Authors: Greg Wilson
‘Thanks for your help,” he smiled, taking the tapes. “Keep the change.”
The young man’s eyes widened as he slid the originals back into their envelope and the envelope and the copies into a white plastic bag the girl had produced from a drawer beside her desk. Nikolai turned to go and the girl behind the desk pouted a little, leaning sideways to follow his movement around the door.
“You will come back?” she called, her voice rising as the distance between them grew. “Anytime at all. Remember. We are always happy to see you.”
He needn’t have hurried. It was almost five when Vari returned. Nikolai was sitting at the dining table, the suitcase he had acquired in the luggage store next to the Arbat Metro lying open on one of the couches, the clothes and other purchases stacked inside it. Vari gave the pile a cursory inspection as he passed, added a grunt of approval and continued on to the bar, hoisting a bottle of vodka, spinning the metal cap and pouring two fingers into a glass. He took a long drink then ran the back of his hand across his mouth and looked down at Nikolai with arched brows.
“You got the photos?”
Nikolai pulled an envelope from his shirt pocket and skidded it across the table. Vari nodded again, finished the second half of his vodka and refilled his glass. Capped the bottle, turned and gave a single abrupt nod.
“We were lucky, little brother.” Vari’s eyes flicked up, serious. “They’re both here. Kolbasov and Ivankov are both here in Moscow.” He met Nikolai’s gaze. “It’s on.” He let the words sink like lead as he drank again. Nikolai watched him, the pace of his heart beginning to quicken.
Vari sniffed. Carried his drink across to the table and dragged back a chair. “I got through to Kolbasov.” He watched Nikolai for a reaction. The silence acted like a poultice, drawing him out. “He’s got half a dozen joints here in Moscow. The classiest is a place called Revolution, on Tverskaya. When he’s in town that’s where he hangs out. He has an apartment on the top deck. Security as tight as the Kremlin.”
Nikolai drew the envelope of photographs back towards him. Swiveled it beneath his fingers. “You seem to know a lot about him.”
Vari looked up. “The business I’m in, you have to know things.”
The envelope came to a stop. Nikolai’s fingers rested absently on it for a moment then spun it in the opposite direction. “Moscow is a long way from Bulgaria, old friend.”
“I told you,” Vari looked up sharply. “I did well. I have investments back in Russia now, so I travel. Sometimes here; sometimes there.” His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “But I don’t do any business with Vitaly Kolbasov, little brother, if that’s what you mean. My stuff is chickenshit to people like him: a bar here; a club there. I’m just the flea on the elephant’s nut sack. So long as I only take little bites it doesn’t even notice.”
Nikolai watched him. Spun the envelope again.
Vari lifted his glass. Cut a pattern with his finger through the ring of condensation. “I couldn’t take the risk of trying to get him from here.” He tossed his head towards the telephone that rested on the sleek glass table beside the door. “This number’s clean. I pay a lot to keep it that way. Same with my cell. If anyone’s tapping Kolbasov they would have picked up my numbers and then I’d be fucked forever.” He sniffed again and took another drink. Less this time, Nikolai noticed. “I called him from the Metropol. He wasn’t there so I left a message. Said maybe he’d remember me. Maybe there was some business we could do. If he was interested he could call me back.”
“And?” Nikolai prompted.
“And I waited and he did.” Vari tossed back his head and emptied the glass. Studied Nikolai for a long minute. “I gave him the outline: Larisa for the tapes. He wanted to know why, after all this time, so I told him. I told him you were out and that you wanted your daughter back. That you were prepared to bury the past and walk away.” His eyes searched Nikolai’s. “You are prepared to do that aren’t you, little brother… bury the past?”
Nikolai shrugged his brows. “Of course,” he replied calmly.
Through several seconds Vari held his gaze. “And pigs might fly,” he breathed. He sat forward. “You know, Niko, just maybe…
maybe
we can pull this off. But you try anything crazy and you could get us all killed.”
