Mistress

Again, Andrei cranes his head upward, with some difficulty. He seems surprised that I don’t know the answer, as if it’s obvious. “I told you because I’m a patriot, Benjamin. I’m a patriot with every fiber of my being. A patriot does what is best for his country, not what is best for its leader.”

True enough. Spoken like someone who grew up in a totalitarian regime.

“So you think this is personal to the president. Not classified information, like nuclear codes or photos of undercover spies, but something personal.”

Andrei lifts his bony shoulders. “That is my suspicion,” he says. “And if I knew that to be true-if I knew what it was, and it was just something embarrassing to the president, I would tell you. In fact, if I knew that, I would tell every newspaper in the world. I would do whatever I could to make that information public, to release the United States from this blackmail scheme. Even if it landed me in prison.

“But I don’t know, Benjamin. So if I went to the newspapers, I could not speak with any specificity. I would be easily discredited. You can imagine the government’s response-‘A sick old man who is hallucinating, senile,’ this sort of nonsense.”

He’s right about that. Our government is good at plausible deniability. And at smearing anyone who gets in its way.

“The best I could do, Benjamin, was to arm you with some information and hope that you would be able to learn more than I could.”

“Me? Why me?”

With a frail hand, Andrei reaches out and grabs my wrist. “You are far more talented than you’ve ever given yourself credit for, Benjamin. You’ve had to overcome challenges that would have broken most people. You are resourceful and determined and, in my judgment, brilliant. You’ve found some way to bury the demons of your childhood and find some measure of-I don’t know if it’s happiness. But some equilibrium. You’ve managed to avoid the Russians’ attempts to kill you, figure out the existence of the video, and strike fear into the heart of the Oval Office.”

I squat down so that I’m facing Andrei face-to-face.

“Why did they kill Jonathan Liu?” I ask.

Andrei playfully slaps my cheek. “My friend, surely you do not need me to solve that riddle.”

I think about it for a second. “The Chinese,” I say. “The Chinese. They don’t want the Russians to rebuild the Soviet empire. If the Russians take over the former satellites, especially Kazakhstan, they’ll be a threat to China.” I look at Andrei. “The Chinese know what the Russians are up to, don’t they?”

“I suspect they do,” he says.

“Sure. Of course. They want a copy of the video, too. But not to blackmail the United States. They want to make it public. They want to stop the Russians from blackmailing us, so we’ll stand up to Russia’s aggression on behalf of NATO.”

And that explains why the Russians killed Jonathan Liu. They can’t let the Chinese get that video. Their extortion doesn’t work if the video becomes public.

“And why me?” I ask. “Why have they been trying to kill me ever since Diana disappeared? Why do they think I, of all people, would have a copy of the video?”

Andrei breaks eye contact, lost in thought. He seems troubled. He seems not to know the answer. But trying to read Andrei is like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.

Yesterday, I told Alexander Kutuzov I had a copy of the video. But they’d been trying to kill me for a week before that. They’ve thought that all along. I only told them something they already believed.

“Either the Russians think you have the tape,” Andrei says, “or they think you’re trying to get hold of it.”

That makes sense. Either way, I’m a threat to the Russians.

Which means there’s only one way I can end this.

“I have to figure out what’s on that video and make it public,” I say. “It’s the only way to stop the Russians.”

“And the only way to save yourself,” he adds.

That would be nice, too.

I get out of my crouch and sit down flat on the porch. The sun is falling, and with it the temperature. In a few weeks the colors will change, and the air will turn brisk.

“So what’s worse than a sex tape of the president?” I ask.

Chapter 92

I leave Andrei’s house tied up in knots. I’ve now confirmed that there’s a video, which is crucial. But I’ve also confirmed that it’s not a sex tape of the president and his mistress, which is just as significant. And that means I screwed up this morning, when I tried to bluff Craig Carney. And it’s going to cost me.

Carney’s smart, very smart. When I told him I had a copy of the video, he challenged me. He asked me what was on the video. And I gave the wrong answer. So now he knows I’m bluffing.

The video, I now see, has been my chit all along. Carney’s been pressuring me in every way imaginable-threats of prosecution, threats against Anne, shutting down my website, and freezing my assets-but he hasn’t gone all the way and let the local cops arrest me yet. Of course not. Because he was afraid I had a copy of the video and I’d make it public. He was never sure if I had that video.

But now he knows I don’t.