The Collaborator

by Ian Kharitonov

  “Daniil, we have no time to waste!” Bulgak nodded at the immobile policeman.

  “This is madness! The convoy will be here any minute!”

  “Madness would be staying here. Get going. I've got everything covered.”

  The elevator doors slid open. After a moment's hesitation, Klimov followed Bulgak inside and they descended to the ground floor.

  As they got to the Infiniti, Bulgak said, “Trust me. You weren't going to make it to the court. I have it on good authority that you were about to die in your apartment. A hanging staged as suicide.”

  4

  WHERE ARE YOU TAKING me?”

  “To a chartered flight. I've arranged your safe passage to the south, General.”

  “I'm grateful for the effort, Colonel. But I also know that everything comes at a price. Why are you doing this and what do you want from me?”

  Bulgak took his eyes off the road to study Klimov.

  Klimov felt sincerity in the voice of his former comrade.

  “Daniil Petrovich,” Bulgak said, “We both know that my departure from EMERCOM did not come about amicably. But I had my reasons for leaving. I admit that I lured some of your best men to the corporate sector at an unfortunate time, but their pay—”

  “You lured them to a shady business at odds with the oath they had taken. I'm fully aware that your private security firm did not shirk the most unsavory activities. The extra work you offered basically amounted to extortion.”

  Bulgak shrugged, as if conceding the point.

  “We call it debt collecting. But the fact is, AB Protective Services has developed into a top company, owing to the backbone of your men, modeled on EMERCOM's efficiency. A younger generation has replaced them now, but over the years I've always felt a debt of loyalty I owed you. I'm here to put this weight off my shoulders.”

  “You're taking a big risk now.”

  “I'm safeguarding my business. A few weeks ago, I became targeted in a very hostile takeover. In effect, I'm threatened by persecution unless I give up my company. Police raided my office under false pretenses. I've learned that the person behind the raid is none other than Robertas Dedura. An oligarch, which I guess is another term for crook, with an ever-growing appetite for stealing other people's assets. My sources also told me that Dedura had set you up, wanting you dead. So you and I make natural allies. Like in the old days.”

  “Your plan, Colonel?”

  “Take him down. Dedura is hiding in the Caucasus. Together, we can invade his stronghold and bring him to justice. We must force this bedlam to an end. Uniting our best men, we can do it. I've handpicked a half-dozen trustworthy fighters from my company. They can move out at a moment's notice. Zubov has also backed my idea. It's something we can collaborate on.”

  Klimov pondered the proposition. What other option did he have? Especially after the breakout, which in so many ways resembled an abduction. He had to gain the initiative.

  “And you know the exact location of his hideout,” Klimov said matter-of-factly.

  “He's built himself a palace in the mountainous area of Adygea. I've obtained the layout. There's nothing you can't buy with the right connections.” A smug grin flashed across Bulgak's face. The irony of using money to fight a billionaire tycoon wasn't lost on Klimov.

  “Do you have a secure phone?”

  Bulgak fished one out of his biker jacket.

  Klimov dialed a number from memory.

  “Gene? It's Klimov. I need you in Adygea. ETA is four hours.”

  5

  WHEN THE PHONE CALL came, Sokolov was busy examining the electronic strongbox. It turned out to be a budget model of Chinese manufacture. After he had finished talking to Klimov, he relayed the conversation to Constantine while attempting to break the lock. It took less than two minutes. Sokolov wedged the dive knife behind the digital keypad and pried it open.

  “This is more of a fire safe,” he told his brother. “It only gives a false sense of security as it's not really designed for break-in protection.”

  The flimsy plastic tore off easily, revealing the locking mechanism which also yielded under brute physical force. Hidden inside the safe was a sealed document-sized envelope. It had no markings to denote its bulging contents.

  He passed the envelope over to Constantine. As soon as they had got in the car, Constantine opened the envelope to reveal a thick folder.

  The Wolf's engine growled as it raced across the steppe. They set out with a new sense of purpose. Thus concluded their fleeting visit to the landmark of their family sorrow.

