by Peter Kozmar
After signing in at reception, the chief pathologist greeted them and led them to the elevators taking them down to the cold storage area and dissection tables. When the doors opened, Andy was immediately hit by the strong smell of formaldehyde and disinfectant. Waiting for them was a clinical technician dressed in his green scrubs. The bright lights overhead and the large white square tiles on the walls, together with the reflections off the polished metal bench tops and examination tables, made Andy squint while his eyes adjusted to the light.
The hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stood on end as his body reacted to the change in temperature. He felt goose bumps form on his arms and shivered. This is her patch. I’ll let Gamzova take the lead on this. He kept a discreet distance from the chiller cabinets.
“We are here to view the bodies of the men who came in last night from the vehicle accident?” Gamzova informed the technician.
The technician went over to the cabinets and pulled open the closest cabinet to reveal a black rubber body bag. He checked the paperwork and pulled the heavy-duty zipper down to show the first body. The chief pathologist stepped forward, “We’re starting the autopsies in a few minutes. Would you like to stay and watch?”
Gamzova studied the first body. The cadaver belonged to a male in his early thirties with shoulder length brown hair. The face showed signs of body piercings, Gamzova noted the holes where earrings and a nose stud had once been. A puzzled expression spread across her face before she interrupted the pathologist, who had started to gather the tools of his trade on a small cart, and asked him to join her.
“May I see the second body?”
The technician opened the second cabinet and unzipped the body bag to display the second cadaver. Again Gamzova studied the naked body. This one, a male in his early twenties, shaven head, slightly overweight and sporting a neck tattoo. Gamzova paid attention to the design.
Andy stepped forward. “It looks like a coiled serpent,” he said, “Could it be a gang tattoo?” He looked across at Gamzova, her puzzled expression didn’t change as she ignored his question.
“Are you sure these are the bodies which came in last night after the crash?” she asked.
“Yes, they are,” the technician replied, “I tagged them myself when they arrived.”
“Is there a problem?” Andy asked.
“Yes there is a problem. These aren’t the men who were following me and were detained at the station. I’m certain it’s not them.”
Andy approached the technician, “Where are their possessions?”
The technician shrugged his shoulders and said, “We were not given anything to sign in.” He tried to sound apologetic, but Andy wasn’t going to lose it with the underling.
“Could we see their clothes?” Andy asked.
The technician headed over to a grey metal cabinet, pulled the lowest drawer open and removed two brown paper bags. Each bag had a reference number written on them in thick black marker ink. He put the packages down on a metal bench and checked the reference numbers with the tow tags. “His,” he said pointing to the nearest body and the first bag. “And his,” he said pointed at the second body and the second bag.
Andy took the clothes out of the first bag and looked behind the collar on the black leather jacket the neck of the black tee shirt and the black denim trousers and underwear, then quickly moved over to the second bag and repeated the exercise. He realized all the labels had been removed. He showed Gamzova what he had found and she nodded without any comment.
***
Back outside the morgue, and once again breathing in the crisp morning air, Andy turned to Gamzova, “You believe they switched the bodies, removed their possessions and paid the technician off?”
“I saw the men with my own eyes, neither of the bodies were them. So, yes, I do.” her anger boiled over.
“To achieve all of this you need quite some resources.”
“Yes, definitely!”
Andy turned and faced Gamzova, “They knew you were on this investigation and targeted you on your way home.” After a brief pause he asked something that had been on his mind, “How did they know you were assigned to the investigation? Who else knew?”
A pained expression formed, her brow wrinkled, “The only ones with that knowledge are you, me, Kruputchkin, Malchik and the President.”
“Yesterday, you and I were at the wrong end of a sniper’s rifle, so it wasn’t either of us who said anything.”
Gamzova grimaced: “That leaves Malchik and two of Russia’s most powerful men.”
