“Good idea,” complimented Russo.
“I am hungry,” declared B. Czar, a maneuver calculated to end this conversation and curb his appetite.
Mikhail glanced at his watch and realized that he was running late. “I’m late! Don’t worry, B. Czar, we’re meeting with Carlos Linert of Portugal tonight to discuss opening several chicken ranches and processing plants here in Russia, not far from Nirvana. We shall discuss the details over dinner at the government building. We shall eat well.”
“Do you know what they are serving, Mikhail?”
“What else could they serve a chicken rancher, B. Czar? It’s Chicken Kiev, of course.”
The energy that was filling the premier’s estate could have provided the lighting for the house for the next month. Orlina, running from room to room, was certain that one of her two sons had taken some important papers and misplaced them. She had gone through her office a million times so she thought searching for it there would be the right idea and came up empty. The children must have misplaced it.
There was a time in Russia when missing papers could cost someone their life. In this case the missing papers were concerning the cost for gym equipment like lifecycles, nautilus equipment, and weights that she could get wholesale from a German distributor. She knew that with her having three new gyms opening within the next month, finding those papers was imperative; not finding them could cost her a small fortune.
“Orlina, are you ready?” came Alexi’s voice from down the hall.
“No!” She continued the frantic search, since her gym equipment was more important to her than bringing live chicken ranches to Russia. Okay, so the chickens would be fresher than what they had been use to; the gym equipment was what she planned to use to put the chickens on the table.
“Orlina, we’re going to be late,” came Alexi’s revelation that he managed to get in between his huffing and puffing.
“I have got to find my price list for Hagendaffles. I think his prices are cheaper than Walton’s in London. Help me.”
“Orlina, we’re late. We have to get to the state building for the dinner. These chicken ranches are important to Russia.”
“Not until I find my price list.” His wife had shown her determination and Alexi knew he better help. If they did not find that list soon, he would be eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, not Chicken Kiev.
“Okay, Orlina, just calm down.”
“Calm down! I’ve been looking for that price list for an hour. I’m going crazy. I must be down to a size five by now.”
“Why are we looking here in Mitchev’s room?”
“I know one of the kids must have taken it and put it someplace.”
“So where did you put the kids, we’ll ask them.”
“I can’t, Alexi. The kids went out with the Bolsheviks to a movie. I don’t know which movie but I know it wasn’t “The Hunt For Red October.”
“Yeah, well the kids aren’t the only things that went out with the Bolsheviks.”
“Okay, let's just retrace your steps…” Suddenly Orlina’s ears perked up like Pavlov’s dog when he heard the bell.
“Steps, that’s it, I left the list on the treadmill.” Quickly Orlina ran from the room, certain that her memory had recovered.
The conference room in Alexi’s office resembled a Christmas office party in America. There were decorations abounding everywhere and a buffet table had been loaded with appetizers, but was now down to the scraps. Carlos Linert stood out from the others because only he and his attorney, Luzana Brisbon, were wearing suits.
“Well your offer sounds most generous, Mikhail, guaranteeing the inexpensive labor and no taxes for a four year period. It sounds on the surface most generous indeed.”
“Are you saying that it is agreeable to you, Mister Linert?”
“I’m not saying that at all. To put up ten chicken ranches and two processing plants is quite an investment. I will need those guarantees for at least five years.”
“No more five year plans in Russia. The last five year plan took us thirty to recover from.”
“You have got to understand how business works, Mister Debenov, in the world of private enterprise we can’t run at a deficit. We can’t lose money like the government.”
Mikhail looked at Allison and then Russo. He turned back to face Linert, now knowing that the man had no idea of his background.
“You know, Mister Linert, back home where I am from, people are known for pushing to get the best deal they can. Since that is what we have here, no problem, I know the rules. I already have an appointment next Tuesday with Jean Luc Rotissiere.”
“You would not play one chicken ranch off against another?”
“Anybody want to play chicken?” snapped Mikhail, proud of his response as he showed off his smile to his friends.
“Have you really discussed anything with Luc Rotissiere?” asked Linert, his voice not quite as steady as it had been. It was the wrong signal to send to Mikhail, who was not only a spy, but also bought stock when others said sell. He ended up making a small bundle of Yankee greenbacks with his perception.
“You’re a businessperson, you understand that one needs to have options. I was lucky, the French love chicken so they need it for their pots.” Linert knew the truth of Mikhail’s statement about the French love for chicken. He knew that Luc Rotissiere did not become filthy rich just on eggs alone at a dollar fifty a dozen, and that was retail.
“Okay, I will make the deal. We will lock it in for four years, no wage increases, no taxes.”
“Deal.” The two men shook on the consummation of the agreement and, of all those in the room, no one was prouder of Mikhail than B. Czar. He knew he could not have pulled off a bluff any better.
