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Maksim’s face hardens. “Belov had men inside this estate. Guards, contractors, people who could open doors and shut cameras.”

Petrov turns several pages of a file. “Outside these walls, it was worse. Seven hospitals. Several clinics. Ambulance crews. Pharmacy staff.”

No one speaks for a moment.

Maksim folds his hands. “It was an entire network.”

Abramov brings up a photograph from the hospital corridor. Men in SeverMed uniforms move past the trauma elevators with sealed bins between them.

“Vera saw these men outside surgery,” he says, tapping one face. “They could enter service corridors and treatment floors without being stopped.”

“How many hospitals?” I ask.

Petrov pulls another payment sheet across the narrow table. “SeverMed held waste contracts at seven hospitals, but most of those routes were used to collect medicine and supplies. Vera’s hospital also handled the wounded men.”

Leonid turns a transfer form beneath the light. “It has one of the strongest trauma departments in Moscow. They could bring in a man under a false name, have surgeons save him, then move him before the police began asking questions.”

“Where did they take them?” I ask.

“Usually Zarya,” Petrov says. “New Harbor prepared the false transfer, and SeverMed supplied the ambulance and crew.”

Maksim grimaces. “Too many company names for the same pack of bastards.”

“Each company opened a different door,” I say. “SeverMed got them into Vera’s hospital, New Harbor hid the transfer, Zarya kept the men out of sight.”

“Yes,” Petrov says. “Vera’s hospital was where they treated and moved the men. The clinics were where they hid the men afterward.”

“Where’s Vlasov?”

“Roman found him,” Abramov says, touching his earpiece.

Every head turns.

“Where?”

“At Zarya,” Abramov says. “He was clearing the basement clinic with four men. Roman’s bringing him here.”

On the screen, Dmitri adjusts the small receiver in his right ear that connects him to us through the observation-room line. He sets the fallen chair upright and sits across from Belov.

“Vlasov is alive,” he says, resting his forearms on the table. “That makes you less useful.”

Belov wipes the blood from his lip with his shoulder. “Semyon will say whatever he thinks will keep him alive.”

“Good.” Dmitri leans back. “Then we’ll compare every word he says with yours.”

Belov looks toward the observation glass and leers.

I press the speaker button. “Ask him about Marina.”

Dmitri’s eyes stay on Belov. “Who ordered Marina Pavlova killed?”

“Vlasov dealt with the hospital.”

“Who gave him permission?”

Belov stays silent.

Dmitri takes Belov’s smallest finger and bends it against the table.