Nikolai nodded slowly. “I understand that. Don’t worry, old friend. The only thing that’s important to me now is Larisa. Believe me, there’s no way I would put her at risk. So,” he drew a breath, “where is she?”
For a moment Vari held back, evaluating the answer. Finally he spoke.
“She’s here, Niko, that’s our next lucky break. She goes to a private boarding school near Borodino, some exclusive joint for rich kids. But summer recess just started so she’s just come back to town. Kolbasov keeps a country house near Tsaritsyno. There’s a couple who look after the place and Larisa, too, when she’s at home.” He paused and took a breath. “She’s there right now, Niko. Less than an hour’s drive.”
Nikolai leaned into his clasped hands. “The deal?”
Vari blinked slowly. “Kolbasov made contact with Ivankov, talked through everything with him then called me back. Ivankov’s agreed. He’s prepared to go along with it. We hand over the tapes. They hand over Larisa. You leave the country.” Vari reached forward across the table, his voice lowered, the edge of his face twisting in a sour grimace. “You know what the bastard told me, Niko? That he was really disappointed because this was going to ruin his plans. That he’d been going to take Larisa away with him for a couple of weeks to Italy.” Vari sneered the words.
“Father and daughter
, he said. Just the two of them. That he thought now she was almost a woman it was time for her to
get to know him
better!
Nikolai felt the bile rise in his gut. “When?” he breathed quietly.
Vari watched him. Watched his hands close into knots of tension.
“If we’re going to do it, Niko, they want to do it now. Tonight.” He reached inside his jacket, pulled out a narrow plastic ticket folder and slid it across the table. Nikolai stared at it for a moment then reached forward and flicked it open. Vari’s face creased in a grim smile. “You’re going to America, little brother.” Nikolai looked up. “You and Larisa. You’re going to America. All the arrangements have been made.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, hooking the envelope of photographs towards him, scooping them up and slipping them in his pocket. “I need you to wait here now while I organize the papers.” He started to turn then stopped. Reached into his side pocket and pulled out something else. Studied it a moment then turned back to Nikolai.
“You might want to see this, Nikolai.” He looked again at the small card he held in his hand. Reached back and placed it carefully on the table.
‘This is Larisa, Niko. This is your daughter.”
Nikolai’s eyes fell to the tiny white-framed photograph, an expression of dismay opening his face. He lifted his hand above the table and reached forward carefully, pinning it with a finger and drawing it slowly closer. Vari’s voice continued on from somewhere in the background.
“That’s why I was so long. I needed it for the papers. They had to get the photos taken then send them in with someone from Tsaritsyno.”
Nikolai blinked, staring in bewilderment at the tiny image. The perfect oval face lifted in Natalia’s smile, the long dark hair tied back in a ponytail, her head held high, dark eyes shining at the camera. A girl turning into a woman. His daughter. Natalia’s daughter.
Vari watched him. Saw his eyes begin to glisten then clenched his jaw and turned away.
“I’ll be back by eight, little brother. Make sure you’re ready?”
27
Ten after nine.
The evening light soaked with a dense gray smoke haze from the fires in the east.
Vari’s Range Rover sat at the curb opposite the Hotel Budapesht on Petrovskie Lane, its burgundy paintwork and windows dusted with ash. Inside the cabin he and Nikolai waited, invisible behind the shield of darkened glass. Vari’s fists opened and closed around the padded wheel while beside him Nikolai sat upright and silent. They had been there fifteen minutes. Long enough for the heat from the scorching asphalt below the chassis to penetrate the floor. It was rising now. Nikolai could feel it climbing upwards through the soles of his shoes. Vari broke a hand from the wheel and cut a line of perspiration from his forehead. Reached for the ignition, cranked the engine and the air-conditioning fans burst into play. The first wave from the vents was hot and humid, then the moisture began to evaporate and the air began to chill and the sound of the fans gradually wound back and settled to a low hum. Nikolai tapped his fingers on the armrest and swung a glance towards the entry of the gracious old building opposite. The first two levels ran the length of the block to the corners at either end. Above them the half-dozen accommodation floors rose higher, set back from the street in a crescent moon sweep. Fixed to the wall beside the entry an engraved plaque bore the arrogant jutting-bearded profile of Lenin, an inscription below it recording the Budapesht’s questionable distinction in having served as the great leader’s headquarters in the days following the Revolution. Nikolai turned to his former partner.