  After driving for a few minutes in silence, Sokolov asked, “Well, what is it?”

  “It's a personnel file.”

  “What's inside it?”

  “The mystery that is Robertas Dedura.”

  “Exposed?”

  “Stripped bare,” Constantine replied. “Do you want to know who he really is?”

  "ROBERTAS DEDURA IS NOT Lithuanian, Russian or Jewish. His real name is Robert Dedurian and he is, in fact, Armenian.”

  “Why keep it secret?”

  “Because of his very colorful background. His grandfather, Ruben Dedurian, was an NKVD executioner. In 1939, Ruben Dedurian arrived in Kaunas following the Soviet occupation of Lithuania performed under the Nazi-Soviet pact. He arrested Lithuanians and deported them to gulags by the hundreds. He also shot Lithuanian captives in the Kaunas forest as the communists fled in 1941. Grandpa Ruben spent the Second World War in the ranks of the barrier troops who gunned down the Red Army soldiers retreating from the front line en masse. And in 1945, he was assigned to a SMERSH squad in Austria which received the Russian refugees from the Allies.”

  “A murderer who bathed in the blood of innocent victims ... What about Robert himself?”

  “Robert joined the Communist Party in 1989. When things got hairy in Lithuania, he moved to Moscow, thanks to the KGB. Following that, he became involved in racketeering as commerce slowly emerged in lieu of the planned economy. Contrary to a Forbes article, Dedura is anything but a self-made billionaire entrepreneur. For his first big coup, he literally hijacked a freight train delivering crude oil from Siberia.”

  “He started off as a robber? That was bound to raise a few eyebrows.”

  “Crazier things happened in the 1990s. Everything was there for the taking by whatever means. Dedura established himself as a savvy crook, reaping megabucks from that first shipment. He sold it to Europe via Lithuania. Indeed, his antics did not go unnoticed within a certain clandestine service. Specifically, a group of renegades inside a branch dealing with organized crime. He continued working under their protection. The volume of their dealings grew. His associates rose in rank and power until finally they introduced him to the inner circle of the Kremlin. He won confidence quickly in the upper echelon. His CV and family history identified him as one of their own. Avarus S.A. was set up in 1997 as a shell company, with Dedura placed in charge. His role was purely technical, requiring no business acumen. A quarter of Russia's oil exports to Europe secretly went through Avarus. The terms were such that most of the profits ended up in offshore bank accounts.”

  “In other words, Avarus served as a front to siphon billions off government contracts.”

  “He's had his share of the wealth, way more than the reported figures. But not all of it belongs to him personally. Only about forty billion. He's a parasite, but he's also a treasurer. His main task was to watch over the money of those men who put him in the ascendancy. Keep it stashed in the Caymans until they claim it.”

  “The Mafia? Or the Kremlin renegades?”

  “I'm not sure I can differentiate between the two. But there was someone who guided Dedura's rise from the sidelines. The man he owes his success to is Saveliy Frolov.”

  FOR CONSTANTINE, THE PREVIOUS night had ended in mental turmoil. How long could they survive in the wilderness? They might stay undetected for a while, but what next? They'd have to stray back toward civilization. There could be no escape.<
br />
  The phone call from Klimov had answered Constantine's prayers. Eugene radiated quiet jubilation at the news of his friend's freedom. Constantine felt his own mood swing for an extra reason. A plan had been set in motion and they were part of it.

  As they went farther south, Constantine checked the offline map on the Getac. It was between Rostov and Krasnodar that they saw the checkpoint up ahead. The massive inspection facility included a canopy hanging over all of the lanes. Mounted above the canopy, traffic lights shone with a menacing red glare. A group of uniformed men halted random vehicles, choking the traffic flow.

  The checkpoint was only a few hundred meters away and the distance was decreasing rapidly.

  “This is it,” Constantine said. “They've tracked us down and set up a roadblock.”

  Eugene hit the brakes and shifted gear. The Land Rover slowed to a crawl.

  “No,” he said. “It's a standard police post.”

