“He was helping you. After Rodionov told us, it was just a matter of how to get rid of Rudy to the best effect. He knew about the painting. We let him think if he got it authenticated he could make his own sale. I gave him a slightly different painting. Borya said that with a big enough explosion we could get rid of Rudy and give Rodionov a reason to wipe out the Chechens, both at the same time.”

“Did you think Borya was going to stay here at some point and become Boris Benz for good?”

“Where would you rather be, Moscow or Berlin?”

“So in the videotape when you said, ‘I love you,’ you were saying it to Borya.”

“We were happy here.”

“And you were willing to do things for Borya that his wife never would, like going back to Moscow and delivering a firebomb to Rudy. I had to ask myself why an obviously well-to-do tourist would stay someplace as shabby and far out of the city as the Soyuz Hotel. The answer was that it was the hotel closest to the black market and the shortest ride with a firebomb that didn’t have a fuse. You were brave, taking a chance you wouldn’t blow up too. That’s love.”

Rita wet her lips. “You’re so good at questions, could I ask you one?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you ask about Irina?”

“Like what?”

Rita leaned forward as if she were whispering in a crowd. “What Irina got out of it. Do you think Max paid for her clothes and all her little gifts because she made good conversation? Ask yourself what she was willing to do for him.”

Arkady felt his skin start to heat.

“They were together for years,” Rita said. “Practically man and wife, like Borya and me. I don’t know what she’s telling you now. I’m just saying that what she’s doing for you she did for him. Any woman would.”

His ears burned. A hot meridian spread across his face. “What are you really trying to say?”

Rita’s head rested sympathetically to one side. “It sounds as if she hasn’t told you everything. I’ve known men like you all my life. Somebody has to be a goddess, and everyone else is a whore. Irina slept with Max. He bragged about what she would do.” Rita invited him to lean toward her and lowered her voice even more. “I’ll tell you and you can compare.”

As soon as he felt the tension on the handle ease, Arkady lifted the canvas bag. “Shoot now and you’ll put a hole through the painting. I don’t think it’s insured for that,” he said.

“You prick.”

Arkady grabbed the pistol when she brought it over the table. It was Borya’s .22. He bent her wrist and twisted the gun free.

“You fuck,” Rita said.