The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (21 page)

38.

I had no
time to lose as I had to be back in Philadelphia that evening to meet Ivanov. I got back into my car, called Martin, and instructed him to get in touch with Dermot Clenaghan from Research & Execution to send over a few guys to manage the situation in case the police started asking too many questions.

Back at the airport, a Falcon 10 was waiting for me. I boarded the plane and sat in a comfortable seat. I found a bottle of whiskey and poured out half a glass. The situation had nearly got out of hand today. Was Loki helping me, or was he behind it? I had no idea how to read him.

While I was waiting for the plane to take off, I took out my phone and dialed his number.

"Mr. Loki, it's Mike Greystone."

"Hello again. How did it go, did you manage to get there on time? I bet you did," Loki answered.

"I did, in the nick of time," I said.

"Well done. So the first business of today is done. I presume I need to wait for you to finish your current business to discuss further the other idea I mentioned earlier today?"

"Sure, but before we do that, I need to ask you some personal questions."

"Fire away."

"What's your role in the whole Morgenthal business? How come you knew he was attempting to kidnap and kill the Wimbledons? Also, which side of barricade are you on, and can I really trust you?"

"A lot of questions. I told you before, I'm a spectator, and I like gambling. I like to see people struggling to achieve something. I like to see them win, or lose if needs be. There's usually a middle ground between winning and losing, unfortunately, which spoils the show sometimes."

"But why all that?"

"Just for fun, to kill time, for the need of some adrenalin. It's like betting on horses, or watching baseball, it's just more real that way," he explained.

"And how did you get mixed up in Morgenthal's business, which is now my business too?"

"You're well-known in these circles if you know where to ask, you don't need the CIA to find that out."

"What puzzles me is how did you know he was going to move against the Wimbledons? And you knew about that Starbucks explosion and the explosives in my ex-wife's car. Are you an associate of Morgenthal?"

"By no means, I'm not associated with him in any way, nearly," he said firmly.

"Nearly?" I wondered. "What does that mean? And how did you know all that stuff?"

"I have my sources, I can't reveal all my cards, can I?" he must have been smiling at the other end of the line.

"Who do you work for?"

"Just for myself."

"Are you with me or against me?"

"I support my own business, in most cases. If you're with me in this business, I'd rather it goes well, therefore I'm on your side, if possible."

"Lots of caveats,” I added sarcastically.

"People are unpredictable. I trust you, but you might be unpredictable too. I wouldn't always know your next move. If you're with me, I'm with you," he clarified.

"And can I trust you?"

"Can I trust you?" he answered with a question.

"Fair enough."

"Any more questions?" he asked politely.

"I'm good for now," I said.

"Good day then. Call me when you're ready for our next venture."

"This will be our first joint venture," I clarified.

"Whatever," he said.

"I'll call you soon," I finished the call.

I was on the phone with Martin.

"Martin, I'm on my way back to meet Ivanov. I wanted to ask, have you found anything on Erebus Loki at all?"

"Not much so far, to be honest. He doesn't seem to have been born in America. He doesn't have a social security number," Martin started by telling what he knew.

"Strange."

"He owns two properties through some Nevada registered company."

"Let me guess, one in Philadelphia, one in Pittsburgh?"

"That's right."

"He doesn't have a credit card, he doesn't have health insurance."

"Strange. He isn't young anymore. He does seem to be wealthy enough to afford health insurance, especially at his stage in life?"

"I'd say so."

"Nothing else?"

"He seems to be interested in precious coins or precious metals. We’ve traced some transactions where he was involved in old bullion coins, mainly selling. Quite a few of them in fact. I don't know anything about coins, but my geeks tell me they were some old Spanish silver pesos, gold escudos, and gold doubloons."

"That doesn't tell me much either."

"Me either. Anyway, he sold quite a few of them. But he also bought other stuff, such as, let me just look at my notes. Yeah, he bought some florins, some guilders, which are apparently the same coin, and he sold some of that stuff too. Spanish dollars were common a few hundred years ago. Like our dollar today. The reason we have traces of these dealings is that some of his transactions were quite large, they exceeded currency reporting thresholds and were reported. So I was able to trace the dealers, and with Dermot's help and his Research & Execution guys I was able to access the coin dealers' records to see what exactly Loki was buying and selling."