Andy let his implication hang in the air for Gamzova to digest, “Okay, let’s go back to the hotel. I’d like to check in with Langley and then we will decide which oligarchs we’ll visit.”
***
CHAPTER 14
Back in his hotel room Andy grabbed his phone and called Chuck Boston to hear if he’d learnt anything new about the shooting at the Embassy. He put the call on loud speaker and, after they exchanged pleasantries, Andy could barely hide his surprise when Helen Hobbs came on the line.
“Tell me what you’ve learnt so far about the killing of Americans in Russia.”
“I’m still working on it,” Andy replied nervously.
“Who’s the person behind this?”
“Err … I’m still working on that too,” he ran his left hand through his hair and paced up and down the room. I’m sounding pretty lame. I’m going to have to step up or she’ll flip.
“So you’ve found nothing, great.” Hobbs didn’t wait for Andy to offer any reasons as she ploughed on, “We’re no further forward and you seem to be wasting time and getting nowhere. I don’t want another call from you unless you have important news for me. I want something solid I can give the President. Don’t let me down.”
The line went dead. He could feel the onset of a headache and placed his phone on the table then gently massaged his temples with the middle finger of each hand. He’d forgotten Gamzova was in the room with him until she spoke, “She has bigger balls than most of the men I know.” Inwardly Andy winced, he didn’t want to dwell on Hobbs.
“Let’s get back to the investigation, which oligarch is first on our list, we may as well start at the top and work down?”
“I agree, Leonid Bachka is at the top.”
As they left the hotel Andy noticed Malchik seated in the lounge watching him as he walked passed the concierge and reception towards the large revolving door. What are you doing here? He wasn’t sure if Gamzova had seen him so he carried on as if he had been focussed on leaving the hotel without making any comment.
Outside, their chauffeur-driven Kremlin car waited; its engine idly running as the chauffeur stood ready to open the rear door. As they climbed in, Gamzova told the chauffeur where they needed to go. He nodded then picked up his fist microphone to inform the control room that they were in transit and gave them the destination address.
As they crossed the city, Andy quickly studied the file on Bachka. Until recently, Leonid Bachka had owned several telecommunications companies, a handful of successful internet businesses, an airline, two cruise lines and an English Premier League football club. Now he was down to his last hundred million dollars, a much-reduced property portfolio and the football club. The rest had been signed over to the Makarov Corporation.
Bachka owned the building which accommodated his luxury apartment across the top two floors with spectacular panoramic views across the Moscow skyline. Bachka always used this as his primary address when in Russia.
“Mr Bachka is married to a former Miss Russia and has twin daughters under the age of ten.” Gamzova read from the file. Andy noted what was being said as it wasn’t in the briefing paper he had been provided with by the Russians.
The car dropped them outside the dark-marble entrance to the apartment block, Andy and Gamzova made their way to the ground floor reception desk. Behind a high, marbled desk, was an attractive blue-eyed young woman with long blond hair tied back into a ponytail. Dressed in a sm
art red jacket and white blouse, she greeted them with a well-practiced smile. Andy thought she should have been on the cover of Vogue and not sitting behind a desk in a Moscow building looking bored.
Before the receptionist had time to ask them who they were there to see, three of Bachka’s security detail closed in. “We’re expected. We have an appointment with Mr Bachka,” Andy stated clearly in perfect Russian.
One of the security team made a call from his phone and, after a pause, said only one word: “Da”. ‘Cell Phone’ guided them to the elevator and accompanied Gamzova and Andy into Bachka’s open-plan penthouse apartment on the top floor, leaving the other two goons with the receptionist.
Andy approached Bachka and shook his hand firmly, “Mr Bachka, thanks for giving us time out of your schedule.” ‘Cell Phone’ stepped back and stood a discrete distance away, his eyes fixed on Andy.
“You’re welcome, Mr Flint.” Bachka gestured to a black leather three-seater couch for Gamzova and Andy to take while he sat and faced them in a high-backed single chair, his hands gripped the solid wooden arms, “How may I help you?”
