Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle (55 page)

“What's the scam then?” Robin asked.

“No scam, it's all legit,” Ned said, and immediately wondered how convincing he sounded.

The three other men laughed. “They're keeping you in the dark then,” Don said. “Every business here is a scam one way or another. It goes all the way to the top.”

“You mean Viktor?”

The three men laughed again. “No, the top,” Damian told him. “You know, Putin.”

Ned was sincerely shocked. “What?”

“It's true. The big guy gets a cut of everything,” Damian replied. “Nothing major happens in the whole country without his say-so.”

“So you're telling me that the president is nothing more than the top gangster?”

Damian looked exasperated. “Do you remember when Putin stole Bob Kraft's Super Bowl ring?” he asked.

Ned did remember. “But he said it was all a mistake,” he said. “That he thought it was a gift.”

Damian laughed. “Did he give it back?” he asked.

Just then, Semyon approached and told Ned it was time for their meeting with Viktor. He then led Ned to a staircase at the back of the club. At the top was another thick metal door, almost like a vault's, guarded by two more armed men. Once behind it, Ned realized the massive din from the disco downstairs had been reduced to a low rumble. They continued to walk until they came to a huge room that was decorated in much the same style as Grigori's office back in Detroit. But there was no desk here, no office chair. Instead it was outfitted for comfort with many sofas and a large, red velvet bed.

At the back, two men stood engaged in conversation. One was in a magnificent crimson-and-gold chair, the other on a matching, but much less impressive couch. The big man in the throne-like seat—whom Ned recognized as the man in the oil paintings in Viktor's house—raised his thick eyebrows and looked over at them. The other man immediately jumped up and walked over to them. He was thin, with tight skin on his face. He was balding and had a very closely cropped mustache and round wire-frame glasses. Ned immediately thought he looked like a college professor.

The man greeted Grigori politely and then the other men. Saving Ned for last, he shook his hand and said, “Mr. Macnair, so good of you to come. Mr. Volchenkov will be so delighted to meet you.”

He didn't look it. Viktor looked bored—as though he had been disturbed—and spoke only to Grigori. After a moment or so, he waved his big right hand around in the air. The guy in the glasses immediately stood up and motioned for everyone in the group except Grigori to join him. He then took them on a tour of the room, describing in both Russian and English some of the valuable works of art and historical artifacts Viktor possessed. One thing, in particular, caught Ned's attention—a pair of gold-plated handguns with diamond-studded grips. Ned knew some gun nuts back home in the States, but it seemed to him that the Russians fetishized guns. The man in the glasses was still talking when Grigori stood up and told his group they had to go.

They returned to the bar and Grigori took a large table over from a lesser group. Before long, girls started to arrive. Many of the girls crowded around Ned who was not just the youngest guy around, but also clearly not from the area. All of the girls tried their English out on him. One, in particular, named Nina, spoke good English and they struck up a long conversation.

The next morning, Ned woke up in a small but luxurious hotel room to see Nina combing her hair in front of a mirror. She saw him, smiled and told him she'd see him later. She gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead and left.

It all came flooding back to him. After dancing, eating and drinking at the club, his group had jumped into the Hummers and drove back to the airfield. Then they had taken the helicopter to Viktor's yacht, moored in the Moskva. The hotel room he was in was not a hotel room at all, but a ship's cabin. Ned could see the helicopter parked at the ship's stern.

He dressed and went outside. He could see that the ship was moored next to a few others of similar size and many smaller boats. He heard voices behind him, so he turned around and stepped down to a wooden deck. The rest of his group were sitting at a table while various models from the nightclub were sunning themselves on deck. Nina was with them, reading an English edition of
Harry Potter
.

Semyon called Ned over and offered him a seat. After he was seated, he noticed the waiter. Not sure if the waiter spoke English or not, Semyon ordered for Ned. Everybody seemed to be having a good time, and even Evgeni and Grigori were speaking English. Vasilly even once lowered his book and grinned while Semyon was parodying Evgeni's attempts to dance the night before.

After a breakfast of cold sausage, blinis, eggs and coffee, Grigori told the group in English that they had one more job to do before they were on their own to do whatever they pleased. They would enjoy the morning on the yacht, but would have to meet at the helicopter at one o'clock.

Ned spent the morning with Nina, and quite enjoyed her company. He was also impressed (and delighted) to find out that she lived in Brooklyn and was only in Russia visiting relatives because of a death in the family. They made plans to see each other back in the States.

When the men assembled at the helicopter, Ned asked Semyon what was going on. He told him that it was nothing. They had just caught a guy stealing from Viktor. According to Semyon, one of Viktor's varied business interests involved stealing luxury cars, stripping them down and sending the parts to China where they were painstakingly reassembled and resold at a ridiculous profit. One of Viktor's men had found out that this guy, Ivan, had been sending steering assemblies without the airbags. He had set up his own very lucrative business through which he sold the airbags online.

“It's bad,” Semyon said. “I actually know the guy. He's lots of fun. But business is business and he has to be made an example of. I just hope it's not too bad.”

In the helicopter, Ned couldn't help feel almost overwhelmed by the bonhomie and good cheer of his fellow passengers. Grigori and Evgeni were speaking English with him, joking about Nina and telling stories about Viktor's amazing wealth and power. Even Vasilly said, “Viktor is a very successful man” in English, though he didn't look at Ned.