  “How do you know?”

  “This is a border crossing. But nonetheless, they will arrest us upon detection.”

  He turned the steering wheel. The Wolf veered off-road sharply. They charged through the steppe, away from the highway.

  “A border checkpoint?” Constantine asked. “I thought we were deep inside Russia.”

  “We are. But don't forget that in Russia, every local governor believes that he's a feudal lord. So no one can enter his fiefdom without paying. At the Rostov-Krasnodar border, the police extort money from travelers coming from Moscow or other rich cities.”

  The Land Rover rolled across the high grass. Constantine guided their way to a secondary road that detoured the M4 highway.

  “If any bureaucrat can act like a sovereign, imagine the power that Dedura wields with the authorities in his pocket.”

  “Adygea may well be his private estate,” Eugene agreed.

  They had another two hundred kilometers to cover until they reached it.

  THE MISTY OUTLINE OF the Caucasus mountains appeared in view. The snowy peaks jutted through a shroud of oncoming clouds. A bad storm was brewing, cutting their time short. The Wolf went along a rural road through the grassland. Raindrops dotted the windshield. In the foothills, precisely at the given coordinates, they spotted a large tent next to a helicopter parked up on a grassy meadow. It was, Sokolov noted, a refugee relief shelter. The white chopper bore the orange-and-blue markings of EMERCOM.

  In the vicinity of the helicopter and the field tent, five men stood watch, holding assault rifles. They were wearing khaki fatigues lacking insignia and their faces were hidden behind balaclavas. At the sight of the Land Rover, one of them started toward it.

  As the Wolf came to a stop in front of the field tent, Sokolov rolled his window down. The sentry eyed the car's occupants and then nodded acknowledgement to both.

  “Good afternoon, Major,” he told Sokolov. “Come on in, you're expected.”

  6

  THE GROUP HAD ALREADY convened inside the EMERCOM field tent to plan the assault mission. Three men were engaged in a discussion when Constantine and Eugene entered. All three were similarly dressed in khaki fatigues, including Minister Klimov.

  Beaming, Sergei Zubov patted Eugene on the shoulder and shook Constantine's hand cordially.

  “You're just in time, Major,” said a formidable man in his forties. “I trust that you're accompanied by your brother?”

  Constantine had never met the third man, but the introductions were made quickly.

  “Colonel Alexei Bulgak.”

  “Formerly retired rescuer,” Klimov added with a grin.

  “Constantine. Formerly retired historian.”

  Bulgak's grip felt firm.

  “So what are you up to these days?” Eugene asked him. “You're a security consultant, right?”

  “Yes, and I'm about to consult you on the security setup of the installation we're going to raid.”

  Bulgak held out a portable projector.

  “I've just finished the presentation, Gene, but I'll be happy to brief you on the key points. For this kind of mission, I'm sure your brother's historical expertise will come in handy.”

  “My shotgun as well,” Constantine said.

  “We'll see about that. I know you're a good shot. I'm aware of the Interpol file. And we might need every bit of firepower we can muster.”

  Pointing the projector at the side of the tent, Bulgak pressed a button on the miniature device to start the slideshow.

  “Here's our objective.”

  The canvas made for a suitable screen. A huge map appeared on the flat surface. It showed the Western Caucasus stretching from Adygea to the Black Sea coast. Much of its central area was highlighted by a dotted border.

  “This is the Caucasus Natural Biosphere Reserve,” Bulgak announced. “It encompasses over 280,000 hectares of pristine wildlife. It's a unique ecosystem consisting of forests, rivers and lakes which surround the Main Caucasus Ridge. Most of the species of flora and fauna found here are endemic and endangered. Thus, access to the Reserve is restricted, with special permission required to enter the territory for anyone outside the scientific staff. There are several checkpoints located along the perimeter of the Reserve to prohibit unauthorized entry and trespassers face hefty fines.”

  “That's all very informative,” Eugene said. “But could you please get to the reason we must be interested in it?”