“We’ve been asked by your President to look into the recent increase in the change in ownership of major corporations and your group of companies is one of those we are looking into.”
Bachka looked at Gamzova. “Why is an American leading this?” he asked.
“I’m independent,” Andy quickly replied.
In the silence which followed Bachka looked beyond Andy and Gamzova to the Moscow skyline behind them, seemingly lost in his thoughts. After a long pause he spoke, “I’ve reached a point in life where I’ve amassed a great deal of wealth, far more money than I need. I’ve made sacrifices along the way … no … we’ve made sacrifices,” Bachka corrected himself wistfully, once again caught up in his thoughts. “A close friend died recently,” he paused again as though looking to carefully choose his next words.
“It made me realise that I’ve focussed on the wrong things and not on what’s really important. I missed so much in the pursuit of my wealth. I wasn’t present at the birth of my daughters, instead, I chaired a board meeting. I don’t believe that I’ve ever celebrated my wife’s birthday with her as each year I’ve been away on business.” Bachka paused again as he looked out of the window, before returning to the present and attempting to justify his sudden awakening to more important life choices.
“When my girls took their first steps, I was hosting the leadership teams of the World Bank and IMF on my yacht in the Caribbean. My chauffeur took my daughters to their first day at pre-school and picked them up at the end of their special day,” he gently shook his head from side to side, “I’d completely forgotten. Can you believe that?”
He looked from Andy to Gamzova as if he wanted them to say something that would soothe his troubled mind. Neither of them were able to help, they just sat in silence wondering where all of this was going. Andy wasn’t that sympathetic, he’d been the absent father too but with much less going for him. Gee, this guy has it tough, complaining about his jet-set life-style and not spending enough time with his wife and kids; now he’s suddenly realized that money can’t buy back these moments in time and he wants us to believe there’s nothing sinister about it just a rush of conscience … he expects me to believe that BS!
“After the death of my friend, I re-evaluated my priorities. Even with all my wealth I can never re-create the unique moments I’ve lost. Material items, regardless of their value can be replaced. My wife turns forty this year, that only happens once and this time I’m going to give her the party she deserves.” He gave a weary smile, but Andy could see the pained look in his eyes.
Then, as if to emphasize the points he had just made, and make sure they understood, he said, “I realized that my business interests were all consuming and took me away from what’s really important: My wife and kids.”
“I didn’t find a record of what you were paid for your businesses?” Andy probed.
“That is because I gave them away,” Bachka said simply. Gamzova’s eyes widened in disbelief as he continued, “It meant the new owners had the best chance for the businesses to thrive with no capital or interest to repay on loans. I wanted to secure the best long-term prospects for the thousands of staff we employed.” Bachka paused, his eyes filled with tears. I don’t believe a word you are saying … one minute you’re all teary-eyed about messing up with your family, and now, you want us to believe you were looking after your employees? Someone, somewhere, is still pulling your strings and you can do nothing about.
As if on cue, a strikingly tall and thin woman, with an air of elegance, walked into the room. She matched the photograph in the file of Mrs Bachka. She looked as if she’d just stepped off the front page of the latest fashion magazine. Andy noticed her eyes were red as though she had been crying. She stood beside her husband, took his hand and squeezed it tightly as if to remind him of her support.
Bachka relaxed a little before speaking in a low emotional voice, “We have decided to leave Moscow tomorrow for Switzerland where our daughters attend a private school. We want to be available for the weekends and holidays so that we can spend time with them.” And it will be easier to protect you if you are all together.
Mrs Bachka spoke, “We own a château just outside Geneva with fantastic views of the lake and surrounding mountains. It is a far healthier environment for us to live. I believe that my husband needs peace and quiet for a while to recover from the stress he’s been under for so many years.”
“Let me get this straight, you’ve given away your businesses for nothing, and now you are moving to Switzerland for health and family reasons,” Andy summarised.
