— In the car in the parking lot, — Oleg answered. — Maxim will be transmitting audio in real-time. As soon as Svetlana hands over the flash drive or documents, I’ll signal the police officer. He’ll come in, introduce himself, and ask everyone to come to the station for questioning. There we’ll draw up a report and record the statements.
— What if Kasatkin tries to destroy the flash drive? — Kirill voiced his concern.
— He won’t have time, — Oleg said confidently. — The officer will enter 30 seconds after the handover. A minute at most. He won’t be able to do anything physically in public in that time.
— Good, — Pavel nodded. — Is Svetlana aware of the whole plan?
— Yes, — Vera confirmed. — She will arrive at the café without us, enter alone, and take a table. She will act naturally, as if nothing has happened. The voice recorder is in her bag, she’s not to take it out.
— The main thing is for Kasatkin himself to confirm that he knows the origin of the information and is willing to accept it.
— And what if he refuses? — Kirill asked. — Says he doesn’t understand what it’s about?
— Then Svetlana must insist, — Oleg explained. — Remind him of their previous agreements, mention the amount she was promised. All of this will be recorded. Even if he doesn’t take the documents, the fact of the attempted transfer and his awareness will be proven.
Pavel looked at his watch. Half-past five.
— Let’s go. Oleg, you’re driving. Vera, take the documents. Kirill, you’re in charge here. If anything goes wrong, I’ll call.
They went down to the parking lot and got into an inconspicuous dark sedan. Oleg started the car, and they drove out into the evening city streets. The traffic was light, and in 20 minutes they parked near the ‘Metropol’ café. From here, they had a good view of the entrance, but they couldn’t be seen from the outside.
At 6:45 PM, a taxi pulled up to the café, and Svetlana got out. She was dressed formally: a black pantsuit, a light blouse, her hair pulled back. She carried a small leather bag. Pavel watched her. She went inside without looking back.
— Maxim is already in place, — Oleg reported, looking at his phone. — Svetlana has taken a table, ordered coffee. She’s acting calm.
Ten minutes of agonizing waiting passed. The car was silent, except for the noise of passing vehicles. At 6:58 PM, a black SUV pulled up to the café. A man in his fifties, tall, graying, in an expensive coat, got out. Pavel recognized him from the photo Oleg had shown him that morning. Vladimir Kasatkin.
— He’s here, — Oleg said quietly and turned on his phone’s speaker.
Muffled sounds from the café came through the speaker: the clinking of dishes, soft music, voices of patrons. Then Svetlana’s voice came through clearly:
— Good evening, Vladimir Olegovich.
— Hello, Svetlana Andreevna, — a male voice replied. — Sorry for being late, traffic.
— It’s okay, I just got here.
— Have a seat. — The sound of a chair being pulled out, the rustle of clothes. — What will you have to drink?
— Espresso, — Kasatkin said and apparently called over a waiter.
A pause. Then Kasatkin’s voice became quieter, more intimate:
— So, did you bring everything?
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