"Well done, but it doesn't really tell much, apart from that he has some coins and likes to buy, or rather sell them. Could it be his source of income?"

"I don't know. Who knows?"

"Thanks anyway, keep searching."

"Will do," Martin was about to finished the call.

"Martin, one more thing," I said.

"Yeah?"

"Have you stashed away a bottle of Teeling by any chance, same one I got from Dermot recently?"

"I have. In need of something really good I see?" he laughed.

"Yeah, I’m just tasting a glass of something on board a plane. Not great, you can't expect anything reasonable here. Not for the price we pay for the flight."

"You get what you pay for."

"I'll drop by tomorrow to pick it up."

"Whenever you're ready, and have two thousand bucks handy."

"You're not going to charge a man in need of that kind of money?" I teased him.

"That's what I paid for the bottle. And it's a price between friends, just at cost," he answered.

"Just joking, it's worth the money. Talk to you soon."

I poured a liberal glass of the stuff they had on board and drank a little, imagining it was Teeling. With the right attitude, it didn't taste too bad.

I still had a few more minutes before take-off, so I called my daughter.

"Hi Sophia," I greeted her.

"Hi dad, it’s nice you've called. It happens so rarely. How are things?"

"Good, just waiting on a plane for take-off on my way back to Philadelphia."

"Drinking bourbon or the like I presume?"

"Spot on. I have to unwind somehow in the middle of a hectic day."

"Dad, you drink too much."

"That’s an exaggeration."

"And you don't even drink in company, but usually alone, doesn't that tell you something?"

"Busy life, you know. Not enough time for friends. Hectic schedule. Bad luck."

"You should be careful, dad. It's not good for your liver."

"I'll be careful, promise." I couldn't be further from the truth. "I’m having a really tough day, and it’s not over yet."

"What happened?"

"One of my sort of witnesses got into difficulty today. But everything’s okay now," I explained without revealing too much detail, failing to mention the dead grandmother with a donut in her mouth.

"I'm sure you know what you’re doing, you're the best," Sophia said. It was nice to hear that from my own daughter. Even if I paid her expensive school fees.

"Thanks. And by the way, how's your school? Has anything improved since my conversation with the principal?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's getting better. Principal van Klompf asked me to his office. We had a long chat, and I told him all about the bullying. I didn't want to portray myself as a sneak, but it was about survival. I told him all the names of the nasty ones. He’s apparently had a chat with a few of them already, and is going to with the rest.”

"Good."

"So there’s been a marked improvement, I must admit. But there’s still some way to go."

"But at least he’s already taken some action."

"He has. He was a bit secretive about it. It seemed he didn't want to link it to your visit in any way."

"I told him to be very discreet."

“How much did you pay him, dad?” she asked. My little girl was shrewd beyond her age.

“I offered him a good deal, and money was the least important part of it,” I explained. “I did donate a few bucks to the school.”

“If not money, then what?” she was still curious. “You threatened him?”

Sophia’s investigative stills very impressive.

“We just talked like a man to a man,” I said.

We were silent for a minute.

"He's a strange person,” Sophia said. “I noted some strange marks, like gigantic bruises on his hands. I’ve no idea what he does in his spare time, but it must be something either adventurous or dangerous."

"It must be," I confirmed, but didn't mention they were marks from his own golf clubs, which I’d used to convince him I was very serious about the bullying situation.

“You had nothing to do with that?”

“Me? No, nothing to do with it whatsoever,” I lied. I didn’t lie to my own daughter, but certain things were best left unsaid.

"Also..." she started, hesitating.

"Yeah?"

"It's awkward, he said he did enjoy your visit. But he said it in a very meaningful way. Did you do anything there that wouldn’t be appropriate?" she asked.

"No, of course not, how can you even suspect?" I protested.

"Strange guy, I know for sure he likes women, as his eyes are usually all over his secretary's breasts and there are plenty of rumors going around, but he seems to be versatile enough in his sexual preferences to include men as well," Sophia said, analyzing Principal Van Klompf’s behavior.

