‘But you have it now?’
Pudovkin nodded but did not elaborate, not feeling compelled to volunteer that the Ptarmigan people had locked all the computers on board, putting their data behind impenetrable passwords.
‘I am told something happened with the racing driver at the hospital,’ said Gazdanov.
‘It did, Mr Prosecutor. On your instructions, two of my men were authorized to interrogate the racing driver.’
‘And?’
‘They were interrupted, sir.’
‘How? They were given a direct order.’
‘The doctor, Pyotr Uglov at the Yeltsin Medical Centre, accepted that Ms Sabatino was fit enough to be interviewed. Somehow, the Brandeis woman got to hear the interview was taking place. She and Straker turned up unexpectedly and pressurized the doctor. After that, Uglov stormed into the interrogation and halted it. He then signed a certificate – contradicting himself – stating that Sabatino wasn’t fit to be interviewed.’
‘What? Who the hell does this doctor think he is? Have him struck off – investigated for something. What have we got from the driver?’
‘Nothing as yet, Mr Prosecutor. But we still have time.’
‘I hope so, for your sake.’
Pudovkin was intimidated by the law man's tone.
‘What else?’
‘The Brandeis woman, accompanied by Straker and Backhouse, attended the press conference we held at the Autodrom to reveal the causes of the crash.’
‘There were Ptarmigan people there?’ asked Gazdanov incredulously.
‘Yes, sir. The question about the black boxes – and whether they’d been read by the FIA – came from the Backhouse man.’
Gazdanov was annoyed. ‘That was a Ptarmigan question?’
Pudovkin nodded.
‘Why the fuck wasn’t that pointed out? Why the fuck didn’t Baryshnikov point that out? What the hell was Baryshnikov playing at?’ Gazdanov shifted in his large chair. ‘Baryshnikov was crap during that press conference,’ he stated. ‘You need to sort him out before the trial, colonel.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Gazdanov asked: ‘What else have these people been up to?’
‘They tracked down Vladimir Kosygin.’
‘The former Moscow deputy?’
‘Sir.’
‘And?’
‘My men were in the Komsomolskaya Metro Station where they met him.’
‘Did they hear what Kosygin was talking about? Did they find out what the Ptarmigan people were asking him?’
Pudovkin shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
‘Do you know where Kosygin is now?’
Pudovkin shook his head.
‘He's in Butyrka Prison,’ replied Gazdanov.
The police colonel looked surprised.
‘He's had a personal visit from Mr Kondratiev,’ reported the prosecutor general.
Pudovkin blanched for a moment.
‘During one of his “question and answer sessions”, Kosygin “revealed” that Straker had been asking him about the money behind the Autodrom.’
‘Did he mention Avel Obrenovich, then?’
‘Must have. Do you know where Straker was the night before last and yesterday morning, colonel?’
‘In his hotel – the Baltschug Kempinski,’ replied the policeman.
Gazdanov shook his head. ‘Helsinki.’
‘That's impossible, sir,’ said Pudovkin with strained assertion. ‘My people had him under surveillance all evening – at the hotel.’
