He’d been elated the previous week to read of the destruction of the Kairouz house and the death of its occupants and assorted guests. He was particularly pleased they’d killed the ex-Spetsnaz sergeant, but sorry there had been no mention of Borgdanov. The whereabouts of the Russian former officer was troubling, but not unduly so. Nonetheless, Arzov continued to scout British news reports for any follow-up on the Kairouz bombing or any mention of Borgdanov. He considered contacting the Chief in St. Petersburg directly, to see if he had any information on Borgdanov, but thought better of it. The man frowned on unnecessary contact, and Arsov was doing his best to get back in the Chief’s good graces, so perhaps it was best to continue to do a good job here in Prague and to let the memory of the unfortunate situation in London fade. He’d bide his time until another opportunity presented itself.
He glanced at the clock at the bottom of his computer screen — 4 PM. He had time to make a run through all the clubs and brothels to keep everyone on their toes. He was sure Beria had everything in hand, but it didn’t pay to get sloppy, especially since his own position here was somewhat probationary. He powered down his computer and rose from the desk, just as he heard the distinctive ‘sphut’ of a suppressed weapon from the living room, followed by a crash.
“Boris?” he called. When his bodyguard failed to answer, he jerked open a desk drawer and retrieved a pistol. “Boris, are you there?” he called again as he moved toward the door.
Arsov burst into the hall, pistol in front of him in a two-handed grip. He swung the weapon right and then quickly back to the left before continuing down the hall toward the living room. He studied the living room over the sights of the pistol, the room deserted except for the very dead body of Boris lying on his back over the smashed glass coffee table, a perfectly round hole between his eyes leaking blood down the side of his face. He felt the stun gun pressed to the back of his skull and stiffened a split second before thousands of volts overwhelmed his nervous system.
***
Arsov’s eyes flew open, and he jerked his head back as the acrid smell of ammonia filled his nose. He glimpsed retreating hands in front of his face and struggled to make sense of his surroundings. He was in the ‘training’ bedroom in the apartment, but the bed had been disassembled and pushed up against the wall. More disconcerting still, he was naked and stretched spread eagle, face up in a half-reclining position, his wrists and ankles tightly bound to something immovable. His genitals rested slightly elevated on a flat piece of concrete shoved into his crotch. He heard movement behind him and tried to turn.
“Careful, Arsov,” a voice said. “You might strain your neck, and that can be very painful. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”
The disembodied voice gained a face as a tall man moved into view and stood over him.
“But forgive me. Where are my manners? I am Major Andrei Borgdanov, and this gentleman” &mdash: he nodded at another large man that appeared at Arsov’s other side — “is Sergeant Ilya Denosovitch.”
“Yo-you’re supposed to be dead,” Arsov said to Denosovitch.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Denosovitch said.
“Wh-what do you want?” Arsov asked, and Borgdanov shrugged.
“Nothing too difficult. Just a little cooperation for now.”
“You are insane! Cooperate with you? Do you know what the Bratstvo would do to me? And no matter what you do to me, do you think they will let you get away with this? You are already dead, as are your families. But if you release me at once and leave, I will make sure that you are the only ones to die. This is your last chance to save your loved ones.”
Borgdanov nodded. “Thank you for your kind and generous offer, but we have already seen to the safety of our loved ones.”
“You fool! My men are undoubtedly on the way here now. I suggest you leave while you can.”
“Ah yes, your men. By that I presume you mean the forty-three Bratstvo thugs that make up your little ‘army’ here in Prague, spread out to guard your clubs and whorehouses? If so, I regret to inform you that they are all very dead and as we speak are being stacked on the floor of the central warehouse from which you distribute your porn and drugs.” Borgdanov looked thoughtful. “It really is amazing how easy it is to take out unsuspecting targets with relatively few trained men and suppressed weapons. Even the former Spetsnaz among your soldiers presented little challenge. Surprise really is key, da?”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Oh, but I’m not.” Borgdanov glanced at his watch. “And in exactly thirty minutes, their bodies, along with all your porn and drugs, will disappear in a raging warehouse fire.”
