by D. R. Bell
David had remembered the cove from an earlier trip to Maui. Today he needed a quick change of scenery. Some place that was good for thinking, that would help to focus the mind. The cove was almost at the end of Kaanapali Beach, just before the Ritz-Carlton, only about fifteen minutes from the Sheraton. After parting with Maggie, he drove here, parked in a public lot, and walked through the sand. The beach was small and almost empty, with a few snorkelers at the north end.
David had always been a careful logical thinker, planning as many steps ahead as he could reasonably get his grasp on. The logic usually failed where emotions or other people were concerned. It had failed him with Judy. He hadn’t realized how quickly a financial setback would tear them apart. And now he had precisely such an issue tied into everything: what about Maggie? He really could not plan this one, so he tackled it first.
He was scared of both staying with her and of letting her go. He did not want to give her the power to hurt him. Initially, it was all about protecting her, but at a deeper level it was about him. His inability to live with the guilt of cowardice. And their lovemaking was a release of stress and the fear they had to live under. But last night, she opened her eyes, and he felt both shared excitement and a jolt of spiritual connection. No, he could not let her go. He needed her in order to protect her. He was not sure she would appreciate him feeling the need to protect her at all. But for him it became a big part of his reason for going on. If he gave up, what would happen to her?
Having Maggie made him stronger. Fate or not fate, he happened to walk into her restaurant, he happened to ask for her phone, she happened to agree to listen to him. So many random happenings. It all could have been different, but it was not. She was given to him as a ward of his, and he chose to accept her.
Figuring this out simplified things. Now his mind could walk down the logical path that Maggie described: take as much money as they could, get ready to run, hide in distant locations. Two years was probably the maximum that he would risk. He’d have to put in a more robust system of hiding and releasing files. He’d have to find someone who could build a truly deep cover. Or perhaps they’d go to such a remote location in Central America or somewhere, where Nemzhov’s eye did not easily reach. It was doable.
His mind wandered back to the question that James had asked him when Maggie was kidnapped: “Why don’t you go into hiding and forget about her?” He imagined himself living quietly with Maggie in some remote location, away from prying eyes.
He realized that this wouldn’t work. Just like in the conversation with James, the feeling that went through him was that of loathing. He thought of the people that died—Jim, Medrano, James, Frank, Chander, Alex—with swelling anger. A terrible wrong had been committed and people gave up their lives to fight it. And then there was Schulmann himself and the fact that the courageous work he’d died for was now being used for just the opposite of his intentions. He could try to do something about it, and if he did not he would live with the knowledge of having done nothing. He could not stand to think of himself as a coward. He knew that he and Maggie wouldn’t make it like this; they’d grow to hate each other because of the shame they would feel. They would always have to be on the run, and Nemzhov’s goons would keep after them forever.
And what about his country? Eugene’s parting words rang in his head. Was he going to be an accomplice to hiding the truth from the rest of his people? He’d never been big on patriotic speeches, but deep inside he was proud of the nation of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln. Would he serve their memory by keeping silent?
The words of Merry from Lord of the Rings came to mind: “The fires of Isengard will spread. And the woods of Tuckborough and Buckland will burn. And all that was once green and good in this world will be gone. There won't be a Shire, Pippin.”
David smiled, thinking this was just a fairy tale; there were no hobbits or Shire or any of that stuff. It was dangerous to mix stories and reality. But then, why do we tell stories? Just for entertainment? Many things happened in real history that dwarfed anything that storytellers could come up with.
He thought of Nemzhov’s “Great Game” and of his own earlier image of him and Maggie as two small, poorly defended pawns. Well, Comrade Nemzhov, a pawn can cross the board, turn into a powerful queen, and checkmate you. The thought of wiping the smug “master of the universe” smile off Nemzhov’s face pleased him.
On Monday David had stopped by a computer store and bought a laptop and some accessories. He was careful not to log into any of the e-mails, but he checked his little network of remote servers. Everything was still set to go off on May 30th. That gave them eighteen days. They’d have to leave here and get back to the mainland, to a big city but not one of those they’d been to. Perhaps Chicago or Las Vegas or Denver. Carefully get in touch with Platt, they owed it to him. Javier, Oleg, Sasha … people to contact and get ready. And not forget to figure out a way to contact Frank’s children and let them know the real reason their father died. He should also follow up on Megrano and Chander. He didn’t have a chance to think of them in the madness of the last two weeks. They must have left families behind that need financial help. Also, his parents—let them know he was OK.
He wondered about the plants in his Culver City apartment. By now, the landlord, a pleasant older lady, must have been alerted to David’s disappearance. Hopefully, she watered them. What a strange turn his life had taken. David got up. There was one more task to do before meeting Maggie.
Tuesday, 5/10/2022, 5:58 p.m. HST
“In a revolution, as in a novel,
the most difficult part to invent is the end.”
— Alexis De Tocqueville
Maggie was at the edge of Black Rock, sitting and watching the sun sliding into the ocean, twirling green cat-eye glasses in her hand.
