An Image of Death

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  She had no chance. Better to play along. For now. “Yes. All right. But who is this host you speak of?”

  The large man answered, “You will see.”

  “And if I refuse to come?”

  “You will not.”

  There was a window in the bathroom, Arin recalled. She’d opened it after her bath. “I will go. But please allow me to freshen up a bit.” Grabbing her bag, she went in and started to close the door.

  “The door will stay open.” It was an order.

  The men were brawnier and stronger than she was. She complied. As she applied a fresh coat of lipstick, she noticed her shaking hands. She forced herself to stay calm. Fearful people do not think well. She transferred a wad of money into her evening bag. She debated whether to take her passport, but decided to leave it in the room.

  With night hugging the beach, the men led her out to a Range Rover that looked black in the light. As her eyes adjusted, she wondered if this was the act of a disgruntled customer? Mentally, she ran through her client list. The Israeli in Tel Aviv told her she drove a hard bargain, but he’d smiled when he said it. The Jews in Antwerp didn’t care about price—they simply passed it on to their customers. The same with her clients in Geneva. It couldn’t be a client, she concluded. No one except Yudin knew she was here. And Yudin didn’t know her customers.

  The car pulled away from the villa and started down Seven Mile Beach. She gazed out at the night. Tiny clouds, tinted gray in the moonlight, scudded across a navy sky. Hundreds of stars twinkled in the heavens. Was this a random kidnapping? She’d heard stories of young women who disappeared in the tropics. Hundreds of years ago, pirates took them captive. There was even an island named for them, somewhere in the U.S.

  Twenty minutes later, they skirted Savannah on the southern coast and started east. The East End of Grand Cayman was more sparsely populated than Seven Mile Beach, and the coastline stretched into craggy rocks occasionally broken up by a villa. At Bodden Town, they turned inland into a thickly wooded area. The outlines of ferns, cacti, and palms loomed dark and menacing against the patchy moonlight. Finally the vehicle emerged from a thicket. In the center of a clearing was a brightly lit villa. The Range Rover swerved up to it, kicking up loose gravel.

  Arin climbed out. The villa had been built in splendid isolation on a rocky ridge. Standing sentinel over the ocean, it was a two-story building with a pitched roof and glassed-in doors. Lush landscaping surrounded the front.

  The men led her up a flagstone path to a glass door that spilled light across the sand. The small man slid it open and gestured for her to enter. They ushered her into a large, airy room with slate floors and stucco walls. A fan near the ceiling made slow, desultory circuits. A man was sprawled on the couch.

  Arin gasped. He was older now, his face thicker, his dark hair silvered at the temples. But otherwise it was the same Vlad. The same crooked smile. Pale eyes that shone like fiery coals. Clothes that fit like a second skin.

  “Hello, Arin.”

  A rush of fury broke over her, so powerful she was shocked. It had been over ten years since she’d seen him. She thought she’d flushed him out of her life, discarded him like a used rag.

  “Hello, Vlad.” She struggled to gain purchase over her emotions, and surprised herself with her calm. She looked around the opulent room. “You are doing well.”

  “As are you.” He stood, his eyes tracking her up and down. “You are even more beautiful.”

  She nodded, forcing herself to think. The hotel. She’d thought someone was watching her last night. She’d had the same feeling while she was shopping. “You saw me in the restaurant.”

  “Among other places.” He went to a bar built into the wall and poured a shot of Jack Daniels. He gulped it down, poured another, and offered it to her.

  Among other places? Had he been following her? How many times had he seen her? She took the proffered glass. “What do you want?”

  He padded back to the sofa and sank down. “There isn’t much that I do not know about you, Arin.” He patted the cushion beside him.

  She snuck a glance at the men that had brought her here. The vain one hung back at the door. The smaller one had settled in a chair and was studying his nails. “I will stand.”

  A fleck of annoyance surfaced on Vlad’s face, but he blinked it away. “Did you like the fruit basket?” He smiled. “I insisted they put in mangoes and bananas. You cannot get those at home.”