"Who knows, could be."

"I know it must be the case, I'm sure I'm right."

"If he tells you anything unpleasant or bothers you in any way, tell him I'll pay him a visit and it'll be even more enjoyable," I warned her. I was pondering kidnapping him to have a more intimate chat with him in the dungeon at my office, if he pestered Sophia. But that would probably be taking things too far. I would probably use a golf club instead, albeit a heavier one this time.

"No worries, he's really polite to me, and seems to have decent intentions," she said.

"Good. But be wary of him. Especially since you know he has a colorful sexual personality and remarkable sexual track record, according to rumors at least. If anything goes wrong, just give me a call.”

“I will, thanks for advice.”

“I have to finish now. I'll be taking off soon, we're just about to taxi onto the runway."

"Thanks for calling, dad. And take care."

"Take care. Love you sweetie."

"Love you dad."

I hung up.

I took Sophia's words to heart, and the next glass of whiskey was much smaller, the liquid barely covered the bottom of the glass. But then I had another one, and another one, and two more after that, just to chill out.

The jet landed in Philadelphia and I was in the office shortly afterwards.

39.

Back in the
office, I had a coffee, chatted with Martin and checked my emails. Nothing interesting, just spam, some ads for penis enlargement pills, plus a few emails on how to earn $5k dollars a week 100% guaranteed with no effort, the usual crap. I checked my letters and papers. I read the news on the Internet. Brazil vs. Germany at the FIFA World Cup. The Germans won, no doubt about it. Fuck. Seven-one. Wow. Germany beat Brazil seven-one? I couldn't fricking believe it! Nice. As you know, I lived a good while in Germany and still felt some loyalty towards the German football team.

I changed into evening attire, ready for my visit to Ivanov.

I took one of our pool cars, which happened to be a new BMW X5. I liked BMWs, they were well-made German products. They radiated quality. They said BMWs were not as comfy as Mercedes, but they were way more pleasurable to drive. And when buying a car, I liked to drive it myself, so the joy aspect was important. When you were in a BMW, when you looked at the dash, the interior, and the rest of the package, it did look like the seventy thousand bucks you paid for it, unlike some other less premium brands.

Our pool cars were mainly BMWs. I got a good deal with a local dealership. As I spent lavishly on optional extras, they were able to give hefty discounts too.

BMW was actually selected by our team collectively. We had a brainstorming session and BMW topped the rankings. We put a high demand on our associates, so a nice pool of cars is just one of the perks which compensate for the trouble and risk to some extent. I personally didn’t like flashy cars, therefore for myself, in addition to the option of using the pool cars, I ordered something powerful, but understated. I didn't want the twelve-cylinder 7 Series, as the V12 sign bombards your eyes with the statement “I drive a twelve cylinder BMW.” Instead, I ordered a more mundane Alpina edition of the 7 Series, which had a basic eight pot plant under the hood, albeit tuned slightly by Alpina. The Alpina B7, as it was called, also handled better than the V12, which was a tad too nose heavy, those four extra pots in the front did weigh a lot. So this turned out to be a perfect balance between comfort, driving characteristics, and yet not being too flashy. However, I liked variety, so I did sample the other vehicles in our parking lot regularly too. However good BMWs were on-road, you'd be mad to take them seriously off-road. For that purpose, we used some already aging Toyota Land Cruisers, which were great on rough terrain. When those would fall apart, which they probably never would, I might sample a Land Rover or Mercedes G, which was possibly the only Mercedes I would buy before I reached retirement age, the rest of the line-up was bland.

We had a number of clients, and they were not pensioners, believe me. If you were selling insurance door to door, you couldn’t arrive in an expensive car. That would tell the prospect: “We are ripping you off, we are earning so much off you that we overpay our employees and they go and splash their cash buying cars you could only dream of.” That was not the way you could sell something to the lower and middle classes.

