“You are considering me?”
“Sure. This crew could stand a little sophistication. Phyllis Demarest’s knowledge of things Russian is limited to Smirnoff and those little piroshki things.”
“Cancun? In Mexico?”
“Yes.”
“I must secure permission to leave the USA, but it will be no problem.”
“Do it.”
“Very well. Leaving when?”
“Friday morning—as soon as I finish trading and we can get Lady Catherine out of bed.”
“Returning?”
“Monday. Monday afternoon to be safe.”
“Unless I telephone you, I shall be at your house early Friday morning.”
“Thanks for helping us out, Ivan.”
“Oh. Do I have a date? Celia, by any chance?”
“Celia? Oh, Celia. No, no, you’ve inherited Buddy’s date. Girl named Dorothy. I don’t know anything about her except if she was Buddy McLean’s date, she’ll be better looking than Celia Skelly ever thought about being.”
Chapter 19
June 22 Dreshchensky drove to Atlanta early the n ext morning. He found Atlanta’s village of Vinings with some difficulty—it was a community within a city. The houses were large, many hidden behind walls and thick landscaping. Few had any interest in displaying their street numbers. He accosted a Latino gardener, who pointed to a tall iron gate.
The inhabitants of Number 17 Colonial Point were persons of considerable fortune. Dreshchensky could see a portion of a house that was large and of an older style of architecture. He pushed a button on an electronic panel beside the gate, but there was no response. Unless he wished to try to defeat the large lock or return at night to climb the tall fence, there was nothing more to be done.
He found a shopping center pay phone and called the number listed for Larson, Samuel B. He called three times, but reached the same message each time—leave his name and number.
His dossier on Larson, provided by a recent recruit to Galavna-ya Bohl from SVR, indicated the subject had been in the securities brokerage business prior to becoming a money manager. He opened the Yellow Pages directory and found Stock & Bond Brokers.
At his eighth call he found a receptionist who had known Larson. “A leading light at Mathewson, Barber until a while ago.” The receptionist paused. “I think Lu Chin was a big fan at one time. Would you like to talk to him?”
Dreshchensky, prepared for an oriental voice, found Chin with a heavy southern accent. “Sure, Sam was a big noise at Mathewson, Barber, then went off on his own.”
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Why don’t you give him a call? He’ll be in the book.”
Mathewson, Barber leased the entire fiftieth floor of One Atlantic Center on West Peachtree Street for its Atlanta branch office. The building, modeled after the Tribune Tower in Chicago, had been Atlanta’s tallest until 1991. Befitting one of the most successful brokerage firms on Wall Street, the office suite was furnished in an American Colonial style, with the accent on heavy and solid and subdued tones. Dreshchensky, avoiding the view outside the windows, pulled his tie tighter as he approached the receptionist.
“Yes, sir?”
“Sam Larson, please.”
The receptionist frowned. “Just a minute.” She pressed a key on her computer and
scrolled down the screen. “Sorry, we don’t have anyone by that name.” “Larson. L-a-r-s-on.”
“I understand, but there’s no listing.”
Dreshchensky frowned. “I’m an old skiing friend of his. Skip Toler.” He extended
his hand.
The receptionist hesitated, then took the hand. “It’s been, maybe, two years since I talked with Sam last, but I’m certain he was employed here.”
“Just a minute.” The receptionist signaled an older woman entering the lobby. “Jacci, do you know a guy named Sam Larson?”
“Sure.”
“This gentleman’s trying to find him.”
“Call Rose—she’s running his old customers.” She snapped her fingers. “No, Rose is out today. Let’s see. Ask Cooper. No, I’m wrong. No chance he’d be much help.” She laughed. “As I remember, Tom threatened to kill Joey and Sam.” She smiled at Dreshchensky. “Call Rose Hunnicutt. Tomorrow, any time after nine.”
He turned back to the receptionist. “She said Cooper? Tom Cooper?”
“Yes, but it sounded like he wouldn’t be much help.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
June 22
Dreshchensky reported to Parenko. “I found the name of a former associate of
Larson’s who might have a reason to dislike him.”
“Enough to provide aid?”
