Page 98 of Spymaster
Espionage, though, was a dirty business. Sometimes, unsavory deals had to be struck with bad actors—especially when it meant preventing a war.
“Anything else I need to know before I talk with him? What are his grudges against the military and the GRU?”
Vella glanced at some notes he had made. “He was born into a lower-class family. Despite being highly intelligent, he thinks the Russian military, and especially the GRU, have prohibited him from reaching the rank and responsibility he rightly deserves.”
“So he’s got a Fredo Corleone complex,” Harvath replied, referring to the middle brother in the Godfather saga.
“He seems to realize that if he’s going to make any sort of a deal at all, now is the time to do it.”
It made sense, but from what the Old Man had taught him about his days of brokering deals with Soviet defectors in the Cold War, these things usually required a lot of back and forth. The talks were often complicated and prolonged. The veracity of the information the defectors provided had to be confirmed and always checked against multiple sources.
But those were different times and amuchdifferent scenario. Kuznetsov wasn’t some embassy walk-in. He was a prisoner—one with a limited amount of bargaining power and one against whom the clock was ticking.
By the same token, though, the clock was also ticking for Harvath. He desperately needed information and, like it or not, his best option was to try to cut a deal. As Vella had correctly pointed out, he had been given an opportunity. He needed to make sure he did everything he could to take advantage of it.
Working together, he and Vella set up the room exactly the way he wanted it. The conversation would still be videotaped, but he didn’t want it done under the harsh glare of the halogen lights. Harvath wanted to sit across from the Russian in order to read him. Vella’s machines were one thing, but Harvath put his ultimate confidence in how he felt in his gut and what he could see with his own two eyes.
He called upstairs to Staelin and asked him to brew him some coffee and to bring it down along with some bottled water for their captive.
Kuznetsov, being Russian, might also want a smoke. Harvath knew that Vella used cigarettes as incentives with detainees and sure enough, the man had brought along several packs. He placed one on the table along with a small box of matches.
When everything was exactly as he wanted, Harvath walked over to Kuznetsov and removed his hood.
CHAPTER 57
As Kuznetsov blinked, trying to readjust his eyes to the light, Harvath removed the headphones.
Sheets had been hung from the ceiling to create a small, enclosed space, preventing the Russian from seeing the rest of the room. He was still tied to the chair, but now there was a table in front of him with a pack of cigarettes on it.
Across from him, drinking a cup of coffee, was the man who had shown up at the beach house dressed as a Swedish policeman—the same man from the hospital security camera footage that Johansson had copied for him.
“Mr. Kuznetsov, I am here because I understand you are interested in cooperating with us,” said Harvath.
“I am interested in arranging a deal,” he replied.
“I must be honest with you, I’m not particularly fond of deals.”
The Russian forced a painful grin. “Imagine how I feel.”
“How is it you speak, English?”
“May I have a cigarette?”
Harvath tapped one out of the pack and held it up to the man’s mouth. Kuznetsov leaned forward and took it between his lips. Harvath then took out a match, struck it against the box, and lit it for him.
The Russian attempted to take a deep drag, but the pain from his shoulder caused him to cough. The coughing only increased his pain.
Once it had passed, he tried again—this time taking a much more shallow pull.
“Mostly, I taught myself English. I like to read. I also took some classes while I was in the Russian Army and then in my following position.”
“With the GRU.”
“Yes,” said Kuznetsov.
“What can you tell me about your position with the GRU?”
“I am an intelligence officer.”
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