Page 56 of Denied Access

“I don’t have time for formalities. Neither do you. Unless corrective actions are taken, I expect you’ll receive an unscheduled recall to Moscow by the end of the day. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be a guest of Lubyanka prison. You know what happens next.”

For the first time, Hurley saw a fissure form in the Russian’s otherwise calm and collected demeanor. The slight frown vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, but Hurley knew what the look signified. Dmitri Volkov might be a rising star in the KGB, but he would not be the first hotshot officer to have his flame extinguished in one of Lubyanka’s dank basement cells. Lavrentiy Beria might be long dead, but his famous sentiment ofshow me the man and I’ll show you the crimewas still very much alive. “Why should I—”

The phone on the end table next to the Russian rang to life.

Volkov glanced at the handset and then back at Stan.

“Go ahead,” Hurley said. “Answer it.”

While he hoped the KGB officer took his instructions as a sign of confidence, they were actually an act of desperation. Stan was betting that the caller was the doorman. By now the shock-and-awe campaign Hurley had waged in the lobby had probably worn off. Or maybe the man was just hedging his bets and figured that he had more to lose by not calling the Russian than by angering Stan. Either way, if it was the doorman and Volkov didn’t pick up, Hurley knew who the dutiful German would call next.

The Stasi.

With exaggerated motions, Volkov lifted the trilling handset and held it to his ear. “Ja?” The Russian listened in silence for several seconds, then thanked the caller and hung up. “That was my doorman. A message just arrived via a courier from the office. They’d like me to come in on my day off.”

Hurley nodded like that was exactly the news he’d expected, while hoping against hope that his thundering heart wasn’t as loud as it seemed. “Then I guess you have places to be. I’ll show myself out.”

Stan reached behind him. His fingers were closing on the doorknob when the Russian spoke.

“How did you know?”

Stan sighed.

“The woman you’re seeing—Stefanie—she’s Stasi. A swallow.”

Technically,swallowwas a Russian term of art. Stan wasn’t sure what the Stasi called officers who had been trained to use sex to ensnare potential agents, but he figured the distinction wouldn’t matter to Volkov. Judging by the look of rage on the Russian’s face, he’d been correct.

“Get out,” Volkov said. “Now.”

“It’s true, and you don’t have to take my word for it.” Reaching into his coat pocket, Stan withdrew a single piece of paper. “I paid your boss a visit after he sent two men to kill me. We had a constructive discussion about what the rules of engagement between our intelligence services should be going forward. I also helped myself to some of his files. I thought you might be interested in this nugget.”

With the pistol still pointed at the Russian’s chest, Hurley handed over the single page like he was offering a strip of raw meat to a tiger. It wasn’t that Volkov had become more formidable in the last thirty seconds. Quite the opposite. The Russian sagged like a deflated balloon, but he was angry and desperate.

Angry and desperate men did stupid things.

Volkov snatched the paper and began to read. Stan could tell when he got to the damning paragraph. The jerky typewriter-like motion of his eyes stopped. For a long moment, the Russian just stared at the paper.

Then he slowly placed it on the end table.

“Why did you bring me this?”

“Your boss tried to kill me, and according to that, he plans to use the excuse that you fell into a honeytrap to kill you. That means you and I have something in common.”

Volkov smiled a tired smile. “Would you care for a drink?”

“Next time. I’ve been here long enough. Do you want me to take care of the girl?”

The smile died. “I believe a man should clean up his own mess.”

“So do I,” Stan said. “You’re in a tough spot, Dmitri, but I make a better friend than enemy.”

“You and I are now friends?”

Stan holstered his pistol. “You know how this works. Your boss wants to kill you. I’ve risked my life to save you. Doesn’t seem like a hard choice to me. I’ll be in touch.”

Hurley opened the door, ghosted into the hallway, and closed it behind him. As recruitments went, the pitch he’d just delivered to Volkov wasn’t exactly textbook.

Then again, neither was he.