CHAPTER 12
SOMEBODY FORGET SOMETHING
The retreat in the Urals served the Communist Party well all through the year. During the winter months there was plenty of fine skiing. During the months when the climate soared into the seventies, there was gaming, fishing and boating. General Ryaskoff enjoyed the Ural Mountains more than any of the others of his colleagues because he enjoyed doing everything that the area had to offer. His wife enjoyed the hiking in the mountains and his sons enjoyed killing anything that moved. It was very fortunate that it was a sparsely populated area.
This weekend was just going to be a nice four-day getaway weekend for the general and his family. He began enjoying more of these with the end of the cold war. He was now enjoying them just about every week since Russia went broke. Even if he wanted to plan a war, what could he do it with? It was not like putting together a film on a shoestring budget, war was win or else.
Sitting on the balcony that overlooked the lake, the general was enjoying the warm afternoon sun, which was making him one of the few well-tanned inhabitants of Moscow. He enjoyed this type of weather to just sit and read. This afternoon he was reading Adam Smith's “Money.” He thought that he should be prepared just in case this capitalism thing was a success. The sound of his wife passing through the sliding glass door interrupted his thoughts.
“Darling, Serge Sergotoff is here.” The announcement came as a surprise to the general since he had not been expecting him. Russia could certainly not have been in any imminent danger of attack or the Foreign Minister would have called. Maybe Sergotoff had a serious spat with his wife again, and again wanted the general to negotiate a peace. Rising, the general followed his wife, Edina, back into the house where the dignitary had made himself at home in the retreat’s lounge.
“General, may I talk to you in private?” Edina had no problem with that as the two men vacated the lounge for one of the rooms at the top of the stairs. Entering a small entertainment room, they made themselves comfortable on one of the extravagant leather couches that the Communist Party had treated themselves to. Mikhail, after viewing the interior at the retreat that the Communist Party had at the Sea of Azov, thought they had selected an interior decorator with impeccable taste. It
was no different at the retreat in the Urals, decorated for the environment.
“Do you not remember the conversation that we had when the government took over our retreat at the Sea of Azov?”
“Of course I do.”
“Are you prepared?”
“It will take awhile.”
“How long?” a bit of anxiety showing itself in Sergotoff’s voice.
“A couple of weeks at least.”
“That is a long time.”
“It is not like the old days, Minister. There was a time, Serge, that if there was someone that I thought might make trouble, I could arrange it for that person I worried about to no longer be around to make lines in my forehead. Yes, Serge, those were the days, were they not?”
“Yes, those were the days and we must return to those days, General. Do you think you will be able to keep our plan under wraps?”
“It will not work if it is not kept under wraps. I will need some time to find out who I can trust.”
Sergotoff extended his hand so that the two might conclude the deal on a handshake.
“Okay, General, now how about a game of Mortal Kombat?”
“There is nothing better than preparing as soon as possible.” Sergotoff handed General Ryaskoff the Nintendo, who wet his lips as he received the game.
The orphanage on the outskirts of Moscow appeared to have been neglected since the beginning of World War II. The paint had peeled so badly that there was just enough on the walls to tell what the original color had been. The red brick that the paint went on was chipped all around and some of the windows in some of the buildings had been knocked out and replaced with wood squares.
The orphanage gave the appearance of maybe being a military installation with the number of buildings that it had. Even the recreation area could be interpreted as belonging to the military since the swings were nothing more than old tires hung with strong rope from metal overhangs.
The military convoy pulled up, which added to the feeling that what was in reality a place that found children with shattered lives, gave the appearance of a military facility. The personnel carrier, which led the military entourage, came to a stop in front of the largest building. The other vehicles did likewise with the count being seven trucks in all. The doors opened and Tim Russo, Mikhail, and Allison were the first to exit. As they moved toward the other trucks a Captain Tortov met them.
“Okay, let’s start getting everything inside, Captain.”
“Very good. We will do it very quickly.” Having answered Mikhail’s statement, the captain turned toward his men who had now climbed out of their vehicles.
“Get everything inside.” The men rushed to the rear of their trucks and began handing the items out. There were boxes galore of all sizes and shapes that started getting stacked. From one of the trucks cake boxes appeared to be handed down.
“I don’t believe you, Mikhail, here you are trying to get a country on its feet and you do this for kids. Where do you find the time?” The tone of his voice as he made the statement showed to Mikhail that the reporter had a great deal of admiration for the effort.
“Talk to her,” responded Mikhail, as his head tilted toward Allison.
“This is for me, Tim. For all the people in Russia that are hurting, these kids have had their lives shattered from the beginning. I get my joy from their joy.” Mikhail hugged Allison and Tim now had a better idea of what they really had going between them, something that all the money Mikhail was bringing in while in America could not buy.
The three entered the building and walked down the corridor. Looking at the peeling paint and chips in the plaster, Mikhail was convinced that the orphanage used the same interior decorator as Aeroflot. The dim light bulbs that were placed in the antiquated light fixtures gave the interior an eerie feeling; it was almost like walking into a haze. Reaching the end of the corridor, they entered a gym where children stood motionless with their adult supervisors. Allison walked up to an elderly woman, Ms. Mosinikin, a frail woman with pure white hair.
