‘As an institution?’
Pokrovsky shook his head. ‘We believe – and, forgive us, having only been able to read between the lines of what I was told by a contact there – it was the mayor of Moscow.’
‘Do we know what price was put on the land?’
‘That information is not public,’ replied Pokrovsky. ‘Canteen gossip, again – from City Hall and the Southern Okrug – has it changing hands at around ten billion rubles.’
‘Sounds a lot?’
‘About a hundred million pounds.’
‘So a substantial sum of money. Have you been able to discover how the purchase was funded?’
‘That's where we grind to a halt. We reach a dead end. And it happens to us every time we try and find out about the money.’
Straker was now smiling, which Pokrovsky clearly found disconcerting.
‘However hard we look into the financial aspects of the Auto-drom,’ Pokrovsky continued, ‘we get nowhere. The funds for the purchase, the capital for development, the running expenses – every time we ask about the money, we hit an impenetrable wall of silence.’
FORTY-THREE
Straker and McMahon walked through into the inner sanctum of the Ptarmigan command centre.
‘Need I ask what you make of the “wall of silence”?’ McMahon asked. ‘Another of your welcome surprises?’
Straker smiled knowingly. ‘The structure of the Autodrom has – clearly – been set up to conceal the identity of the backer.’
‘How can we ever hope to penetrate the corporate veil, then?’
‘Quite clearly, desk research isn’t going to do it, because none of the records seem to exist in the public domain.’
‘So?’
‘Have we had any luck in getting hold of that politician on the board of Moscow 100 – Deputy Kosygin, wasn’t it? He would have to know about the money, wouldn’t he?’
McMahon nodded and put a call in to her office downstairs. A minute or two later she reported: ‘One of Anatoly's team has been trying to reach him. They’re going to call me back.’
Straker pulled a face.
‘Don’t we need to be careful who we discuss any of this with?’ asked McMahon. ‘Someone has clearly taken determinedly against Moscow 100, bumping off two of its board. Whoever's behind this seems to attract some pretty violent opposition.’
Before McMahon could react, her phone rang. She listened silently: ‘Anatoly says Deputy Kosygin is refusing to meet us.’
‘Damn. Does he say why?’
‘Let me put this on speaker.’
‘Hi, Anatoly,’ said Straker. ‘Does Kosygin say why he doesn’t want to meet?’
The researcher said: ‘He seemed okay to meet us, at first.’
‘So what happened?’
‘He asked what we wanted to talk about.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I had to tell him Moscow 100.’
‘And that put him off?’
‘He said he was nervous even talking about it on the phone. If someone had the power to deselect him from the Duma, what else did they have the power to do – particularly after the suspicious deaths of Olyshenko and Rosenthal? Kosygin sounds seriously worried.’
‘We have got to talk to this guy, Anatoly,’ said Straker. ‘He's the only chance we’ve got of penetrating your financial “wall of silence”. Tell him we’re trying to flush out the people behind the attacks on Moscow 100 – and bring justice for his colleagues who died. Also, try telling him that we’d be happy to meet him somewhere neutral. Somewhere out in the open.’
‘Okay,’ replied Pokrovsky. ‘I’ll try him with that approach. Do we have any other incentives, if that doesn’t work?’
Once the call was ended, Straker said: ‘“On my mother life” is a phrase that's still bugging me. Is that a well-known idiom in Russia? In the Orthodox Church, perhaps?’
‘Not that I know off. I could think of several phrases the Russian church might throw up, but that wouldn’t be one of them.’
‘Why the hell did he say it, then?’
McMahon looked at Straker. ‘Perhaps we should look at this more literally?’
‘Maybe … let's try something else. Hang on.’
Opening the door of the inner HQ, Straker looked out across the main command centre. Activity was still intense with people working at each of the workstations. ‘Andy? Can we borrow you for a sec?’