David walked up and sat next to her. “Hi.”
She smiled back. “Hi. I feel like these glasses are the only thing that connects me to Maggie Sappin. Do they look funny?”
David laughed. “Yes, they kind of do. But I like them on you.”
They sat quietly for a minute. Then David extended a closed hand to her and slowly opened it. On his palm there was a small Seagate thumb-drive.
She laughed. “Is that what passes for a ring in computer science circles? Or are you going to bluff me the way you did that Mr. Chao?”
David laughed, too, and then said seriously, “This drive has a small executable program that will stop Schulmann’s file from being publicly distributed. All you have to do is plug it into any Windows computer, open the drive, and click on the program. The password is Rachel.”
No, he is not going to look out for “number one,” she thought, ashamed.
“And if I don’t do this?”
“Then on May 30th Schulmann’s report will go to every major TV network, newspaper, news outlet. I added a short statement explaining why Williams and Schulmann had been assassinated.”
“So we have a bit over two weeks to get the hell out of Dodge? Before the proverbial you-know-what hits the fan?”
“Yes.”
“And you are not going to run this program?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Why?”
“I thought about it. I agree that the most logical option would be to get as much of Nemzhov’s money as we can and disappear. I would understand completely if that’s what you chose to do and help you with that. But that’s not my choice. You can say that Merry Brandybuck told me so.”
“Who is Mary? One of your ex-girlfriends?”
“No, it’s a character from Lord of the Rings. I can tell you over dinner.”
One of his silly fairy tale characters, she thought with a mixture of relief and irritation.
“Oh, you and your stories.” She grew serious. “Do you think this”—she indicated the flash drive—“will change anything? After all, these events did not happen out of the blue, it’s been building up for years …”
David shook his
head. “I don’t know if it will change things or not. But as James told me, people deserve to know. To know what led to this, to know who profited. What they will do with the knowledge, I can’t predict. Nemzhov was afraid of this coming out, so it can’t be a bad thing, right?"
She took the plunge. “It will be safer for us to travel separately, right?” Partly a statement, partly a question. David did not answer. “Javier said so,” she continued, while thinking, what the hell are you doing?
“He did say that it’d be safer to go separately through the airports,” David clarified in a neutral voice.
“So perhaps we should travel separately.” Her stomach clenched in fear of his answer.
“Perhaps not!” David snarled back, anger coming through. “Stop looking for excuses. If you want to separate, fine, just come out and say it. I won’t force you. But don’t try to make it sound like it’s for my own good.”
She was uncharacteristically close to tears. “So, you want to stay together?”
“Yes, damn it, I want to stay together.”
“I thought I drive you nuts?”
“Yes, you do. But I want to be with you.”
She looked away to hide the tears welling up in her eyes, tried wiping them with her hand, and finally turned back to David. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I was so scared you’d agree. I just did not want to admit how much I need you.”
David shifted uncomfortably at the sight of her tears, took her hand and kissed it. “I need you, too.”
Maggie lightly tossed the thumb-drive a couple of times in her hand, got up, swung her arm, and sent it flying into the deep water.
“OK, then. Let’s go. I’m starving,” she said. “I’ll buy you dinner. And you can tell me about this Mary character. Then we can start figuring out where to run.”
Tuesday, 5/24/2022, 4:14 p.m. GMT
Moscow, Russia
The large rectangular table was surrounded by twelve leather chairs, but only five were occupied, all on one end. Three in civilian clothes, two wearing military uniforms. A setting sun enveloped the room in a bronze tint.
The man sitting at the end had thin lips and pale angry eyes. He anxiously tapped his fingers against the table. “So nobody knows where Nemzhov is?”
A beefy uniformed man seated immediately to his left shook his head. “No. He disappeared last Friday afternoon. Told his secretary he was not feeling good, to cancel a couple of meetings he had scheduled for Saturday, that he was going to his dacha to get some rest. On Sunday night she received another message saying he was still not well and to cancel his Monday meetings.”
“Any clues?”
“No. He never made it to his dacha, and we have not found anybody who saw him during the last four days.”
“And the bank accounts identified in the reports?”
“Mostly emptied on Friday. We lost the trail after a few transfers.”
“Has anybody else from the list disappeared?”
“Quite a few tried to run when the news hit. Many of those have been apprehended already. A couple disappeared beforehand, one on Friday, one on Saturday.”
“So he suspected something and warned a few people?”
“It certainly looks this way. We detained and are questioning Sergey Arkhipov, a colonel that worked for Nemzhov. Arkhipov said that two people were in Moscow earlier this month, an American man and a Ukrainian woman. Supposedly, they uncovered the information and were blackmailing Nemzhov.”
“Supposedly?”
“Nemzhov had a meeting with them and Arkhipov was not a part of it. Nemzhov thought he successfully bought them off, but then the couple disappeared. Nemzhov went ballistic. That’s all Arkhipov knows.”
“Is it possible that these people have more than what was published?”
