‘Dom, we’ve now heard from the Consulate in Moscow. Dr Nazar and Ms Sabatino have been charged with corporate manslaughter.’
‘Christ.’
‘I have to say, though, that we are surprised.’
‘Why's that?’
‘It's a new ofence in Russia. No one's been charged with it before.’
‘And the penalties?’
‘Unlimited fne … and up to twenty years’ hard labour.’
‘What?’ replied Quartano. ‘In this day and age?’
‘I’m afraid so, Dom. We never cease to be amazed by how backward some parts of the world still are.’
Quartano ficked through a few more channels. One of the news outlets had clearly discovered the sanctions available to the Russian courts; it was revelling in their severity, particularly the shock value, having found numerous clips of library footage. One of these showed vast expanses of empty steppe which it showed under the caption “Siberia”, while another showed prisoners in a quarry somewhere breaking rocks with hand-held hammers. Adding to the editor's desired impact, the lags appeared unwashed, long-haired and completely desolate.
Quartano said calmly: ‘Gerald, I need your help to speak with my people there.’
At the Yeltsin Meditsinskiy Tsentr, armed policemen were guarding Remy Sabatino around the clock. Even Mr Uglov had to show his pass to the two policemen standing outside her door. He loathed this heavy handedness. Despite his objections, Uglov didn’t show any dissent in his demeanour, complying fully with police orders. News getting back to the oligarchs at the centre of government that the hospital did anything less than cooperate fully could easily affect budgets, promotions, position, privileges – pretty much everything. No institution in Russia could aford to sour its relations with the federal authorities.
Once through the police cordon and admitted inside it, Uglov saw that Sabatino's room was only lit by artifcial light – the blinds having being closed by order of the police. Sabatino was sleeping, lying on her back – immobilized in the neck brace. Her bronze complexion contrasted with the whiteness of the single sheet that covered her. No other covers were needed given the warmth of the hospital's central heating. Sabatino was surrounded by the usual mess of medical equipment and measuring devices. A drip was still inserted in the inside of her elbow, while Uglov had ordered the introduction of a second line, into her neck.
Mr Uglov scrutinized the readouts to check there were no complications before pulling out his penlight torch. Manoeuvring his way through the spars of the halo device, he lifted each eyelid and shone it into her eyes. Expecting no more than the usual involuntary pupil refex, Mr Uglov was surprised when Sabatino seemed to react physically at all. He felt her finch at the uncomfortable glare of the light on her retina.
There was the tiniest hint of movement.
An hour later, Nazar was startled by the door of his interview room clanging open. This time Colonel Pudovkin strode in.
‘I have a phone call for you,’ said the police officer ofering up the phone to the detainee. Still with his hands cufed behind his back, though, Nazar couldn’t physically take it. Pudovkin gesticulated urgently to another police officer, who released Nazar's hands. Even while trying to rub his wrists, the team boss was manhandled again as the cufs were replaced albeit this time with his hands in front of him. Nazar could now at least take the phone from the police colonel.
‘Dr Nazar,’ said the voice on the other end, barely audible in the poor reception. ‘Noel Cooper, here, British consul. I have Mr Dominic Quartano for you?’
Nazar felt an immediate sense of relief.
‘Tahm, my dear friend,’ said Quartano. ‘I am so sorry for all this. Over and above everything, I am disgusted with your humiliation by the police.’
‘Thank you, DQ. Twenty-something Russian citizens have been killed. One might understand where some of their attitude is coming from.’
‘Insinuating blame before an investigation has even started is monstrous. Listen, Tahm,’ said Quartano, ‘my telling you not to worry won’t help. So this is what I’ve done: I’ve appointed Quar-tech's chief counsel, here, to manage all of Ptarmigan's legal issues in Moscow.’
‘Stacey?’
‘She's instructing Quartech's solicitors, Brandeis Gertner, to handle everything for you in Russia. Brandeis has a large office in Moscow. One of their English-speaking partners – Sandy McMahon, who has been based there for ten years – is now acting as your counsel.’
‘Thank you, DQ. That's very reassuring.’
Tahm Nazar paused while he tried to control a wave of relief.
‘I have no idea how long the legal process there will take,’ Quar-tano added. ‘But I can’t imagine it will be quick.’
Gathering himself, Nazar was able to re-engage: ‘I think we are going to need some help, though – over and above the legal, DQ.’
‘Name it, Tahm.’
Nazar had to move his position slightly to improve the signal; the basement was hampering the clarity of the line. ‘The memorial service was announced by the president on television. My arrest was deliberately stage-managed and, I imagine, covered by the media.’
‘You can say that again. You and Remy seem to be the subjects of a coordinated media onslaught.’
‘Interesting that you should volunteer the word “coordinated”.’
There was silence on the line for a few moments.
Nazar moved again, fearing the connection had been dropped. ‘Hello?’
Quartano finally said: ‘Yes, I’m still here. What's on your mind, Tahm?’
‘Everything by way of a response to this accident, DQ – the presidential address, the memorial service, my public arrest – all seem to have been surprisingly well orchestrated.’
‘We can start a fightback through the media, if that's what you’re worried about.’
‘Of course – except I think we’re going to need more than that.’
‘Like what?’ asked Quartano.
‘I don’t know exactly, but I think we need … Matt Straker.’