On the other hand, when I went to sell my services to Ivanov, I couldn’t go there in $20k family sedan, could I? I needed to ooze money and success. I needed to say: “I deliver, you pay a lot, but I deliver.” You could argue that it wouldn't work with Dermot Clenaghan from Research & Execution, who was one of our key clients – a government agency. If it was official business and if it went through the usual procurement and vendor selection protocols, that would be true. But our relationship was not official business. And besides, Dermot knew how the world worked and I was sure he had already stashed away a few million dollars for himself in secret accounts anyway. He wasn't stupid. A public pension, however good it was for government employees, was not very generous.

I floated down the freeway in eighth gear, and eventually arrived at Ivanov's property.

While I was parking my car, Ivanov's daughter came out of the house and stood in front of it to receive me. She was wearing a pitch-black dress, with a black flower in her hair.

"Good evening, Mr. Greystone. My father is waiting for you," she greeted me. There was certain note of sadness in her voice and on her face.

"Good evening, Lena," I responded. "You're all dressed in black. What’s happened?" I pretended I didn’t know anything. "Is this really a good moment for my visit?"

"My boyfriend has been murdered," she explained.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," I lied, as I was the one responsible for her sadistic boyfriend's death. "Please accept my heartfelt condolences. I'm sure you’re surrounded, at these difficult moments, by people who love you," I added.

"Thank you, Mr. Greystone. This is a very difficult time for men indeed, but I'm coping. I'm sort of part-time mourning."

"Part-time mourning?" I was seriously puzzled.

"Yes, some very distressing information about my boyfriend has come out. It seems he was a rapist, a pedophile, and a zoophile. So I’m mourning my loss, but only half-heartedly."

"Sounds reasonable," I said, although it didn't really sound reasonable.

"I won't be mourning tomorrow anymore," she added.

"I'm happy that you're getting over it so quickly. I admire your strength of character."

"Thank you, Mrs. Greystone, let’s go inside."

She led me into the house.

"By the way," Lena said. "We have a visitor today. My father's grandmother is having dinner with us."

That wasn't very convenient I thought, as it could disrupt our business or limit the topics we could talk about.

Lena dispelled my worries.

"She won't be much trouble. She doesn't speak English very well, if at all."

I sighed with relief.

Lena continued: "Her mother, my father's great-grandmother, was a lady at Nicholas II court. When the Russian royal family were executed in 1918 a year after the Bolshevik Revolution, she managed to escape with her husband and less than one-year-old daughter, my father's grandmother, to England. They spent only a year or two there and moved to France, and then to Spain and Portugal. So my great-grandma knows some French, speaks Spanish very well, a little Portuguese, and obviously Russian."

"Interesting," I added.

"She's very old now and behaves in an unusual way, you'll see yourself. If there's any awkward situation, just smile, be polite, and ignore her," Lena instructed me.

"Got it."

"My father will tell you about the rest of her peculiarities."

We entered the dining room, which was a large, well-lit area with a good size table to accommodate a dozen or so people.

"Good evening, Mr. Greystone," Ivanov addressed me.

"Good evening, Mr. Ivanov," I responded.

"Lena has hopefully let you know, or rather warned you, that we have a visitor today. My grandmother has dropped by, and there's nothing I can do about it. Sorry about that," Ivanov apologized.

"No problem."

"But she won't be too much trouble, I hope. And she doesn't understand English, so we'll be able to talk freely."

"Glad to hear that," I said.

"Her mother was a lady at the Imperial Court, and she brought her up to a very demanding standard. She's every inch a lady. The problem is, I'm not exactly a gentleman myself, and my environment is far from resembling an Imperial Court," he laughed. "She actually says I have no manners whatsoever, which is probably true. She does a few funny things too. In fact, you'll see one of them."

"Sounds fascinating," I said.

"She has a dog and she loves it more than anything else. I wouldn’t be surprised if she loved the dog more than me, her grandson. I think she actually associates this dog with her long deceased husband. The dog accompanies her everywhere, and it eats with her at the table," Ivanov said apologetically, and added, "I truly hope you’re not too sensitive about a canine presence at the dining table? Or allergic?"

"I admit, I’ve never seen it before, none of my friends or associates treat dogs that way," I said. I was quite surprised.

"I hope you'll join us for dinner regardless?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Don't worry, it'll be okay," he assured me.