BELLA LUNA

         From that point on, everything picked up steam in the investigation. Now that Bazarov was in police custody, Marciano, Salah and Massot felt his testimony would corroborate theirs and give them more leeway to work a deal. By comparing notes the police could piece it all together, and Bazarov was the key.
         There was not a word from the Russian Federation about their diplomat’s disappearance, and the Sûreté kept him out of sight until they could interrogate him. After escaping in the van, Bazarov was brought to a safe house with plenty of security, a modest but rather nicely decorated apartment with double windows that did not open and a thick, well-protected front door. It was there that the interrogation would take place.
         Bazarov felt sure his diplomatic immunity would guarantee that he would not be tried for a high crime, especially since no one had died from the attacks. But he was well aware he would have to give up information across a broad spectrum, not just on the hotel attacks but on other aspects of Russian surveillance. The latter would be a matter for the Directorate-General for External Security (DGSE), France’s version of the American C.I.A and Britain’s MI6. Borel and people from the Directorate-General for Internal Security (DGSI) would do the questioning about the hotels.

         Across a table set with recording equipment, Bazarov and his French attorney faced Borel and the DGSI people. The Russian looked exhausted but still sat up straight and kept a look of seriousness without any sense of intimidation. There were bottles of Vittel and Badoit water on the table and an espresso machine in the corner.
         Borel began, speaking French. “How would you prefer to be addressed, Monsieur?”
         “Monsieur Bazarov will be fine.”
         “Well, then, you have already spoken with your attorney, am I correct?”
         Bazarov nodded and helped himself to a glass of water.
         “You are asking for asylum in exchange for information, correct? And you know that asylum is granted only if the seeker can prove persecution or threats from his native country.”
         Another nod, which caused Borel to ask him to speak so as to be on the record.
         “And I’m sure your attorney has advised you about claims of diplomatic immunity.”
         “Yes.”
         “But did he tell you that the conditions of asylum are only temporary, and since you are alleged to have committed a crime, those conditions may not be so easily met.”
         Bazarov raised his chin and looked at his attorney, who said, “Monsieur Borel, my client is here voluntarily and—”
         “With the help of three Americans and a number of my officers who were ready to save him from being restrained by his own people," said Borel. "Do not worry, Monsieur, we are not handing your client back to his Russian friends, at least not if he tells us what we need to know.”
         Now the attorney nodded several times and smiled.
         Borel leaned back and said, “But that may not prevent us from sending him to another country, perhaps Saudi Arabia, to be tried, if they make a request. His actions caused an enormous amount of sickness and expense.”
         “All covered by insurance, I assume,” said the attorney.
         “Perhaps, but I am sure that the Saudis will at the very least demand their people interrogate Monsieur Bazarov, with which we will have to comply. I would hate to hand him over to the Saudis and never see him again.”
         For the first time Bazarov looked concerned, turning to his attorney, who put up his hand to quiet his client.
       “I am sure, Monsieur Borel, that Monsieur Bazarov will be fully co-operative with your office and provide all the information you require of him.”
         “I trust he will,” said Borel. “So, let us begin by asking about the hotel attacks.”
         All the officers began shuffling files, opening folders and clicking pens. Borel said, “Why don’t we simply let Monsieur Bazarov tell his side of the story, and we will ask questions along the way?”
         Bazarov now sounded eager to talk, having been cautioned as to the way he told the story by his lawyer.
         “I was a pawn in the game,” he began. “As a member of the diplomatic corps, I’m sure you know, Monsieur, that we are called upon to often act under great secrecy. We are certainly aware that your people do.” Bazarov then mentioned two highly questionable actions undertaken just in the past year by the DGSI, which caused the two officials to look at each other and make notes.
         “I was in charge of arranging for the three individuals—they did not know each other—to obtain the virus packages. Only Monsieur Massot was paid; Marciano was told he was doing a favor for the Unione, and Salah a job for the Syrian security force. They were not told exactly how the virus would affect people, though they were well aware of what we were trying to accomplish when they were given the HAZMAT suits and instructions on how to deliver the virus.
         “It was all planned to occur at the same time so as to cause the greatest amount of panic in those three hotels. The plan was never to kill anyone.”
         Borel sniffed at the assertion and said, “You are lucky no one was. And how did you obtain the virus?”
         “It was simply handed to me while I was on a trip to Ankara last month. It was packed in dry ice and I was told to keep it that way at my embassy. Twelve hours out of the ice and the virus would decompose and die.”
         “So, you delivered the virus personally to the three perpetrators?”
         “No, I only delivered the one package to Massot that night. Others at the embassy had given them to the other two, after Marciano arrived in Paris and to Salah at his apartment.”
         “And you purchased Marciano’s ticket and made all the hotel reservations?”
         “A secretary at the Embassy did. It was merely a formality.”
         Borel and the DGSI officers pried out every detail about each of the attacks, and they all jibed with what the three perpetrators had said. The officers checked off boxes in their files as Bazarov spoke. This went on for three more hours, then they broke for a half hour and brought in lunch, but no wine, which Bazarov had asked for.
         After lunch the questioning resumed.
         “Now, Monsieur Bazarov, you have apparently been telling us many things we already knew, and I commend you for corroborating most of what the three perpetrators have told us. But since they did not know who was behind the whole idea to attack three Saudi-owned hotels, perhaps it is time you tell us that.”
         Bazarov looked at his attorney, who nodded.
         “The plan was conceived in Moscow,” said the Russian.
         “For what possible purpose?”
         “Someone wanted those hotels to be put out of business so that they might be purchased at a very low price.”
         “You mean some Russian billionaire, or perhaps a consortium?”
         Borel rubbed his cheeks and said, “Not just some billionaire. Russia’s biggest billionaire.”
         Borel and the DGSI knew what was coming.
         “Do you mean the President of Russia, whose name rhymes with a Canadian potato dish?”
         For the first time, as if a fever had broken, Bazarov smiled and said, “Yes, the man with the name of a Canadian potato dish. President Vladimir Putin.”