Gold Digger (14 page)

Vadim frowned. “Sasha was a brave man, a comrade, maybe one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

And how was it that those words held so much emotion when they were just clichés? But to Vadim, clearly, they weren’t. Maybe it was understandable that he hated Afghanistan—considering it had killed Sasha, and God knew how many more.

“He was confident, and he had an easy smile. There was no darkness in him, I don’t think. He was in over his head with Katya, and with me. We both encouraged him, and Katya could be very persuasive.”

“So it was a threesome rather than an affair?”

Vadim’s face darkened and closed down. Suddenly, his body held a great amount of tension, and Nikolai noticed the same tension in himself, that of alarm mixed with compassion. The absolute last thing he wanted was to trigger Vadim into another flashback. However much he wanted to know, however much he was grasping at this elusive father thing, it wasn’t worth making Vadim suffer. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Things would have gone differently, Nikolai. She’d have left me much earlier. I think in that case,
I
wouldn’t have survived that country.” He stared off into the distance, and Nikolai came over and sat on the couch next to him. “There were moments in Afghanistan when the only thing that kept me alive was my family. I wanted to be there for you, all three of you. So whatever was happening—exposure, captivity, pain—I came out on the other end for nothing but you.”

Nikolai felt tears sting in his eyes. “You’ll never tell me what happened in that country?”

Vadim frowned, didn’t look at him. “My therapist made me write everything down. I’ll leave you the diaries when I go.”

“Why don’t you give them to me now?”

Vadim shook his head. “Too much darkness.”

“I can handle darkness.”

Vadim’s lips moved into a sad smile. “I prefer you think of me as a good man, Nikolai. The things I did are not the deeds of a good man.”

Nikolai took Vadim’s hand—a tight fist—and tried to pry it open when it didn’t relax. To no avail. Vadim’s steel core was very visible and brooked no argument. “Did Sasha have family?”

“Parents. I expect they are dead now.” Vadim shook himself, but the tension never subsided. “Every pilot I went to retrieve . . . every corpse I located in the mountains, I always thought of Sasha. He shouldn’t have been there. He could have gone on to do other things, greater things. I was made for war. He wasn’t. I survived. He didn’t.” He squeezed out a breath. “He would have been a good husband and father. You would have had a much better father with him.”

“You can’t know that.” Nikolai shook his head. “You made the decisions you had to make at the time. I’m all right. I came out all right. It’s not the people who were absent that messed me up. If anything, it was the people who stuck around. It’s not your fault, Vadim. Any of this. Nobody could ask you to give up your life to stay in a marriage that wasn’t good for you. Or, you know, authentic.”

Vadim glanced at him warily.

“I mean it. You followed your heart. If you had stuck around, and grown angry or resentful, do you think we wouldn’t have noticed? How long can you play a role that isn’t you?”

How long, Nikolai?

Nikolai shook his head. “I won’t respect you any less if I know what happened.” He reached out and put his arm around Vadim’s shoulders, pulled him close. Well, that didn’t work. His father could have been a marble statue. “I’m trying to understand you, and what happened. So maybe I can understand myself. I don’t know. It’s my only shot.”

“You’re not my son, Nikolai.” It was delivered calmly, with absolutely no emotion, which could only mean it was tearing Vadim up inside. The less emotion he showed, the more he seemed to feel it.

“I know. Anya told me a few days ago. She said it was Sasha.”

Vadim stood, freeing himself from the touch. “You still came to see me?”

“I needed to talk to somebody. Yes, about that, too. I was just stunned, but I guess it makes a lot of sense. I don’t look anything like you. Though, hell, I wish I would.” He laughed, a miserable sound even to his own ears. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling. The last week has just been one nightmare.”

Vadim’s head whipped around and he saw Nikolai.
Really
saw him. “I never told you because I didn’t want to lose you. I did not want to make you agonize over Sasha. Mourning a man you never knew, that’s not easy. Or making peace with the dead. I still haven’t managed.”