“Yes, that is correct, Mr Flint,” Bachka replied, “now, unless there is anything else, my wife and I need to prepare for our departure in the morning.” Bachka stood to indicate that the meeting was over. He nodded to ‘Cell Phone’ who approached for his instructions. “Michael will show you out,” Bachka informed them as ‘Cell Phone’ nodded his understanding and step to one side to direct Andy and Gamzova to the elevator.
***
On the side walk outside the building, Andy turned to Gamzova and asked, “What did you make of that?”
“Mrs Bachka was just about holding it together, she’s clearly distressed by their change of circumstances, and Bachka lied through most of our meeting. The only thing I believed to be true was the fear in his eyes when he talked about moving to Switzerland for health and family reasons!”
“That’s what I thought. Looks to me like a sudden and hasty departure. Not one you’d expect from a man who has built a business based on outdoing the competition without a thought for the poor employees he now seems to have gained a conscience for.”
Their car pulled up and paused to allow them to climb into the rear and buckle up. Gamzova spoke to the driver and gave him the address of the next oligarch, Fedor Arkaday. As the car eased into the busy morning traffic, the driver radioed the details of their next destination.
Andy’s phone started to ring. He took it out of his pocket and looked at the display. Dortman ... shit ... he’ll want an update and I’m not able to do that yet … he can wait until I’m ready! Andy sent the call to voicemail and returned his phone to his pocket.
CHAPTER 15
Arkaday’s apartment, located in the exclusive Khamovniki neighbourhood, oozed opulence from the outside. They entered the building complex through a large solid wooden security door after they had pressed the buzzer and identified themselves.
The entrance hall presented minimalism to the extreme, no décor, not even a plant, just clean white lines amplifying the natural light making it seem brighter than expected. With no staircase evident, they crossed the expansive white marble floor towards a sleek glass elevator. As they approached, the doors opened automatically allowing them to enter.
Once inside Andy glanced around and noticed there were no buttons to press to close the doors or to select a floor. The glas
s doors closed silently, and the elevator started to ascend smoothly. Andy’s phone rang. He looked at the display, Dortman again. Without answering the call, Andy sent the call to voicemail and switched the phone off. He felt a little guilty as he hadn’t done any research to enable him to find Vladim and ignoring the call was not going to ingratiate himself with Dortman, who already had him down as a failure.
The ride in the lift gave Andy time to remind himself of the details on the file. Arkaday was a multi-billionaire with interests in construction, freight haulage, coal mining, power generation and steel production. His holding company, The Phantom Group, had recently changed ownership to the Makarov Corporation. The details of the sale were sketchy, but one thing was clear: the zeroes at the bottom of balance sheet showing no money had exchanged hands.
When the doors opened, they were greeted by the wide, bulldog-looking figure of Fedor Arkaday. Arkaday had the face of a boxer with a flattened nose and cauliflower ears. He stood casually dressed in a black tee shirt, blue denim jeans and white sneakers. The large gold watch, which would have been too big for most men, looked in proportion to his anvil-sized hands and thick wrists.
Andy stepped out of the lift first and fought to conceal discomfort from the bone crunching grip of Arkaday’s handshake. Andy knew he didn’t assert the same hand grip for Gamzova as she looked calm and relaxed as they exchanged pleasantries. To one side, Andy noticed several packed cases, Arkaday was clearly planning to leave on a long vacation sometime soon.
“Welcome, please come in,” Arkaday gestured into his expansive, marble-floored lounge. As they crossed towards the seating area, Andy noted the impressive number of paintings lining the walls. Arkaday noticed Andy’s attention on the paintings. “They’re all originals, this one is a Rembrandt,” he pointed to the nearest painting, “if I had to choose, my favourite is the Vernet. His seascapes are packed with detail and emotion. I can look at these pictures for hours, I lose myself in them and find new things each time. It’s completely selfish of me.”