Page 7 of Eleven Numbers

“Me?” Tyler said. “Go to Russia? I couldn’t engage Arkady Suslov in personal conversation. I mean, I love his work, but there’s etiquette involved. He would have to speak to me first. And I don’t speak Russian.”

“He speaks English,” Bailey said.

“He speaks math,” Ramsey said.

“I wouldn’t know how to approach him.”

“We’ll help,” Ramsey said. “We’ll find a way of putting you next to each other, same time, same place. Then it’s over to you. You’ll get a feel for the man. Which number would such a man pick? Subjective, I get it. Outside your comfort zone. But you’re a smart guy in real life too. Not just math. I feel I can trust you on this. You’ll figure it out.”

“It’ll be easy,” Bailey said. “He must have read your thesis. It was excellent work on his favorite subject. People will have sent it to him. He’ll be delighted to meet you. He’ll talk all day.”

“Then you’ll come back here and tell us all about it,” Ramsey said. “You’ll lay it out, everything he told you, everything you picked up on, and we’ll discuss it. You don’t have to make the decision yourself. This is a team effort.”

“I’m not sure,” Tyler said.

Ramsey nodded, understanding.

“I get it,” he said. “This is a big step. Going operational is a big commitment. Actually it’s two commitments. One from us to you, and one from you to us. We guarantee you’ll have the entire might of the United States government at your back every step of the way and every hour of the day. In return you acknowledge the complexity of an operation like this. It can’t be stopped. If you’re in, you stay in. That’s your commitment.”

Tyler said, “Can I think about it?”

McGinn shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We have no time. The Global Math Congress is in Moscow this year and it opens in six days. That’s our perfect opportunity. Nothing could be more natural or organic. Everyone goes, from all around the world, including lots of first-timers. You won’t stand out.”

“Isn’t Moscow dangerous for Americans right now?”

“The math conference will be safe. It will be a little island of common sense in a sea of bullshit. We can get you in as a late delegate, but we have to start right now. We should fly you in from London, probably. Less scrutiny than direct from the States. Maybe a couple days in New York too. Like you’re dropping in on colleagues along the way. A plausible paper trail, if they check. Which they won’t, because of the math thing. They’ll wave you through. They like hosting academics. It makes them look good.”

Ramsey asked, “Are you in?”

Tyler breathed in. Breathed out. And again.

Then he said yes, he was.

There were six days left, so two days in New York and two in London gave just two to prepare. They passed in a blur. McGinn’s staffers handled everything. One created a phantom journey from Tyler’s home to New York City, coach class air, even taxis each end. It was a trip Tyler would never take, because he was already on the East Coast, but it had to show up on the airline’s system and Tyler’s credit card records, just in case. A second staffer booked the real travel and lodging, under the university’s name, and consistent with its budget. A third staffer went out and bought a suitcase and toiletries, and clothes, Tyler’s size and style.

McGinn dropped by from time to time, for private briefings and rehearsals. He had three areas of concern. Firstwas worry from colleagues at home, because Moscow was dangerous. McGinn suggested a number of reassurances. He repeated his earlier line about a little island of common sense amid all the bullshit. Tyler suggested a line about a nobody from nowhere, who no one would notice. McGinn approved it, very tactfully. Then he said the main message should always be the math. A hotel full of rational people. What could go wrong?

The second concern was the Moscow airport. The guys who flipped through your passport and opened your suitcase. They were intimidating. Stone-faced and silent. Guaranteed to put a shiver down any American spine. But not to worry. Tyler’s travel documents would be 100 percent correct. The airport would feel like a scary movie, but the overall experience would be friction-free.

The third concern was the talk with Arkady Suslov. Getting relaxed one-on-one time would be hard enough. Steering the subsequent conversation would be unbelievably delicate. Like pitching a perfect game. McGinn said it was vital to stay away from security or passwords. If the talk started heading in that direction, pull back someplace else. It could be Suslov getting suspicious. He could be dangling bait. Maybe find a different subject. A different kind of math, but one that allowed the same kind of preference or emotion.

Tyler said he would do his best.

Then McGinn issued a warning. Other than Suslov, Tyler was to talk to no one. Ever, anywhere. Not his seatmate on the plane, not the guy at the next table at breakfast. Nobody. Definitely no hookers or bar staff. Too easy to go a step too far with what you said. Everyone was liable. It was human nature to want to drop a hint that really you’re a hell of a guy. So avoid the temptation. Talk to no one. Plus remember the laws and regulations.

Tyler said he would do his best.

McGinn wished him luck.

Which is how Tyler came to be in his London hotel room on the morning of his departure, warned twice by the State Department and once by Professor Ferguson back home.You must be crazy.Tyler had ended the call and stood up off the bed and wheeled his new suitcase out through the door. Ahead lay a car to the London airport, a four-hour British Airways flight, and a rental waiting for him at the counter in Moscow. Probably a Mercedes, McGinn had said, but he couldn’t promise.

At first the Moscow airport felt exactly like a scary movie. International arrivals meant the jet bridge let out directly into a long gray corridor that zigged and zagged, dim and featureless, burrowing ever deeper into the building. Then it opened into a brightly lit hall with eight booths, each manned by one of the promised stone-faced and silent figures. But the guy Tyler got was fine. He asked the purpose of Tyler’s visit, and Tyler said the math conference, and the guy got relaxed and friendly and waved him through. Tyler found the rental counter, one international brand among many, and they gave him a car key, and walked him to a shuttle bus, which let him out in the middle of a vast parking lot, where something about the endless sky told him the lot was in fact tiny in the landscape.

The car was a Mercedes, like McGinn had hoped. A sedan, painted black, waxed to a shine. It smelled of cigars inside. Tyler set the GPS to English and tapped in the address. Thealgorithm found a solution. A thick blue line, through the messy outskirts on a main radial route, which became what looked like a long, wide boulevard running through the city proper, toward its distant center.

Tyler backed out of the slot and headed for an exit sign about halfway to the horizon. Beyond it came a series of wide new roads through old pitted land. There were gaudy billboards everywhere, for products Tyler couldn’t decipher, at prices he didn’t understand. There were traffic lights at every major intersection. The usual red, yellow, green. Every pole had a sign sayingCTON.Caution,Tyler guessed. There were distant sirens everywhere, ahead, behind, to the left, to the right.

---