“How long, Werner?” asked Navot again.
“What difference does it make?”
“It might make a great deal of difference. In fact, it might determine whether you live to see Lotte tonight or whether I have my friend put a bullet in your head.”
“A year. Maybe a year and a half.”
“Try again, Werner.”
“Four years.”
“Five, perhaps? Or six?”
“Let’s say five.”
“Who made the first move?”
“You know how it goes with these things. It’s a bit like a love affair. In the end, it’s hard to remember who pursued whom.”
“Try, Werner.”
“We flirted for a while and then I sent them a bouquet of flowers.”
“Daisies?”
“Orchids,” said Werner Schwarz with a defenseless smile. “The best stuff I could lay my hands on.”
“You wanted to make a good first impression?”
“They really do matter.”
“How much did you get for it?”
“Enough to buy something nice for Lotte.”
“Who handles you?”
“At first, it was a local boy from the Viennarezidentura.”
“Risky.”
“Not really. I was working counterintelligence then. I was allowed the occasional contact.”
“And now?”
“An out-of-towner.”
“Neighboring country?”
“Germany.”
“Berlinrezidentura?”
“Nonofficial cover, actually. Private practice.”
“What’s the fellow’s name?”
“He calls himself Sergei Morosov. Works for a consulting firm in Frankfurt. His clients are German firms wishing to do business in Russia, of which there are many, I can assure you. Sergei introduces them to the right people in Moscow and makes sure they put money in the right pockets, including Sergei’s. The company is a real cash cow. And the cash flows directly into the coffers of Moscow Center.”
