“Shut the fuck up!” Georgy, the other, snapped.

“Unless you accept the inevitable.” Karpov stood in front of them, but he addressed Anton. “This agency is going to change—with you or without you. Think of it this way. You have been granted a singular opportunity to become part of my inner circle, to give me both your faith and your fealty. In return, you live and, quite possibly, you prosper. But only if your allegiance is to me and me alone. If it wavers so much as a little, your family will never know what happened to you. There won’t even be a body left to bury, to comfort your loved ones, nothing, in fact, to mark your time on this earth.”

“I swear undying loyalty to you, General Karpov, on this you can rely.”

Georgy spat, “Traitor! I’ll tear you limb from limb.”

Karpov ignored the outburst. “Words, Anton Fedarovich,” he said.

“What must I do, then?”

Karpov shrugged. “If I have to tell you, there’s no point, is there?”

Anton appeared to consider a moment. “Untie me then.”

“If I untie you, then what?”

“Then,” Anton said, “we will get to the point.”

“Immediately?”

“Without a doubt.”

Karpov nodded and, moving around behind the two, untied Anton’s wrists and ankles. Anton stood up. He was careful not to rub the rawness of his wrists. He held out his right hand. Karpov stared fixedly into his eyes, then, after a moment, he presented his Makarov butt-first.

“Shoot him!” Georgy cried. “Shoot him, not me, you fool!”

Anton took the pistol and shot Georgy twice in the face.

Karpov looked on without expression. “And now how shall we dispose of the body?” This was said in the manner of an oral exam, a final, the culmination, or perhaps the first step in indoctrination.

Anton was as careful with his answer as he was thoughtful. “The chain saw was for the other. This man… this man deserves nothing, less than nothing.” He stared down at the drain, which looked like the maw of a monstrous beast. “I wonder,” he said, “have you any strong acid?”

Forty minutes later, under bright sunshine and a perfectly blue sky, Karpov, on his way to brief President Imov on his progress, received the briefest of text messages. “Border.”

“Ramenskoye,” Karpov said to his driver, referring to Moscow’s main military airport, where a plane, fueled and fully manned, was always at his disposal. The driver made a U-turn as soon as traffic allowed, and stepped on the accelerator.

The moment Karpov presented his credentials to the military immigration official at Ramenskoye, a man so slight Boris at first mistook him for a teenager stepped out of the shadows. He wore a plain dark suit, a bad tie, and scuffed, dusty shoes. There was not an ounce of fat on him; it was as if his muscles were welded into one lithe machine. It was as if he’d honed his body for use as a weapon.

“General Karpov.” He did not offer his hand or any form of greeting. “My name is Zachek.” He offered neither a first name nor a patronymic.

“What?” Karpov said. “Like Paladin?”

Zachek’s long, ax-like face registered nothing. “Who’s Paladin?” He snatched Karpov’s passport from the soldier. “Please come with me, General.”

Turning his back, he started off across the floor and, because he had Karpov’s credentials, Boris, quietly seething, was obliged to follow him. Zachek led him down a sporadically lit corridor that smelled of boiled cabbage and carbolic, through an unmarked door, and into a small, windowless interrogation room. It contained a table bolted to the floor and two blue molded-plastic folding chairs. Incongruously, there was a beautiful brass samovar on the table, along with two glasses, spoons, and a small brass bowl of white and brown sugar cubes.

“Please sit,” Zachek said. “Make yourself at home.”

Karpov ignored him. “I’m the head of FSB-2.”

“I’m aware of who you are, General.”

“Who the hell are you?”

Zachek pulled a laminated folder out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and opened it. Karpov was forced to take several steps closer in order to read it. SLUZHBA VNESHNEY RAZVEDKI. He reared back. This man was head of the counter-insurgency directorate at SVR, the Russian Federation equivalent of the American Central Intelligence. Strictly speaking, FSB and FSB-2 were confined to domestic matters, though Cherkesov had expanded his agency’s mandate overseas without generating any blowback. Was that what this interview was about, FSB-2 encroaching on SVR’s territory? Karpov now very much regretted not having brought up the subject with Cherkesov before he had taken over.

Karpov slapped the veneer of a smile on his face. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s more what I—or, more accurately, SVR—can do for you.”

“I very much doubt that.”

Karpov was close enough to snatch Zachek’s credentials as Zachek was about to put them away. Now he waved them like a flag of war on the battlefield. In his mind he heard the sounds of sabers rattling.

Zachek held out Karpov’s passport, and the two men exchanged prisoners.

When Karpov had put his passport safely away, he said, “I have a plane to catch.”

“The pilot has instructions to wait until this interview has ended.” Zachek crossed to the samovar. “Tea?”

“I think not.”

Zachek, in the process of filling one glass, turned back to him. “A mistake, surely, General. We have here the finest Russian Caravan black tea. What makes this particular blend of oolong, Keemun, and Lapsang souchong so special is that it was transported from its various plantations through Mongolia and Siberia, just as it was in the eighteenth century when the camel caravans brought it from China, India, and Ceylon.” He took the filled glass by his fingertips and brought it up to his nose, breathing in deeply. “The cold, dry climate allows just the right touch of moisture to be absorbed by the tea when it is nightly set down on the snow-covered steppes.”

He drank, paused, and drank again. Then he looked at Karpov. “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain.”

“As you wish, General.” Zachek sighed as he put down the glass. “It has come to our attention—”

“Our?”

“The SVR’s attention. Do you prefer that?” Zachek’s fingers waggled. “In any event, you have piqued the SVR’s attention.”

“In what way?”

Zachek put his hands behind his back. He looked like a cadet on the parade ground. “You know, General, I envy a man like you.”

Karpov decided to let him talk uninterrupted. He wanted this mysterious interview over with as soon as possible.

“You’re old school, you came up the hard way, fought for every promotion, bodies of those weaker than you littered behind you.” He pointed at his own chest. “I, on the other hand, had it comparatively easy. You know, it occurs to me that I could learn a lot from a man such as yourself.” He waited for Karpov to respond, but when only silence ensued, he continued.

“How would you like that, General, mentoring me?”

“You’re like all the young technocrats who play video games and think that’s a substitute for experience in the field.”

“I have more important things to do than play video games.”

“It pays to familiarize yourself with what the competition is up to.” Boris waved a hand. “Now get to the point. I don’t have all day.”

Zachek nodded thoughtfully. “We simply want to ensure that the arrangement we had with your predecessor will continue with you.”

“What arrangement?”

“Oh, dear, you mean Cherkesov flew the coop without informing you?”

“I have no knowledge of a deal,” Karpov said. “If you’ve done your research, you know that I don’t do deals.” He was through here. He headed for the door.

“I thought,” Zachek said softly, “that in this case you would make an exception.”

Karpov counted to ten and then turned back. “You know, it’s exhausting talking to you.”