They flew over a lot of farms and woods and the occasional town. They set down in what appeared to be a large and abandoned parking lot. About fifty yards away, there were two burly men in suits, one armed with an AK-47, and both leaning against a big, red Mitsubishi SUV. The unarmed one, who was smoking, walked over to the helicopter as the rotors slowed down. He was smiling and looked very casual.

When the helicopter doors opened, he greeted Grigori like an old friend and said hello to the others. As they spoke rather animatedly, Semyon gave Ned a condensed translation. “Grigori and Ilya are old friends. Grigori says he is too old for this shit, that's he's too senior. Ilya says Viktor said he had to be there, because of the American friend—hey, that's you. Grigori agrees and tells Ilya that they should just go ahead and get it over with.”

Grigori, who must've heard every word Semyon said, turned around and yelled at his group in English. “Let's go, the sooner we get done, the sooner we can get out of this place.”

Ilya led them over to the Mitsubishi. The guy with the AK-47 nodded and acknowledged Grigori. Then he opened one of the truck's rear doors. Inside, there was a small man tied up with duct tape over his mouth. His blue-and-yellow face indicated that he had been beaten up quite a while ago and the dried blood on the front of his shirt showed that it had been quite brutal. He seemed unconscious even though the one eye that wasn't too puffed up to see was wide open. Suddenly, Grigori barked out, “Macnair, Evgeni, take him out.”

Ned, taking Evgeni's lead, grabbed the small man and helped pull him from the vehicle. They stood him up between them. His head didn't come to Ned's chin and he felt light as a child. Following Grigori, they frogmarched the unfortunate man through an iron gate in the high wall beside the parking lot.

Inside, Ned could see that it was a cemetery. But it was unlike any he had ever seen. Instead of simple crosses or inscribed tombstones, all of these graves had fountains and statutes. Some even had huge granite blocks with what appeared to be the life-sized photographs of young men in suits etched into them. They dragged the tied-up man (who was no longer even attempting to walk with them) around a corner to a sumptuous tomb. Not only was there a life-sized granite statue of a young man, but there was also one of a slick Mercedes-Benz convertible.

As they approached, Grigori himself grabbed the small man and threw him down in front of the tomb. Then he started yelling something in Russian. Semyon grabbed Ned and pulled him back a few feet, then started telling him what was going on. “He's calling him a stupid bastard . . . told him he had it made, and that he fucked it all up . . . And now he's telling him about Valeri, who's buried right here, telling him how this man, this honorable man, died for the cause, died an honest man and that he could have been just like him. He says that he wanted the last thing he ever saw in his miserable little life was the beautiful grave of a man who deserved respect . . . And now he's telling him that he'll be buried in a cardboard box if anyone even bothers to bury him at all.”

The thief started shaking and crying. He tried to get up, but Grigori threw him roughly back down. Unbidden, Vasilly came out of the group. With his left hand, he grabbed the man by his collar and brought him up to a kneeling position. He then pulled out his knife and sliced the screaming man's eyeballs.

Ned couldn't help flinching. He heard one of the Russians—he couldn't be sure which—laugh as the man tried to stand up and stumbled screaming to the ground.

Semyon took Ned away, and they all started walking back to the Mitsubishi and the helicopter. Most of the Russians were chatting, but Ned couldn't speak. Finally, he quietly asked Semyon, “That was for me to see, right? To teach me not to steal?”

“It was for all of us,” Semyon answered. “You think you're the only one who handles money?”

Ned sighed. “If this is what you guys do to a thief,” he said, “I'd hate to see what you do to a rat.”

Semyon looked at Ned with a face that showed both shock and suspicion. “We have no rats here. There is nobody to tell—those police we do not own are scared to death of us,” he said. “This is not America.”

Ned did his best to smile. “Oh, I know that, my friend,” he said, and watched as friendliness rewashed over Semyon's face. “And you're right, we Americans are lazy. We just would have killed the guy.”

Semyon shrugged and nodded. “Sure, but then nobody learns anything,” he said. “A body is just a body. This guy, though, he can go tell his friends what happens to people who steal from Viktor.”

Ned looked ahead at the guys he was with. Even though the blinded man's screams could still be heard behind them, no one was in a hurry to leave the scene. Instead, they looked loose, jocular, even proud. If anything, they looked like a sports team, joking and laughing after an easy victory.

At that moment, Ned realized he was halfway around the world, surrounded by a vicious gang. He took a deep breath to calm his mind. His charade had to be as convincing as the illusions in the oil paintings—without the heroics.

Ned was surprised at how much he liked Moscow. So far, he had come to see it as a huge, ugly and even soulless city. But now that he was exploring the historic parts of the city with Nina, he had come to see Moscow as an entirely different place, full of life and culture. She was staying in a hotel near Red Square, and Ned joined her for a couple of days before her flight back to New York.

She showed him a city of wonder and beauty. She took him to sites of mainly pre-Communist interest—museums, cathedrals and the Iberian Gate. He was stunned to see such magnificence in a culture he had already written off as without taste or depth. As he was getting tired of Russian food, she took him to French, Italian and even Japanese restaurants.

He was sad to see her go, but Ned passed the rest of the week amiably enough with Semyon in his old neighborhood. He paid for his parents to go on vacation at a Black Sea resort and he and Ned had taken over their apartment. It wasn't as fun or as educational as staying with Nina, but he had a good time nevertheless. Semyon and his friends never seemed to do any work, but they had what seemed like a limitless amount of cash. They also seemed to be liked, or at least respected, by everyone they ran into. Ned realized that the respect they received may have been induced by fear, but it didn't really seem to matter.