“Why here?”
Vari threw a nod behind, his eyes fixed on the windshield. Nikolai followed it, glancing back across his shoulder. Thirty yards away at the end of the street a massive ornate building loomed behind a tall wrought iron fence, the blue, white and red Russian flag swirling imperially from a towering pole in the forecourt. Outside the fence uniformed security police paced the footpath, machine pistols cradled against their black Kevlar vests.
‘The Bank of Russia,” Vari answered. “The safest spot in town. They’d have to be crazy to try anything here.” He broke his gaze from the glass and lifted a hand from the wheel. “Talking about money,” he reached sideways to the armrest, flipped the lid and pulled out a fat white envelope, skidding it sideways into Nikolai’s lap. “Ten thousand American.” He smiled briefly and returned his hand to the wheel. “That should be enough to get you started.” Nikolai picked up the envelope, opened it and fanned his thumb across the edge of the bills. He sat for a moment then reached across and closed a hand around Vari’s forearm. The older man gave a resolute smile; tossed his head dismissively.
“No problem. It’s little enough. You need more you just call me, okay?”
Nikolai nodded. Closed the flap of the envelope and slid it into the pocket of the dark blue linen jacket that lay folded across his lap. From the same pocket he pulled the two Russian passports. He stared at them a moment then flicked through them again, Larisa’s first, then his own, studying the faces looking back at him from beneath their transparent celluloid shields, comparing the traces of one reflected in the other. A moment passed and he flicked on, turning the pages until he came to the visa stamps. Vari snatched a sideways glance.
“You needn’t worry about the papers, little brother. My guy does a better job than the people at the Ministry.”
Nikolai’s lips bent in a wry smile. And why wouldn’t he? Thanks to the Soviets, forgery had evolved as one of Russia’s greatest arts. A skill developed of necessity and perfected with pride in an era when every conceivable transaction had demanded some form of crazy, complex paperwork. And still did.
Vari drummed his fingers on the wheel, his gaze sweeping the street. He hooked a glance at the dashboard clock and spoke again. “They’re late.”
Nikolai stared ahead. Broke the silence with the thought that had been playing through his mind for the last four hours. “Doesn’t it seem strange that they agreed so easily? Why not just do what they did before? I’m on the run. They know I’m with you now. Why not pull in the MVD like they did before? Or even just the police?”
Vari chewed his lips. Inhaled.
“You’re forgetting, little brother, this place is changing. Maybe it doesn’t look like it.” He nodded a glance through the grime-covered windshield along the untidy street. “Maybe the buildings still look like they’re falling to pieces and the paint’s still peeling off the walls and the stray dogs still roam the streets and sleep on the steps of the Bolshoi, but believe it or not, Niko, it’s a different world now. Old Russia is learning new tricks. It’s actually starting to become civilized. You remember back in ‘95 how the
pakhans
and their women all used to wear black leather and hang out in the expensive hotels? Not now, my friend. Now it’s all turning low key: all designer clothes and quiet style. The smart ones have worked out that it’s not so smart to draw attention.” He looked sideways at Nikolai. ‘Those guys on the tapes, Patrushev and Stephasin, you know they’re both dead now?” Nikolai stared at him. Shook his head. Vari answered with a matter of fact shrug. “Five years back Patrushev was suicided.”
Nikolai blinked. “You mean he committed suicide?”
