The Helsinki Affair by Anna Pitoniak

Author:Anna Pitoniak [Pitoniak, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-11-14T00:00:00+00:00

PART IV

EAST FERRY ROAD

CHAPTER TWELVE

They walked down East Ferry Road toward the Thames, where the river rippled in the gray dawn light. As they sat on an empty bench on the promenade along the water, Komarovsky’s expression remained studiedly blank. She had suggested they find somewhere quiet to talk. She took the fact that he hadn’t immediately told her to go fuck herself as a good sign.

“My name is Amanda Clarkson,” she began. “I work with the State Department. Again, let me offer my condolences. I know you and Bob Vogel were close.”

“Miss Clarkson,” he said. “This charade isn’t necessary. Why don’t you get straight to the point, so I can give you my answer and we can say goodbye.”

She cocked her head. “You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

“I try not to let anything surprise me.”

“Even in Iceland? Even that didn’t surprise you?”

Irritation flickered across his face. “Those men were merely—”

“Were merely Vitsin’s messengers? But what did Vitsin say, when you told him about it? Did he claim to know nothing about them? I bet you thought he was lying. But here’s the thing, Mr. Komarovsky. Vitsin really didn’t send them. Those men don’t work for the FSB.” She paused. Leaned forward. “Would you like to know who they were?”

“I know what you’re doing, Miss Clarkson. Miss Clarkson from the State Department. Well, you can tell the State Department”—he practically spat those words—“that I have no interest in becoming their lackey.”

“You’d prefer to leave yourself to the mercy of those thugs?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“We can protect you from them.”

“Protect me?” He laughed bitterly. “Oh, yes. You’ll protect me like you protected Bob?”

“We didn’t know he was in danger. But we know that you are.”

He lifted his shoulders in indifference. He was in danger? Of course he was. He was the linchpin of a deeply corrupt, Kremlin-backed scheme. He was the sword meant to pierce the profitable shield of America’s capitalist system. Amanda wasn’t telling Komarovsky anything he didn’t already know. So she plunged forth:

“Here’s the situation, Mr. Komarovsky. The two men who came to see you in Iceland, they were the ones who killed Senator Vogel. And they’ve let you live for now, but how long does that tolerance last? What happens when they’re done with you? Surely you’ve heard the stories about Unit 29155.”

At this, he glanced over.

“You’re working for the FSB,” she continued. “But those men aren’t FSB. They’re GRU. You’re a smart man. You know how deep that rivalry runs. Think about it, Mr. Komarovsky. You’ve gotten yourself caught between two very dangerous, very demanding masters.” Another pause. “I want to show you something.”

She drew the photograph from her pocket. A frame from the security footage in Cairo Airport. The date and time stamped in the corner: the day before Bob Vogel was murdered. “You recognize these men,” she prompted. “Don’t you?”

Komarovsky took the photograph, gazing at it with unreadable stillness. But there, in his left hand, the tiniest movement. Running his index finger over the edge of his thumb, back and forth, back and forth.

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