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Investigation – into the killing. The leader of the grouptoldmewewereflyingtoAmerica.
    Hethenreadmemyrightsandplacedmeunderarrest.
    ChapterSeven
    MYBESTGUESSwasMontana.AsIlookedoutthewindowofthejettherewassomethinginthecutof
    thehillsthatmademealmostcertainwewereinthenorth-west.Therewasnothingelsetodistinguish the place – just an airstrip so secret it consisted of a huddle of unmarked bunkers, a dozen undergroundhangarsandmilesofelectrifiedfence.
    Wehadflownthroughthenight,andbythetimewelanded–justafterdawn–Iwasinabadframe
    ofmind.I’dhadplentyofopportunitytoturnthingsoverinmyheadandthedoubtshadgrownwith
    each passing mile. What if the Shania Twain DVD was a fake, or somebody had planted it on the Rider?MaybehewasrunningastingoperationIdidn’tknowabout–oranotheragencywasusing
    himtogivetheenemyaraftofdisinformation.Andwhataboutthis?Perhapstheinvestigatorswould claimitwasmyDVDandtheRiderhadunmasked me asthetraitor.ThatexplainedwhyIhadtoshoot himdeadwithnoconsultation.
    IwasslippingevenfurtherintothelabyrinthofdoubtastheSpecialOpsguysbustledmeoffthe
    planeandintoanSUVwithblackenedwindows.ThedoorslockedautomaticallyandIsawthehandles
    insidehadbeenremoved.IthadbeenfiveyearssinceIhadfirstjoinedthesecretworldandnow,after threefranticdaysinMoscow,everythingwasontheline.
    Fortwohourswedrovewithoutleavingtheconfinesoftheelectrifiedfence,comingtoastopat
    lastatalonelyranchhousesurroundedbyaparchedlawn.
    Restrictedtotwosmallroomsandforbiddenanycontactexceptwithmyinterrogators,Iknewthat
    in another wing of the house a dozen forensic teams would be going through my life with a fine-toothed comb – the Rider ’s too – trying to find the footprints of the truth. I also knew how they’d interviewme–butnoamountofpracticesessionsduringtrainingcanprepareyoufortherealityof beingworkedoverbyhostileinterrogators.
    Fourteamsworkedinshifts,andIsayitwithouteditorialcomment,purelyasamatterofrecord:
    the women were the worst – or the best – depending on your point of view. The shapeliest of them appearedtothinkthatbyleavingthetopofhershirtundoneandleaningforwardshewouldsomehow
    getclosertothetruth.Wonderbra,Icalledher.Itwouldbethesamesortofmethodused,yearslater, withgreateffectontheMuslimdetaineesatGuantanamoBay.
    Iunderstoodthetheory–itwasareminderoftheworldyouhungeredfor,theworldofpleasure,
    farremovedfromtheplaceofconstantanxiety.Allyouhadtodowascooperate.Andletmejustsay, it works. Hammered about details night and day as they search for any discrepancy, you’re tired –
    wearytothebone.Twoweeksofitandyou’relongingforanotherworld–anyworld.
    Lateonenight,aftertwelvehourswithoutpause,IaskedWonderbra:‘YoufigureIplanneditall–
    andIshothimontheedgeofRedSquare? RedSquare? WhywouldIdothat?’
    ‘Stupid,Iguess,’shesaidevenly.
    ‘Wheredidtheyrecruityou–Hooters?!’Iyelled.Forthefirsttime,I’draisedmyvoice:itwasa mistake; now the team of analysts and psychologists watching via the hidden cameras would know theyweregettingtome.
    InstantlyI hoped shewould return service,but she was aprofessional – shekept her voice calm, justleanedevenfurtherforward,thefewbuttonsonhershirtstraining:‘They’renaturalandit’sno credittothebraincaseyou’rewondering.Whatsongwasthecarouselplaying?’
    Iforcedtheangertowalkaway.‘I’vealreadytoldyou.’
    ‘Tellusagain.’
    ‘“SmellsLikeTeenSpirit”.I’mserious,thisismodernRussia;nothingmakessense.’
    ‘You’dhearditbefore?’shesaid.
    ‘OfcourseI’dhearditbefore,it’sNirvana.’
    ‘Inthesquare,Imean,whenyouscoutedlocations—?’
    ‘Therewasnoscouting,becausetherewasnoplan,’Itoldherquietly,aheadachestartinginmyleft temple.
    Whentheyfinallyletmegotobed,Ifeltshewaswinning.Nomatterhowinnocentyouare,that’sa badthingtothinkwhenyou’reinanisolatedhouse,clingingtoyourfreedom,asgoodaslosttothe world.
    Earlythenextmorning–Wednesdaybymyfiguring,butinfactaSaturday,that’showdisoriented
    I’dbecome–thedoortomysleepingareawasunlockedandthehandlerhungacleansetofclothes
    on