Vari swung him a blank look. “No, little brother, I meant what I said.” He turned back to the road, letting the meaning sink in. “Then a while later I heard Stephasin was killed in a car smash in Monaco or someplace like that. That was all part of Ivankov’s rehabilitation I guess. Those guys were dinosaurs. They had to go. Ivankov had made new connections by then, people who didn’t like the stink of the past hanging in the air.” His lips pursed. “And you might find it hard to believe but there are more honest people around now as well, so it’s not so easy to do now what they did before.”
Nikolai sat back, considering. “So why not just get rid of me like they did the others?”
“Think about it, Niko. They get rid of you and then they have to get rid of me and then maybe the tapes surface and some of the new TV channels or the newspapers owned by people who don’t like Ivankov start asking questions, and then where does it all stop?” He shook his head. “We’re lucky they’ve become more sophisticated, Niko. Nowadays they try to find more… what’s the word? More
elegant
solutions. But their reach is longer than it used to be, that’s their ultimate power. You misbehave, you don’t play the game, and they can get to you anywhere and they expect you to understand that, Niko. They’ll go along with this for now because it’s a tidier way of cleaning up an old problem, but if you cause them any pain, make no mistake…” He shook his head slowly, leaving the rest unsaid.
Up ahead at the end of the street a black Mercedes wagon was crawling the corner from Ulitsa Petrovka. Vari leaned forward, alert. ‘This is them.”
He gripped the wheel and watched as the vehicle approached. A security guard from the Budapesht saw it as well. Stepped from the doorway clutching a mobile phone, crossed the pavement to the street and directed the driver into a reserved parking bay beside the entry. It looked more like an armored staff wagon than a street vehicle. The kind you might see travelling in armed convoy on the mountain roads of the Caucasus. Nikolai felt his pulse quicken. His eyes fastened on the vehicle, straining to see beyond its gleaming black glass. The wagon drew to a stop and the front passenger door opened, an immaculately gray-suited figure swinging down to the street and stepping around the cabin, into view. In his mind Nikolai superimposed the image from the tapes on the man now standing just a street width away.
Vitaly Kolbasov’s face had narrowed with age. His features had grown more pronounced and severe and his soft brown hair had receded at the temples. It was thinner now and the hot breeze caught it and lifted it in a wave from his head. He raised a hand reflexively, settling it again. Then the hand moved on, caught the arm of his sunglasses and lowered them from his pale brown eyes, reached sideways and flung the door shut. He turned then, looking towards them across the hood, his expression calm and impassive, waiting. Vari reached across to the back seat and scooped up the packet of tapes.
“Okay.” His voice drew tight. Serious. “This is how we play it. The housekeeper will take Larisa inside, into the hotel lounge. She’ll have one of Kolbasov’s goons with her. You stay put. You don’t move. There’s a room booked upstairs with a VCR already set up. Kolbasov and I go up together, he checks the tapes and if he’s happy with what he sees he calls downstairs to his man and he and the woman leave.” He turned to Nikolai, his tone easing a fraction. “Then you go get her, little brother. You get Larisa and you bring her back to the car, then when that’s done… you’ve got the spare cell?” Nikolai nodded. Slid the phone from his trouser pocket. “Okay, then you call me like I showed you and Kolbasov and I come down together.” He stared sharply at Nikolai. “You got it?”
Nikolai felt his chest tightening. He nodded again. Once.
Vari sucked in a breath and reached for the door. “Okay, little brother. Then let’s move.”
He stepped outside and a wave of burning air swept into the cabin. Nikolai lifted the jacket from his knees feeling the weight in the pocket dragging it down. He swung it across to the back seat and edged forward, watching. Saw Vari nod towards Kolbasov and Kolbasov nod back, then the gray-sleeved arm lifted lightly in a signal to someone inside the wagon. The rear door on the driver’s side swung open and a blonde woman climbed down. Nikolai shifted in his seat, trying to get a better view. She was pleasantly but not expensively dressed, short and solid with a body and face starting to turn heavy with age. She swung back to the cabin and he saw her face soften in a smile of reassurance to someone inside, then her lips moved and her hand beckoned, coaxing. One slender leg appeared from the cabin and then another, dangling for a moment across the edge of the seat, then two small hands grabbed the leather at either side and pushed away and a willowy dark-haired girl slid down. When he saw her Nikolai felt his heart break. His hands twisted into fists at his side.