“You’ll never get away with—”
“Yes, I think we will, but before you so predictably threaten me next with the tame policemen the Bratstvo has in their pocket, let me save you the trouble. Eight hours ago, Chief Inspector Pavel Makovec was killed by a sniper, and shortly thereafter the other eighteen Prague policemen on your payroll received anonymous phone calls informing them they would be next, should they decide to assist you. They were also provided with details of their involvement with Bratstvo and a link and password to a website with full documentation of that involvement, and warned that should they provide any further assistance to your organization, the documentation would be sent to the international news media. Finally, we assured them their ‘compensation’ would continue to be funded if they would instead cooperate with us. All agreed.”
Borgdanov smiled. “So you see, Arsov, your tame policemen now work for me, and I don’t think the Bratstvo will be back in Prague for a long, long time. Perhaps you should consider cooperation, da?”
Arsov studied Borgdanov. The ex-Spetsnaz man didn’t appear to be bluffing, so perhaps it was time to hedge bets. He’d think of a way to spin it to the Bratstvo later, but for the moment his goal was survival.
“Very well,” Arsov said. “What do you want to know?”
“Nothing too difficult. Let’s begin with the passports. We rescued over a hundred women and children from your little operation. Where are their passports?”
“The passports for the women are in my safe in the office. I… I don’t have passports for all the kids. Most were taken on the streets. We normally arrange false papers when we need to move them.”
“Very well. Give us the combination.” Borgdanov nodded at Denosovitch, who produced a pad and pencil.
Arsov recited the combination as Denosovitch wrote it down and left the room. He returned a short time later and nodded at Borgdanov.
“There are about eighty passports,” Denosovitch said.
Borgdanov looked down at Arsov.
“So. That was not so difficult, now was it, Arsov?”
Arsov shook his head. “What more do you want to know?”
Borgdanov looked puzzled. “Know? Nothing. We have all the information we need from you. Now we merely want you to die — slowly and painfully. Unfortunately, it will likely be a bit noisy as well, but given the former use of this room, I suspect it is soundproofed.” Borgdanov shrugged. “And if not, I’m sure the neighbors are accustomed to hearing screams and know to mind their own business, da?”
Arsov sat, stunned, as Borgdanov nodded to Denosovitch again and the man left the room.
“Wait,” said Arsov. “You should not kill me. I can help you. I know things, many things.”
“I’m sure you do, but we have much better sources. And besides, WE are not going to kill you. Someone else has claimed that right.”
“Hello, Arsov,” said a voice to his right, and he twisted his head to see a woman with short black hair enter the room at Denosovitch’s side. He recognized the voice, but not the — Karina. Of course, Denosovitch’s niece.
“K-Karina? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s ‘Karina,’ now, is it, Arsov? Not ‘whore’ or ‘slut’ or any of the other little pet names you called us. I’m so honored you remembered my name. But how about what you called me at first when I
could still fight back? Do you remember what you used to say when you beat me and raped me and watched while the others did as well. Because I remember it very well. What was it now? Oh, yes. You would shout, ‘That will teach you, you little slut. That will teach you to be a ball breaker.’”
Arsov had been so fixated on the face and the voice, he’d noticed little else, but he flinched now as Karina looked down at his exposed genitals and smiled before she lifted a sledgehammer she’d kept down at her side.
“So finally, Arsov, it seems I really am to become a ball breaker,” Karina said as she took the handle of the hammer in a two-handed grip and raised it above her head.
“This is for me and Tanya and all the others,” Karina said, and she started toward him.
***
Ilya sat on the sofa in the living room, holding Karina close as she sobbed. Slowly she regained control of herself.
“I-I am sorry, Uncle Ilya.”