  She didn’t answer, but Vlad continued as if she’d thanked him properly. “Your business skills have developed quite nicely. Not that I had any doubt.”

  “My business skills?”

  “The diamonds, Arin. You have a gift. Many gifts. But the diamonds—the way you have worked with Yudin. It has brought me much pleasure.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I told you, there isn’t much I do not know.”

  Suddenly another memory tumbled through her mind. Yudin and Vlad, meeting regularly in the major general’s office. She had suppressed those memories when she left Georgia. She felt a sick twisting in her stomach. “You and Yudin. You have been working together.”

  He raised his glass in a mock toast. He reminded Arin of a predator, seemingly lazing in the sun, but waiting to pounce on his prey in an unguarded moment.

  She shifted. There was more. She had a feeling he was waiting for her to make another leap of logic. When she made it, the revulsion that swept through her was so fierce the glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the slate floor. “I’ve been working for you!” she cried. “All this time—Yudin…and I! We have been working for you!”

  Vlad laced his fingers behind his head. “You must have known. You are not a stupid woman.”

  But she was stupid. She hadn’t known. Or was it, she thought as the small man collected the broken glass, that she didn’t want to know? She’d always suspected Yudin had a silent partner. For all his bluster and posturing and conference-going, Yudin wasn’t smart enough to manage the business alone. Still she’d never asked who it was.

  Part of her must have known. The years she’d struggled to free herself from Vlad, to strip every vestige of his memory from her mind, had been a waste. She’d been caught in his web all along. She sank down on a chair, spasming between fear and loathing.

  Vlad smiled, clearly enjoying her turmoil. “Come now, Arin. Did you think Yudin bought those tickets out of the goodness of his heart?” He snorted. “The fool does not have an unselfish bone in his body. But.…” A mild frown spread across his face. “I was sure you knew. That your silence meant that you acquiesced.”

  She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

  Vlad steepled his index fingers, tapped them against his chin. “I suppose it does not matter. In a way, it only reinforces what I have already decided.” He swung his legs around and stood up. “I do hope you’ve enjoyed your little vacation, Arin, because it is about to come to an end. While I am certain you would prefer to while away the days and nights in this island paradise, and.…” He paused. “I would like to while them away with you, that is not why you are here. I have a business proposition for you. An ‘offer,’ as they say in America.”

  Her mind was foggy, streaked with rage, but she forced herself to concentrate. To play along until she could figure out what to do. “What sort of offer?”

  He kept his hands clasped together as if he were praying. “There will be a time, quite soon, when Yudin will become…unnecessary.”

  Arin trembled.

  “The market for blood diamonds has tightened. The politicians have listened to De Beers and have mandated those fucking certificates of origin. Which makes it difficult to market our stones. Prices are not what they used to be. I know you are seeing that.”

  He was right. Her prices had dropped—not significantly, but they were lower. “That is not Dimitri’s fault.” She was surprised to find herself defending Yudin, but it was clear—now—that Yudin was as much of a victim a
s Sacha. And Mika. And herself.

  “Neither is it yours,” Vlad said. “But Yudin has nothing more to trade. He was useful at first, particularly for the contacts he made at his conferences. But now, there is just the arsenal on the base.” He shrugged. “Most of the decent weaponry was ‘procured’ long ago. All that is left are the dregs—old Kalashnikovs that barely fire, grenades shipped back from Afghanistan. Nothing of interest to my current clients. Which makes him no longer necessary.” He paused. “But you, on the other hand, are.”

  Arin tightened her lips.

  “You see, while diamonds are only one part of my ‘portfolio,’ they are a significant segment, and I will be needing a new source.”

  She knew what was coming. Armenia’s leading mineral exports were its precious and semi-precious stones. Cut diamonds too. Every year Russia supplied Armenia with 30,000 carats of rough diamonds, plus a million carats of industrial diamonds for processing. In fact, over 25 percent of the world’s diamonds now came from Russia, much of it through Armenia.

  “You have a unique position at the Yerevan plant. You see the best of the Russian stones. I was hoping that you—”

  “You want me to steal them and sell them for you.”