She was even more beautiful than her photograph. More like Natalia than he could ever have imagined. Slim and lithe with pale golden skin and she wore a white T-shirt tucked into bright blue cuffed shorts that hugged her waist and white socks and sneakers on her feet. The blonde woman took her shoulder and leaned in close and said something to her and she nodded, serious, then she turned around towards where Nikolai sat and raised a slender arm to shield her gaze from the light trying, as he had, to see beyond the tinted glass that separated them. Then the woman took her by the arm, gently, and started leading her away. She did as she was directed until they reached the curb and then she stalled a moment, looking back with a curious, confused expression. Then a tall, heavy- set man emerged from the other side of the wagon and joined them, falling in on Larisa’s other side, clutching a suitcase that looked as small and light as a child’s lunchbox in his massive hand.
They disappeared into the lobby and Nikolai took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the seat, fighting the instinct to leap from the car and follow them, to take Larisa from them now before it was too late. Vari was staring back at him from outside, unable to see him perhaps, but by the look on his face no less able to read his emotions. He nodded once with grim reassurance then turned away and started across the street to where Kolbasov waited. When he was a pace away Kolbasov turned on his heels and joined him and they walked together, side by side, past the plaque of Lenin, through the Budapesht’s doors, into the shadows of the foyer.
The heat inside the parked vehicle was suffocating. After ten minutes Nikolai reached across and turned the ignition, letting the air-conditioning run again, his eyes moving between the dashboard clock and the lobby door. Ten minutes more and his gut was beginning to scream. What was going on? For God’s sake, how much longer? Then a movement caught his eye and he looked up and saw the massive bodyguard leaving the hotel, spilling down from the steps and straightening his jacket as he strode along the pavement towards the waiting wagon. He reached the back door, pulled it open and turned back towards the entry, waiting. Nikolai swung back, following his gaze. A minute passed and the blonde woman appeared. Nikolai’s eyes followed her, his heart pounding in his chest. She struggled back towards the wagon, her head turned down, her gait unsteady and dazed. Little enough distance separated them for Nikolai to be able to see the pain in her face, the hand that rose to her eyes, tugging at her tears. Who was she, he wondered, this woman who worked for Vitaly Kolbasov? Was this stranger the woman who had been the mother to his daughter all these years? And if she was, had she been cruel or kind… Larisa’s protector or complicit in her defilement? Nikolai felt his jaw tighten and the muscles of his chest run taut.
The man beside the door watched the woman as she approached then ushered her into the cabin and followed, closing the door.
Now it was Nikolai’s turn to step into the unknown. He closed his eyes and took a long breath. Opened them, snapped the ignition switch, pulled the keys and reached across and opened the door.
The heat of the air hit him like a blast from a furnace searing his skin but he hardly felt it. Instead he strode into it, cutting through it with his stride as he circled the car and crossed the street. He hit the glass panel with the heel of his hand and the door swung inwards on the cool gloom of the lobby. He stopped and his eyes swept around. Reception to the left across a cracked marble floor; elevators ahead; an archway to the right, a sign beside it indicating the lounge. He forced back the dizziness and stepped towards the archway, crossing beneath it into the dark, carpeted room.
At the far end a bartender stood behind a counter polishing a glass. He looked up as Nikolai entered then away again as quickly, placing the glass on the counter and edging sideways, disappearing behind a curtained screen. Between the bar and the entry lay a dozen square tables surrounded by tired, green leather chairs, all of them empty save for one. A single chair on the far side by the window where a small, solitary figure sat staring at him nervously like a frightened gazelle. Music trickled softly from speakers somewhere and the air was laced with the smell of cheap furniture polish and the stale smoke of cigars.