“Shhh… little Karinka,” Ilya said. “Do you think I WANTED you to do this horrible thing? It is only because you insisted that I let you try. But it broke my heart, and I am GLAD you could not. It means the monsters have not conquered you and stolen your humanity. You are our little Karinka still. Brave beyond measure, yes, but not hard. Not brittle and bitter.”
Karina pulled back and looked at her uncle. “But what do you mean?”
“I mean that when you take another life, no matter how justified, you lose a bit of yourself. You cannot understand until you do it, and I cannot explain. Sometimes, if you are very angry, it is a good feeling, like a toothache when it stops, but then it becomes an empty feeling. It uses up a little of your soul, I think.”
“But, Uncle Ilya, you are a soldier, so—”
“I am not immune, Karinka, but soldiers have tricks. We deceive ourselves and count our enemies only as ‘targets,’ but in a case like this where the fight is very personal, yes, we pay the price when we kill. It is a price worth paying to protect those we love, but I am glad you did not have to pay it. You have suffered enough, and this is my job, da?”
Karina fell silent and hugged him tightly, and Ilya returned her embrace and kissed the top of her head, then gently disengaged himself.
“Stay here now. I must go see the major. It will all be over soon.” Ilya stood up.
He walked down the hall and through the door into the training room, closing the door behind him. Arsov lost control of his bodily functions when Karina had started toward him with the hammer, and the stench in the room was almost overpowering. Arsov slumped in the mess, whimpering as the major leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed. Borgdanov looked up.
“I considered finishing him, but I think his fate belongs to you. What do you want to do with him, Ilya?”
Ilya shook his head. “I intended to make him suffer, but he is not worth it. He is only a cockroach, and I will not let him steal anymore of my humanity than he already has.”
Borgdanov nodded. “Da, you are right. Then step on him quickly, and let’s get out of here.”
Ilya drew his pistol and shot the cockroach between the eyes.
Regional HQ
Federal Security Service (FSB)
St. Petersburg
Russian Federation
Vladimir Glazkov looked down, both surprised and annoyed as the cell phone buzzed in the desk drawer. The phone was meant for one-way communication only except in extreme emergencies, so an incoming call couldn’t be anything but bad news — or an idiot that would live to regret disturbing him. He yanked open the drawer and looked at the incoming number. Arsov! He should have guessed. He stifled a curse and answered the phone.
“Da?”
“Ah. Comrade Glazkov. Good afternoon. Sorry to disturb you,” a cheerful voice said.
Glazkov’s blood ran cold. No one except those in the highest circles knew his real identity, certainly not Arsov, and that wasn’t the fool’s voice anyway. He hesitated, torn between hanging up and the need to know more.
“You have the wrong number. There is no one here by that name.”
There was an audible sigh. “Very well, then. I will call you ‘Chief’ if you prefer. It really doesn’t matter to me.”
“Who is this?”
“Oh, forgive me. I am Major Andrei Borgdanov, formerly of the Spetsnaz, but I think you know that. And as you can see, I’m calling from the phone of your late associate, Sergei Arsov.”
“I know no one of that name, Major — Borgdanov, is it? I’m sorry, but once again, I believe you have the wrong number.”
“And yet, we continue to chat. But perhaps we can end this charade. I presume you’re sitting in your office at the FSB, so may I ask you to check your email — not your FSB address, but the ‘secret’ encrypted one you use to correspond with the rest of the Bratstvo leadership.”
“Again, Major, I believe you are misinformed.” Glazkov struggled to keep the fear from his voice as his fingers flew over the keyboard. In seconds he’d found the single email from an anonymous sender and opened it. He scrolled through it with a growing sense of alarm.
“I think you should have it open by now,” Borgdanov said. “And you will see the organizational chart that shows your true identity, along with the identities of the other top Bratstvo leaders, along with the positions they occupy in government or legitimate businesses. I emphasize that this is just a small sample of the information I have.”
“What do you want?”
