The Wolf at the Door Read Free Page A

He put the wallet in his inside pocket. “An intriguing present for Roper when we get back to London. Now can we get moving? Putin awaits us.”
     
     
     
    At the UN that evening, there was no sign of Blake Johnson, which surprised Dillon because Blake had said he’d be there, but maybe he’d decided he just had better things to do. Vladimir Putin said nothing that he had not said before. The usual warning that if the U.S. went ahead with a missile defense system, the Russians would have to deploy in kind, and implying that the Russian invasion of Georgia was a warning shot. Delving deep into history, he warned the U.S. about overconfidence in its military might. “Rome may have destroyed Carthage, but eventually it was destroyed by barbarians.”
    “That’s a good one,” Miller murmured.
    “I know,” Dillon said. “Though I don’t know if equating Russia with the barbarians is really a good idea for him.”
    Putin then moved on to Britain, turning to look at the British Ambassador to the UN as if addressing him personally. Britain was guilty of granting asylum to some who had been traitors to the Russian people. London had become a launching pad to fight Russia. In the end, it seemed impossible to have normal relations anymore. And on and on.
    Many people sitting there obviously agreed with him, and there was applause. The British Ambassador answered robustly, pointing out that the British Security Service had identified Russia as a menace to national safety, the third-most-serious threat facing the country, after Al Qaeda terrorism and Iranian nuclear proliferation.
    At the champagne reception afterwards, Miller said, “The trouble is, Vladimir Putin is dangerously capable. Afghanistan, Iraq, Chechnya, not to mention his career with the KGB.”
    “I agree.” Dillon nodded. “But, in a way, the most significant thing about him is that he’s a patriot. He believes what he says. That’s what makes him the most dangerous of all.” He nodded towards the Russian delegation, who were hanging on Putin’s every word as he spoke to a Hamas representative. “Anyone of special interest over there?”
    “Actually, there is,” Miller said. “The scholarly looking man with the rather weary face and auburn hair.”
    “Gray suit, about fifty?”
    “Colonel Josef Lermov, new Head of Station for the GRU at the London Embassy. At least, that’s the whisper Ferguson’s heard. He only told me yesterday and pulled out Lermov’s photo.”
    “I see,” Dillon said. “So they’ve given up on finding his predecessor, dear old Boris Luzhkov?”
    “It seems so.”
    “It’s hardly likely they would have succeeded, considering he went into the Thames with a bullet between the eyes. Ferguson had the disposal team fish him out the same day,” Dillon told him.
    “Ashes to ashes?” Miller said.
    “If he couldn’t take the consequences, he shouldn’t have joined. Lermov is coming this way.”
    Lermov was. Even his smile seemed weary. “Major Miller, I believe? Josef Lermov.” He turned to Dillon and held out his hand.
    “So nice to meet you, Mr. Dillon.”
    “How flattering to be recognized,” Dillon told him.
    “Oh, your reputation precedes you.”
    Miller smiled. “How’s Luzhkov? Still on holiday?”
    Lermov gave no sign of being fazed. “I understand he is in Moscow being considered for a new post as we speak.”
    “What a shame,” Dillon said. “He loved London. He must regret leaving after all those years.”
    “Time to move on,” Lermov told him.
    “And his number two man, Major Yuri Bounine? Was it time for him to move on?” A loaded question from Miller if ever there was one, considering that said Yuri Bounine, having defected, was being held by Ferguson in a secure location in London.
    Lermov said patiently, “He is on special assignment, that is all I can say. I can only speak for my own situation in London and not for Moscow. You spent enough time serving in British Army intelligence to