“We have information that was not disclosed so far, so yes, it’s possible they have data they have not released yet.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Perhaps they hope to sell it or use it for protection. Or they might just enjoy the game. But more likely, they don’t have it yet. Even with our resources, we have not put together the whole picture until last July.”
The pale-eyed man nodded and changed the topic. “Intelligence assessment?”
From the other man on the left side. “So far, multiple arrests, suicides, disappearances. As the news spreads, over the next few days we expect mass demonstrations and riots across the world. Thousands are already gathering in Tiananmen square.”
“What about the US?”
“Large crowds in Washington and other cities. We don’t believe the current administration will survive; too many were exposed as profiting from the 2019 crisis. We also don’t think that separation plans will hold. The politicians that have been caught with their hand in a cookie jar have been equally divided between “blue” and “red” states. People will rally around the flag. And the former secessionists now have a new target—us and the Chinese.”
“Thoughts on possible new leadership?”
“Not sure it will come from the two major parties. Very unpredictable; we are in an entirely new ballgame.”
The man at the head of the table tapped his fingers again. “Suggestions?”
The heavyset man on the right jumped in. “Nobody in this room has been mentioned in the report. We can’t disprove the financial actions from 2019, but the assertions of GRU orchestrating the Williams assassination are just that, assertions. I think we portray Nemzhov and others listed in the report as rogue elements that illegally profited from the inside information. We deny any government involvement. We say nothing about the assassination. If additional information surfaces, we have the rogue elements to blame.”
“And the US?”
“We must keep a low profile. Assertion or not, we are being blamed for the assassination. We can’t afford any additional inkling of our involvement.”
The man asking questions got up and walked over to the window. The flame of St. Basil’s Cathedral was rising to the sky, lit up by the last rays of the sun. After a minute of contemplation, he turned around. “OK, let’s place the blame on Nemzhov and others. We will also announce a campaign against financial speculation and illegal trading. This should help us to get in front of some of the public anger. Draft the statement; I want it issued in the morning. Keep looking for Nemzhov and those that disappeared. And find the couple that visited Nemzhov. I don’t want to take a chance of them disclosing more. Enough surprises for some time.”
He tapped fingers against the glass. “Darn, we expected the Americans to fall apart and separate. I think they would have if not for this information coming out. We knew it was risky. This is not the end …”
Playa del Carmen, Mexico
David, Maggie, and Oleg were having breakfast in a bar by the ocean. The small resort town was ignoring the insanity that engulfed the world’s capitals after the story of the 2019 crisis and the Williams assassination broke. All three were using different names now. David and Maggie flew into Cancun on Saturday; Oleg drove into Cancun the night before once he got their message.
Oleg chewed through a bite of huevos rancheros and cleared his throat. “I never went through so many precautions when getting somewhere. So why did you decide to do it?” There was no need to spell out what “it” was.
Maggie shrugged. “I came to realize that my old life was over no matter what. And I did not want Nemzhov to win.”
“David, what about you?”
“Same here, didn’t want them to win, wanted to make them pay for James, Frank, Megrano, Alex … didn’t want to hate myself. And it was also something that Maggie’s dad said to me: ‘I don’t want to be afraid of them.’ I know that I lived in fear for years, fear of losing my job, losing my money, losing my marriage. Living in fear is just not living.”
“You could have waited.”
“We could have. Actually, I was going to wait a bit longer. And then, when we were in Chicago, I saw John
Platt’s obituary. You don’t know him, but he was someone who really helped us, without him we would have not found the Schulmann file. Supposedly his plane had engine failure and crashed, but I knew he was murdered. That’s when we decided not to wait any longer, to make sure that the information went out before they could get to us. I wanted to see the results. Kind of surprised that some of the newspapers didn’t publish it, but with the Internet it didn’t really matter.”
“Oh, there are results all right. Especially in the US. I saw this morning that the House started impeachment proceedings against all civil officers named in the publication. All politicians involved face swift recalls. This does not involve the President or the Vice President yet, but some speculate that isn’t far behind. You know, you made yourselves some serious enemies. Not that you didn’t have some already.”
“How’s Alejandro?” asked Maggie.
“The family recalled Alejandro from LA, and he is in hiding in southern Mexico now. Javier disappeared for a while. I am in hiding, too. I won’t go back to Mexico City. It’s dangerous to be associated with you.”
“I am sorry about that.”
“You did what you had to do. And I can’t imagine a better revenge for Alex. But I think you should change identities one more time, so if they get to me or Javier we still can’t lead them to you. I’ll give you a few names I have from the family. I don’t want to know which ones you are going to use. What do you plan to do next?”
Maggie answered, “Schulmann did not finish his work. We published only what he and Marchuk had traced to the conclusion, to the names of the end account holders. Much of what we found consisted of partial traces and raw data. It was work-in-progress.”
“Marchuk?”
“Sorry, I should have explained. Marchuk was a computer expert that worked with Schulmann. He’s been killed.”