“It is not a question of what I want, Glazkov, because what I want, I will take. This is more a matter of an exchange of information to prevent you from making a mistake. A matter of courtesy, so to speak.”
“Go on.”
“A few hours ago, we destroyed your Prague operation. All of your men there, including Mr. Arsov, are dead. All of your victims have been released and taken to a place of safety, and your warehouse full of drugs, porn, and illegal weapons is presently burning brightly. Additionally, you will no longer enjoy the protection of the Prague police, and should you attempt to make new inroads there, I believe you will find your overtures most unwelcome. Do you understand?”
“You are playing a dangerous game, Borgdanov. You understand, of course, that you are a dead man?”
“Ah, but we are all dead men the moment we are born, are we not, Glazkov? Only the timing and manner of our deaths is in question, and I believe mine will be both peaceful and some time away.”
“Believe what you want. You are not a match for the Bratstvo. How can you possibly hope to stand against us?”
“Because Glazkov, the information in that email and much, much more is hidden on encrypted servers in several locations worldwide, and in the event of my untimely death by any means, it will be transmitted to every major law enforcement organization as well as to every major news outlet within a matter of hours. The world will know who you really are, what you do, and how you do it, all in sufficient detail to bring your operations to a halt.”
“So what? Of course it will be an inconvenience to be so identified, but we are untouchable here in Russia, and do you really think we care about world opinion?”
“No, but I think you care about the money that buys the influence and power you enjoy in Russia, and if I’m reading the data correctly, over 75 percent of that revenue — 76.73 percent to quote your latest cash flow report — comes from operations outside of Russia. How long do you think your empire can last even in Russia without the cash to buy the influence you currently enjoy?”
Glazkov sat stunned, imagining the dissolution of all he’d built, until Borgdanov spoke again.
“Glazkov?”
“All right, Borgdanov. What do you want? Part of our operations, I presume?”
“We do not want to play your filthy games, Glazkov. We wish to be neither competitors nor partners. For the moment, we will settle for a truce. Accept that your operations in Prague are finished, withdraw from the UK, and make no attempt to retaliate against anyone connected with this affair, and we w
ill leave you alone.”
“For the moment?”
“Nothing lasts forever, Glazkov,” Borgdanov replied. “I have no doubt you will begin maneuvering to eliminate us as soon as this call is finished, regardless of what you agree to now. I suggest that if you are so inclined that you first test us in a limited manner, so when I crush your attempts, it will be less painful for you. Remember that I can release information selectively, making sure the damage it does to you is more than proportionate to any harm you might do to me. However, be aware that if any of your actions results in harm to any of my people or their families, the truce is over, and it will be all-out war.”
“You are an arrogant bastard, Borgdanov.”
“I prefer to think of it as confident.”
“And only time will tell if that confidence is justified. Now. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“One minor detail. In the email I sent you is the account information for one of Bratstvo’s bank accounts in Liechtenstein. As noted in the email, I took the liberty of making a small withdrawal to cover our expenses.”
Glazkov turned back to his computer screen and moved his mouse, his blood pressure spiking as he read the note.
“You took it ALL! THERE WAS FIFTY MILLION DOLLARS IN THAT ACCOUNT!”
“A part of which will be used to relocate your victims and their families, as well as to provide counseling. And the rest, well, the rest we’ll need to fund ongoing operations. We’ll try to get by with what’s left, but I suspect mounting a defense against potential attacks will be expensive. A great deal of that depends on you, of course.”
Glazkov struggled to compose himself as the silence grew.
“You are a dead man, Borgdanov,” he said at last.
“Without doubt. But not tomorrow.”
Glazkov sighed. “No. Not tomorrow.”
“And may I presume we have an agreement for the moment?”
“Da. For the moment.”
“Wonderful. It was very nice talking to you, Comrade Glazkov, and do try to keep things in perspective, da?” Borgdanov said just before Glazkov heard the click of the disconnect.
Deadly Crossing (Tom Dugan 2) Page 29