“Ms. Mosinikin, the soldiers will start bringing everything in, is that alright?”
“Oh you know it is. I just hope that it is not too much for the children.”
“It will be better, I think, to err with too much than with none at all,” answered Allison, her infectious smile causing Ms. Mosinikin to do likewise. The first of the soldiers entered carrying some of the cake boxes. Moving toward the tables that were set up in the rear of the gymnasium, they moved toward them to leave the boxes. Several of the soldiers brought in large ice chests, which appeared to be quite heavy since it took two soldiers to carry them. Allison moved toward the tables while the children looked on with curiosity. Allison, knowing that the children had a distrust of her, gestured toward Ms. Mosinikin to bring the children forth, that the party was about to begin. She did and Mikhail began breaking out paper plates and plastic forks while Allison began cutting the cake and handing out the pieces. The children did not hesitate, seeking the pieces that they were certain was meant for them.
The soldiers continued to bring boxes in and the boxes began getting larger and larger. The children, although involved with their cake and soda, couldn’t help but watch with curiosity. Several of the children looked at the three new people in hopes of finding an answer. They needed to look no further than the next group of soldiers who returned with bicycles. The smiles and cheers of the underprivileged children had just made the day for the lovers from Southern California.
The afternoon proved to bring as much emotional gratification to Mikhail and Allison as it did to the children. Even Russo, a confirmed bachelor, or so he thought, found himself invigorated by the change in moods that he watched the children go through.
Mikhail noticed that one of the young girls appeared rather shy, almost timid. Quickly, the man with the heart of gold sent his brain into the archives to try to retrieve whatever knowledge he could from a psychology class he had taken. Originally he had enrolled in the class as one of his electives only because he wanted to meet Allison, now the class was going to prove just how well the material covered could be utilized.
The class was titled “The Mind of a Child” and Mikhail figured that even if he did not meet Allison, he did plan to be a father one day. Allison enrolled in the class because of the two boyfriends she had just before enrolling.
Stooping down in front of the young girl with the large brown eyes and red ribbon in her hair, she turned away from Mikhail.
“You can’t see the clown if you look that way.” The youth was unresponsive to his words.
“Oooooo, you’re missing the clown.” The young girl still kept her head turned away, which meant that stronger tactics were called for to gain her attention. Mikhail rose to his feet and faced the others. Quickly he began stretching his mouth wide while crinkling his nose. The action elicited the laughter he had sought and the attention of the young girl. Seeing the girl, he repeated the gesture and found her laughing. He was glad he got something out of the class besides a C.
“Come here,” asked Mikhail, who had the presence of mind to realize just how fragile the trust was with these youths. He kept his voice barely above a whisper so that she would not be frightened. She moved toward him while he continued to move toward a box marked 'dolls'. Opening it, he removed a brand new doll still in the box, a large doll with bright colored hair. Handing it to her, the girl seemed hesitant and began backing away. Now Mikhail started to feel that maybe the professor covered this on one of the days he was not in class and instead out spying. Allison moved slowly toward the girl.
“Give me the doll.” Mikhail handed the boxed blonde with the perfect figure for someone who only stood twenty-four inches tall to Allison. Removing the doll, Allison drew the figurine toward herself and almost appeared to be hugging it while looking at the young girl. Bringing the warmest infectious smile that she could muster at the moment, she moved the doll toward the youth in a very gentle motion as if the doll were in fa
ct a person.
“Here, it is your friend.” Taking the doll with both hands, the girl clutched it to her chest, her face now shining where just moments before there was darkness. The smile was all that those in the gym needed to satisfy themselves that they had done the right thing.
The rest of the day moved well, giving it a starting point that was filled with emotion. Starting out with the cake and soda, everything just seemed to flow in a natural progression. Russo found himself giving out bicycle lessons to some of the kids and began thinking that they actually had much better transportation than most of the people in Russia. The kids started dancing and playing with their toys.
Standing back to enjoy it and taking it all in, Mikhail watched as some of the youths played with toy vehicles on the floor.
“Allison!” Suddenly Mikhail seemed to have forgotten where he was, and the sudden electrical surge that brought a new idea into his cerebrum caused an excitement within him that he needed to share.
“What?”
Mikhail did not even bother to answer but instead walked toward the window. Allison followed, as he knew she would, but when he turned around, he found Russo there as well. He should have known that a good journalist would not want to miss one moment in the making of a country.
“What do you think those things are worth?” he asked as he pointed to the military vehicles parked outside.
“What are you crazy, who would want military hardware from a country that had to get into a cold war because they couldn’t afford to turn up the heat?”
“Lots of countries, Allison,” answered Russo, who turned his attention toward Mikhail. “You’re not planning on sending this stuff to third world nations?”
“Why not, the stuff keeps breaking down, we made it here in Russia, remember?”
“And what about things like the tanks, Mikhail?”
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