Page 83 of The Collector
“How appropriate.”
“Komarovsky sees himself as a man of destiny.” Carter returned the volume of Pasternak to his attaché case. “Tell Magnus to accept every invitation he receives, even if it’s an invitation to his own execution. It might just be from Komarovsky.”
“Can he get them into Petrov’s house?”
“Moderate to high confidence.”
“And can he get them out again?”
“I suppose that depends entirely on your girl.”
“She needs six minutes to photograph an eighty-page document, Adrian.”
“How soon can they leave for Russia?”
“As soon as my Danish partners and I finish blowing up the DanskOil–RuzNeft joint venture.”
“Get it done.” Carter closed the attaché case. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”
The primeminister’s tone was offhand and unfailingly polite. She was wondering if he could drop by her office in the Borgen at five that afternoon to discuss DanskOil’s situation in Russia.
“And not to worry, Magnus. Fifteen minutes will be more than sufficient.”
She assured him the visit would be unpublicized, but several hundred angry protesters, and a large contingent of Danish press, greeted his arrival. The meeting was precisely three minutes in length. The prime minister gave him an ultimatum and a deadline and then sent him on his way. Outside, he found his limousine soaked with blue and yellow paint, the colors of the Ukrainian flag. The video of his departure was a global sensation.
The following morning, he informed his senior staff that he had no choice but to wind down DanskOil’s position in Russia. He delivered the news to his board that afternoon but waited another day before calling RuzNeft chairman Igor Kozlov at the company’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg.
“Is there really no way to resist the pressure?” asked Kozlov in Russian.
“I’m sorry, Igor. But I’m afraid I have a gun to my head.”
“Why don’t you come to Saint Petersburg? I’m sure we can come up with a solution.”
“There isn’t one.”
“What’s the harm in trying, Magnus?”
“When?”
“Next week?”
“I’m not sure I can hang on that long.”
“In that case, how about the day after tomorrow?”
“I’ll see you then,” he said, and rang off.
His new assistant was hovering over his desk, notepad in hand. He instructed her to arrange private air travel from Copenhagen to Saint Petersburg and reserve two cathedral-view premium suites at the Hotel Astoria in Saint Isaac’s Square.
“Two suites?” she asked, pointedly.
“You will be accompanying me, Ms. Sørensen. You should plan on being away for several days.”
“Yes, of course,” she said with a smile, and returned to her desk.
That evening, Gabriel and the team put her through the most grueling training session yet. She spent thirty minutes bumping locks, another thirty spinning the combination dial of the safe, and nearly two hours photographing the eighty-page directive. Afterward Mikhail led her upstairs for a Russian-accented mock interrogation while Gabriel and Eli Lavon briefed Magnus on the basics of making contact with a clandestine source. The CEO cast several glances at his costly Piaget Altiplano Origin wristwatch.
Annoyed, Gabriel asked, “Am I keeping you from something, Magnus?”