  “Not sell. I have other venues for that.” He went on, “I will pay handsomely. More than you ever received from Yudin. Your family and your son will live in luxury.”

  “If I steal for you.”

  He held up a hand. “No moral outrage, please—you have already been doing it for years. Now I have decided we should work together. You have a rare talent. A good eye. It would be a shame to waste it.” He appraised her with a look that made her feel naked. “But you should know…the diamonds are just the beginning. Already I am bigger than Russia. There is no limit to where I can go.”

  Arin felt her face harden. “The U.S.?”

  “The land of opportunity.” He smiled. “I have contacts there. ‘Associates.’”

  “Through Yudin?”

  “The bankers and businessmen he cultivated are falling all over each other to invest in Eastern Europe. Some choose not to look too deeply into those investments. They take our proceeds and invest them in legitimate American ventures. Businesses. Real estate. Even banks.” He chortled. “And, of course, Mika is in Chicago plying her trade.”

  She stared. “What do you mean, plying her trade?”

  “She already fucked everyone in Europe. Now she’s doing the same in Chicago.” He sneered. “I have kept track of her over the years, too.” He ran his tongue over his lips. “But you…you are different. I have plans for you. I want you to be a part of my world.”

  She mustered all her self-control and reason. Pump him. Maybe she would discover something that would help her escape. “Your world? An outpost island everyone knows to harbor criminals? Why here, Vlad? Why do you not go back home?”

  “Russia is no longer a place for an honorable man. The criminals in the Duma and the police have ruined the country. There is nothing to keep me there.”

  Arin stifled a laugh. Did he really consider himself honorable? He was a soldier. Trained for combat. And soldiers never retreat by choice. She had heard the stories coming out of Russia, how it was run by armies of street thugs and worse. If Vlad had left, he must have been squeezed out by more powerful thugs.

  Except he wasn’t behaving that way. He spread his arms wide, like a viceroy acknowledging his fiefdom. “I am happy here. Treated well. I pursue my own opportunities. All this…you could share.”

  “You want me to live here? With you?”

  “In time, yes. Your son and your parents, too.” He stood up. “You see, I am not the heartless animal you take me for.”

  No, she thought. He was worse. He had no heart or soul. The people in her life, all the people who’d been important to her, he’d exploited for his own gain. “You had such energy, Vlad. Such passion. Men were devoted to you. But you squandered their loyalty. Ours, too—Sacha. Me. Mika. Yudin. How can you possibly think I would allow myself to be part of that?”

  “I see.” He folded his arms. “You are suddenly a woman of principle. It was acceptable to smuggle diamonds when it was just you and Yudin. But now that you know I am involved, it is a heinous crime? What has changed?”

  “I have.” Her rage had been mounting, building and sharpening until it coalesced into a palpable thing, a scythe that glistened and shimmered in her mind. “They say you can never know evil. That it will trick you. Change its face so you cannot recognize it. But, they are wrong, Vlad. You killed my husband. Destroyed my best friend. Now I learn you have cheated my father-in-law. And me. I called you a monster once. You have not changed. You are evil.” Her voice quavered. “But I will not allow you to inflict any more damage.”

  He waited, a half smile on face. She lunged toward him. She would claw his face, permanently erase that smirk. But he caught her wrists easily and yanked them up in the air. A sharp pain sliced through her. His eyes grew cold. “Arin. You must know I will not allow you to ruin my empire.”

  He twisted her arms, forcing her to arch into him. As her body bent backward, he pressed into her and crushed his mouth on hers. She tried to pull away, but he had her arms pinned.

  With his lips bearing down on her, Arin opened her mouth, hoping he would think she had surrendered. His tongue insinuated itself into her mouth. She bit down.