  “It's located just a few kilometers from our current position,” Bulgak replied. “And the reason we're interested in the Caucasus Natural Biosphere Reserve is that Robertas Dedura has built himself a palace right in the middle of it.”

  For a few moments, no one could utter a word.

  “This is unbelievable,” Constantine said at length. “He couldn't have done it ...”

  “Not without harming much of the ecosystem, which he definitely has. And not without consent from the authorities. The valley at the base of the mountain ridge which Dedura chose has faced total environmental destruction: vegetation chopped down, terrain excavated, rivers polluted and animals killed or driven away.”

  “The damage must be incalculable,” Eugene said sternly.

  “Yes, as well as irreversible. Criminal acts perpetrated to fulfill one man's whim. That's what the actual palace looks like.” Bulgak flicked through the next few images. “Or should I say, the palatial complex. Dedura has spent an estimated $1 billion to turn the Biosphere Reserve into his own backyard.”

  The next zoomed-in satellite shot displayed the layout of the compound, complete with annotations describing each structure. A spruce-fir forest had been wiped out to accommodate a helipad, staff bungalows, guest chateaus, fitness center, radio tower, and a network of roads connecting all of these with the main building.

  A single, blurry image followed.

  Constantine saw why Bulgak referred to the building as palace. Any other term would be an understatement. Despite the average quality of the photo, the details on the U-shaped palace were strikingly recognizable as 18th-century rococo—lavish, extravagant, rich with curves and intricate exterior decorations. The courtyard featured a fountain adorned with golden statues.

  Bulgak said, “This is the only existing picture of the Dedura Palace, taken by a Tajik worker. According to my intel, the construction of the palace has been finished under the watchful eye of that man...”

  The next slide showed a young, brutish guy.

  “Alik Kugotov,” said Eugene.

  Bulgak nodded. “The crime lord of Adygea. Do you know of him?”

  “We had a brief but memorable encounter.”

  “Alik is involved in murder, extortion, and rape, although he's never faced charges. He pays off the local police force, not without Dedura's help. Right now he 's waiting at the palace for Dedura's arrival.”

  “And when is it supposed to happen?” asked Eugene.

  “Dedura is set to fly in tonight or tomorrow. His yacht, the Zeta, is voyaging along the Black Sea coast towards the southern edge of the Ca
ucasus Biosphere Reserve. He will most likely be accompanied by his protective detail of ex-SAS veterans.”

  “What I don't understand,” Minister Klimov said, “is why he built the palace. Simply out of vanity? He has a villa on the Costa del Sol, a castle in Bavaria and a mansion outside London. Why the need for such a thing?”

  “A feeling of superiority,” Eugene said. “No civilized country would allow him to set his own barbaric laws. His palace is the nexus of his feudal power. He can do anything as he pleases: claim a wildlife reserve, destroy the environment, bring in an army of slaves and a legion of mercenaries. He is untouchable.”

  “Besides,” Zubov grinned, “London is a far more dangerous place for any oligarch who might fall out with the Kremlin.”

  Rubbing his chin pensively, Constantine added, “There could be something else. The venue of Dedura's palace closely matches the true location of the mythical Colchis. It's as if he wanted to be as close as possible to the fabled origin of the Golden Fleece. To elevate himself above the ranks of mere mortals and rule over a land coveted by kings throughout millennia.”

  An uneasy silence fell. The wind outside intensified, tugging at the canvas of the tent, distorting the projected image. Bulgak switched the projector off.

  “So how do we attack the palace?” Eugene asked. “I hope your men are up for the fight, whoever they are.”

  A vein throbbed in Bulgak's neck.

  “Each one of those men standing outside is prepared to do what they must. They have chosen to remain anonymous and I believe you should respect that. If anything goes wrong, they don't want to risk the lives of their families by getting identified. But neither do they want their loved ones to get blown to bits walking in the streets, so you can count on them to do their job.”

  Constantine clenched his jaw but said nothing.

  “Nobody said anything about attacking the palace,” Bulgak added. “Before Dedura's arrival, it remains virtually unprotected. We will infiltrate it.”