“You know, if you respected him like that, I believe he must have been a good guy. And he and Katya might even have been happy. Who knows. It didn’t happen. And we’re both still here.”

Vadim came back to the couch, took Nikolai’s hands, and Nikolai stood, uneasily. “Honestly, Vadim. I . . . don’t actually care that much. So we’re not related, but we still kinda work on this father-son thing. I think it’s been going well. It’s good to have you in my life. Hell knows my girlfriends never stay around; it’s good to have family.”

Vadim hugged him then, tightly, and for a long time. And from his breathing, Nikolai could tell he was fighting tears. Well, so was he. In a weird, twisted way, like father, like son.

They’d just come in from a hilariously hot curry at an Indian restaurant. The kind of curry that made you afraid to breathe so as to not spontaneously combust. Vadim didn’t deal too well with that level of hot food, and had gone on to order “the same, just edible now.” Nikolai wished he’d been less macho and followed his father’s example.

“Well, it does clear out the sinuses,” he’d joked, still wiping away tears.

“I’m getting too old for self-inflicted damage,” Vadim had shot back, and they’d laughed.

The way back to the hotel led through Cuba Quarter, by Kiwi standards a lively area full of bars and people out on the street. Nikolai noticed one establishment with rainbow flags and nodded to Vadim.

“I think that was the place where Jean raised hell the last time,” Vadim explained.

“Solange okay with that?”

“Oh, she knows. She’s not stupid.”

They reached the foyer of the hotel and Nikolai paused. One guy, in the far corner, reading
The Economist
. Henri. Or his long-lost twin brother.

“Oh shit.”

Vadim turned toward him, and immediately connected the man with Nikolai. “Who’s that?” Not:
You know him?

“I told you about Henri LeBeau, the guy who’s about to screw my best friend? That’s him.”

And you told him where to find you, too, you idiot.

Vadim’s gaze turned toward Henri, and Nikolai noticed a sudden weight and heaviness in the room. Henri looked up and glanced in their direction. A brief, impulsive smile faltered when he seemed to take in Vadim. Nevertheless, he stood, tossed the magazine on the table, and walked over.

“Hi, Nikolai. I’m—”

“Dad, this is Henri LeBeau. Henri, this is my father, Vadim Krasnorada.” Keeping up appearances, being polite at least, though he was still reeling from Henri’s sudden appearance.

Vadim nodded, but didn’t raise a hand to shake Henri’s. Henri didn’t press the matter, merely stood there and smiled a little nervously, as if thrown off his game. Vadim looked around the room, doubtlessly taking in all exits and the distribution of people in it as well as the likely way they’d bolt if the situation became threatening. He had a supremely tactical mind, and Nikolai these days knew how to read him. He smiled at the thought of one aging
Spetsnaz
doing a tactical analysis while everybody else was completely unaware. “I think we might go to the bar. Henri?”

“Sure. I’d kill for a coffee.”

Vadim glanced at Henri at those words, his lips curled slightly in derision. “I guess a man has to know what he’d kill for,” he said in Russian.

“What?”

Nikolai waved that off. “My father is a retired Afghanistan vet. He doesn’t joke about killing because he’s done so much of it.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Mr. Krasnorada, that was insensitive of me,” Henri said immediately, looking just contrite enough to pull it off without seeming like a buffoon.

Vadim nodded toward the bar. “I’ll be over there.” He marched off, and Nikolai headed toward one of the booths, Henri walking next to him. They settled, and neither of them made a move toward the drink menu. When that young attractive guy showed up at their table, Henri ordered “the biggest, strongest coffee you have,” and Nikolai went with just water.

“I guess you’re not here on business.”

“No.” Henri leaned forward, stared at the table, then at Nikolai. “I’m not some crazy stalker. I have a reason to be here.”

“I bet that’s what every crazy stalker tells himself.” That had come out harsher than he’d intended, and it gave Henri pause.

