist one another again.”
Ivankov swirled his glass and studied the man seated opposite. “Do you have anything particular in mind, Aleksey?”
Stephasin tossed a hand aside. “Not really. Not yet, anyway.” He took another sip from his glass and regarded Ivankov with a demure expression. “But as a gesture of goodwill I thought I would share some possibly rather important information with you. I thought you might like to know, Marat, that our Office of Economic Counter-Intelligence has recently approved an investigation into your operations.”
Ivankov and Vitaly Kolbasov swapped glances.
“They caught some banker,” Stephasin continued, “some fellow from Germany who was washing money for one of
Vari was flicking through the typescript, his head running from side to side as he scanned the lines. Nikolai had read it so many times already that he could have practically recited the dialogue from memory.
“It seems he was running the heroin back through Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan then cashing it in with a mafiya ring based in Omsk. Sounds to have been a highly lucrative operation that ran right up to the time Ivankov quit the military in ‘88. So, now at least we know how he got his start.”
Vari shook his head in dismay and looked up at Nikolai. “This is dynamite.” He turned back to the screen. “This meeting. Do we know when it was held?”
Nikolai took another drink. “There’s nothing marked on the tape, but take a look at the first page of the transcript. The footer in small print.”
Vari scrabbled back through the pages until he found what he was looking for. He read it once to himself, then a second time, aloud. “Ivankov/Stephasin Meeting: 18 April 1995.” His brow furrowed as he did the calculation. “The investigation… when did we start?”
Nikolai met his gaze and nodded slowly. “The week before. I had to get clearance from above, remember?”
Vari stared at him. “Holy Mary, Niko!” He looked at the transcript again and shook his head. “How the hell did Gilmanov get hold of this? No wonder they gutted him. Shit!” He lifted a hand to his face and ran it back and forth across his jaw. “You know what this means?”
“We’re not finished yet,” Nikolai answered flatly. He raised the remote and pointed it at the screen, holding the fast-forward button until he came to the scene he wanted. Vitaly Kolbasov had risen from his chair and was leaning forward, pouring liquor from a crystal decanter into a row of glasses set at the center of the table. Nikolai lifted his finger from the button and the tape spooled forward. Kolbasov returned to his seat as Stephasin began to speak.
“You know, I miss the old days, Marat.” He took a sip – cognac by the shape of the glass – savored it and nodded an aside to Kolbasov. “Excellent, thank you, Vitaly.” His eyes came back to Ivankov. “As you know, these last five or six years I’ve been concentrating on the development of my career… as, of course, you have also, Marat.” He smiled. “But, you know, I wonder if it isn’t time now for us to renew our business association. We’ve both come a long way since those early days.” Stephasin tipped his head to the side. “A sort of parallel path, really. Anyway, now we are both quite well established in our spheres of influence, it occurs to me there may be ways we can assist one another again.”
Ivankov swirled his glass and studied the man seated opposite. “Do you have anything particular in mind, Aleksey?”
Stephasin tossed a hand aside. “Not really. Not yet, anyway.” He took another sip from his glass and regarded Ivankov with a demure expression. “But as a gesture of goodwill I thought I would share some possibly rather important information with you. I thought you might like to know, Marat, that our Office of Economic Counter-Intelligence has recently approved an investigation into your operations.”
Ivankov and Vitaly Kolbasov swapped glances.
“They caught some banker,” Stephasin continued, “some fellow from Germany who was washing money for one of
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