Anton Belov

Anton Belov is 44 and sells security, which is a polite way of selling fear. He was born in Kazan, the son of an army officer, and built his career in Moscow after the nineties changed the country. Today he runs a consulting firm with an office in Moscow, fifteen employees and a business card he hands out like candy. He travels a lot and stays in big hotels.

At home in Moscow he lives in a spacious apartment at the top of a new building, with a black leather sofa, a bookshelf nobody has read and an enormous window onto the snow. On the sideboard, always a crystal ashtray and a plain silver cigarette case. He says he never smokes alone, and it's true: he lights one cigarette in every conversation and offers another to whoever he's talking to.

He is a broad-shouldered man with dark blond hair cropped close at the sides, a wide clean-shaven face and small blue eyes that seem to smile even when they aren't. He wears a white shirt without a tie and walks with a folded black umbrella in his hand, even when it isn't raining. Far too friendly, he calls the detective my friend, laughs loudly and changes the subject with a joke before the question is finished.

About London, his account is about business: security consulting for companies afraid of their own shadow. He says it is his first time in the city this year and that the rain has already worn him out. He arranged the tea with Pavel because he knew rich, frightened people, and he sells peace of mind. A tea between old acquaintances, a contract on the table, nothing more.

When someone asks what he put in the pot, he answers that it was sugar, two cubes, and asks if the detective wants him to draw a picture. It may be the humor of a man who uses wit as armor. It may be the mask of someone who smiles so as not to be seen. The detective will have to decide which.