“I’m sorry to hassle you on holiday with your family. Really, I am. I understood the message, but I had an idea, and I needed to make sure you’d listen to me.”

“That doesn’t sound any less crazy.”

Henri lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Yes. Sorry, I’m tired and not at my most subtle. But I’m here to help you.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

Henri pulled a folded envelope from his suit jacket and straightened it out on the table, then kept his hand splayed on it. “Here’s some information on a company that would act as a white knight to Cybele. I’ve talked to people I know in the industry. You might want to look into Aureus in Joburg. Darling of Western pension funds, more money than they know how to spend, and eager to diversify outside of Africa. I did an internship at the management level with them. They are smaller than us, but it’s a solid business on all counts, and their corporate governance and transparency is good, which isn’t a given in Africa. It’s the kind of company I’d love to work for.”

Shit, that might just be the solution. It wasn’t in Henri’s interest at all, or at least not in his uncle’s. So maybe this
was
the real reason for showing up unbidden—to made amends. Distance himself from his uncle.

But for what? Because it was the decent thing to do or because he still wanted more than Nikolai was ready to give?

“That does sound good. Ruslan is keen on corporate governance.”

“Thank God, the man sees reason.” Henri exhaled with clear relief, tilting his head back to focus his gaze again on Nikolai. “If you’re going to build a big company, it all has to be clean and straight and accountable. You don’t want to end up in a place that’s run by criminals.” He pushed the envelope over. “Talk to their CFO; I was just touching base with him while waiting for my flight in Auckland. I told him somebody might contact him. His cell phone and email is in there. Maybe fly over to Joburg and have a chat with him. He’d be keen to see your numbers, too.” Henri pulled back and deflated. Those twenty hours on the plane made him look extremely tired and worn, and Nikolai could tell he hadn’t even shaved. Possibly only changed into a fresh shirt in the plane restroom.

“And you’ve come all the way for this?”

“Well, if I’m betraying my own side, I’d better do it face to face, right? Like they do in the spy movies.”

“I’d cast you for the
Goldfinger
remake any day.” Nikolai paused while the waiter brought the coffee and water and then vanished back behind the bar to linger adoringly where Vadim sat, at the far end, back to the wall, seemingly playing with his smartphone—or really plotting who to kill first in this room with nothing more than a cocktail umbrella. He chuckled at the thought.

“Your father’s impressive.”

“He’s a scary motherfucker, but we get along well.” Nikolai unscrewed his bottle and poured water over the ice in his glass, making it crack audibly. He took a sip and looked at the envelope. “Why are you doing this?”

“For you, Nikolai. Just for you. I couldn’t care less about Cybele, but I know you care about that company. So I care. Kind of. I want you to . . . I don’t know. Maybe respect me a little.”

Ouch. That actually caused a twinge somewhere in Nikolai’s chest. “It’s okay. You’re a good guy working for an asshole.”

Henri almost spit his coffee out, then glared at him and wiped his mouth. “Not fair.”

“I call ‘em as I see ‘em.”

“Compared to some other stuff going on in the business world, this isn’t the worst screw-over I’ve seen. It’s all still perfectly legal and out on the table. Things can get significantly nastier.”

“You’re not selling me that life very well.”

“Oh no, I’m not and I wouldn’t.” Henri pursed his lips. “But you asked why. Because I like you too damn much to just move on. You’re something special, and I’d hate to lose you that easily.”

“Henri, we work well in bed, and that’s it. Don’t mistake good sex for . . . something more.”

“I don’t,” Henri said categorically. “I know the difference.” And he looked so open and maybe a little hopeful that it cramped Nikolai’s heart. “Normally I don’t play back what I did with a man. Or what we said. I don’t linger on what somebody looks like eating or laughing, or when he can’t wait to get out of his tailored suit to be more casual. Or how you looked when you got me off. That . . . was pretty damn special to me.”

Nikolai swallowed. Shit, the chemistry was back, full force. “It won’t work. It can’t work. Fucking our brains out is not going to solve anything.”