  He jerked and fell back with a shout. Blood spurted from his tongue. He covered his mouth with his hand, a curtain of anger veiling his eyes. Arin staggered back, desperate to escape. But his men were too quick. One grabbed her by the waist, the other by the neck. Together they wrestled her to the ground. They flipped her over, pinning her beneath the big one’s meaty arms. Vlad crouched, his face looming above hers, and gazed at her with those pale, cold eyes. One of the bodyguards asked if they should take over. Vlad shook his head. For one fascinating but terrifying moment, Arin thought he might explode in rage.

  But then something emerged from deep within him. Not a serenity, or even a quietude, but something silent and dark and icy. His expression smoothed out, and his features seemed to freeze in place. He didn’t strike her. He didn’t raise a hand. He took in a breath, his face only inches from hers.

  “You see, my dear Arin, the secret is to remain in control. At all times.” The crooked smile distorted his features. “You must work on that.” He straightened up and nodded to the men. “Take her away. We will talk again when she has a different perspective.”

  As they pulled her to her feet, the cold metal of a gun barrel nuzzled her neck.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Max Gordon was more than a “player,” I learned when I Googled him that afternoon. Some considered him “The Little Engine That Could” of banking—albeit with the occasional emphasis on “little.” One of the articles compared him to former Clinton official Robert Reich, but I didn’t pick up the same affection they lavished on the diminutive Bostonian. More often it was the “small man cuts big swath through new markets” theme.

  He’d grown up in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn, the son of Russian immigrants from Belarus named Grodzienski. After changing his name, he enrolled in Brooklyn College, the first member of his family to pursue higher education. He graduated with a degree in economics, then worked his way through NYU’s business school and earned an MBA in finance. He was immediately hired at Chase, and after a flurry of internships, landed in their international banking department. His hiring was seen as an asset, especially since he spoke Russian fluently.

  Even before Glasnost, he was well-informed about the economies of Russia and Eastern Europe. In the seventies, he wrote a brilliant analysis of the U.S.-Soviet wheat deal in which he predicted a time when superpower politics would be less significant than commerce. Subsequent events seemed to bear him out. During the Arab oil embargo he recommended that the U.S. look into Russian oil as an alternative, and it was rumored that government officials did indeed hold private talks with the Soviets.

&
nbsp; Gordon was involved in one of the first forays into Poland after Lech Walesa opened its markets in the late eighties, and after the Berlin wall fell, he helped organize the first economic development conferences focusing on East Germany and Czechoslovakia.

  Another article said his interest in Eastern Europe was prompted by the fact that his family came from that part of the world. Gordon didn’t disabuse anyone of the notion. “This is my way to give something back so others can realize their dreams, too,” he was quoted as saying. But he added that no progress would be made on a large scale until all nations embraced free markets. I twirled a lock of hair. Not only an economic powerhouse, now he was Adam Smith? Others, though, took him more seriously, and he was sought out as an expert whenever the media focused on that part of the world.

  Unfortunately, his personal life wasn’t as successful. A stormy marriage to Karen Wise, also from Brooklyn, ended in a nasty divorce, and while the divorce proceedings were sealed, reports hinted at a stunning settlement. In the early nineties, he moved to the Midwest.

  I found it curious that Gordon would leave the financial capital of the world for the Second City. But New York was crowded and competitive, he pronounced; new ventures were difficult to launch. That was probably true. If he’d already conceived the notion of starting a bank and building a skyscraper, Chicago was a more conducive climate, financially and politically. Even Trump had dipped his toe in the lake. Plus, Gordon’s marriage was over, he had no children, and his parents had passed away. Why not make a fresh start?

  Gold Coast Trust started small, but Gordon aggressively looked for opportunities and was credited with some ingenious investments. For example, he helped bring capital into Yugoslavia for the Yugo, the cheap car that was successfully exported to the West. And when the Soviet Union collapsed, he invested not only in basic industries like steel and oil, but less capital-intensive ventures as well, particularly software.

  Money attracts money, he liked to say, and despite the risks of conducting business with politically unstable countries, Gold Coast Trust thrived, investing and building assets at the same time. When the economy turned sour here, moreover, the high interest rates he was collecting acted as a hedge against the slow-down and he continued to prosper, although publicly he downplayed his achievement.