“I shall inquire.”
“I shall inform Eugen Yakovich.” He paused. “A word of advice.” “Yes?”
“Do not delay. He is little engaged and so is much concerned with your research.”
Dreshchensky found seventeen Thomas Coopers in the Atlanta residential telephone book. His sixth call found Cooper, Thomas M., awake, but in obvious pain. “Call back when I can tell whether I’m either alive or dead.”
Dreshchensky persevered. “I am looking for a gentleman named Tom Cooper who was employed at one time by Mathewson, Barber.”
Cooper’s voice brightened. “What do you want with this Thomas Cooper?”
“If you are the subject Cooper, I would like to explain in person. Are you free for lunch?”
“I’ll be well by noon. Where’d you like to meet?”
“Select a place.”
“You’re springing?”
“Springing? Yes, I shall pay.”
“Daisy’s at one.”
“Where is—”
“I’ve got to rest, buddy. Look it up.”
“How shall I know—”
“Red shirt, no tie.”
Cooper was sitting at the bar. His face was puffy and gray. His stomach bulged over his belt. He had not shaved and his thin hair was greasy and only finger-combed.
He studied the approaching man’s appearance. The features and clothing were AllAmerican and didn’t match at all his appraisal of the voice on the telephone. He stood and tapped the front of his red golf shirt.
Dreshchensky extended his hand as he approached. “Mr. Cooper?”
“T.C.”
“T.C?”
“Tom Cooper.”
“Very well, T.C. it is.”
“I didn’t catch your name on the phone. Who are you?”
“Miller. Jeff Miller.”
“Beer?”
“Yes, thank you.” Dreshchensky pointed at a mechanical bull. “There are not many of those around anymore.”
Cooper nodded. “Daisy’s into nostalgia.”
He drank his first Budweiser without stopping, then slammed the bottle on the bar and crooked a finger at the bartender. He spun on his stool to face Dreshchensky. “Now, Jeff, tell me why we’re here—and why you’re springing for lunch.”
“I am interested in a man named Sam Larson. I am told you know him.”
“Might.”
“What do you mean, might?”
“I may or may not know him. It depends on why you want to know.”
“You are seeking a bribe?”
“Tell me about your interest.”
“I am employed by a regulator. I—
“Regulator? You work for the SEC?”
“Another of the regulators.”
Cooper hesitated. “I’m out of the securities business, but I’m not big pals with any kind of cops. What’s in this for me?”
“A bribe?”
“You got government money, right?”
“How can I be certain you know Larson?”
“If I can’t answer your questions, you can have your money back.”
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
Dreshchensky eyes bulged. “I cannot authorize that much myself. I shall call Washington, then call you.”
>
Cooper handed Dreshchensky a menu. “The burgers here are—”
“Nothing for me. I must—”
“You’re on the tab for lunch, Jeff! Don’t let our relationship get off to a bad start.”
Dreshchensky placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar and departed.
June 23
Dreshchensky called Parenko the following morning to describe his need and his
belief in the quality of the information.
“Eugen Yakovich sent you to gather information, not to engage in bribery.” Dreshchensky didn’t respond.
“I shall call. Wait on this line.”
Parenko returned to the line a few seconds later. “Amazing. Eugen Yakovich
appears to believe in what you are doing. I am to send the money. How and where?” “To Jeffrey Miller at the Western Union office at 3300 Cobb Parkway, Marietta,
Georgia.”
“Spell.”
Dreshchensky spelled.
“Ready to transmit.”
“How soon?”
“Eugen Yakovich’s instruction was for immediate transmission.” “Thank you.”
“A word of advice. Do not take the money into retirement.”
Dreshchensky called Cooper. “I have the money.” “Daisy’s at five.”
Chapter 20 June 24
Larson parked the Porsche at the Mercury Air Center. Kostov retrieved his package
of Sobranies from his short pocket, but Larson touched his arm. “Jet fuel.” Kostov breathed deeply. “It is all right. I am learning the joys of the non-smoker.” Larson reached for his door latch, but Kostov grasped his arm. “Can we take a
moment?”
“Sure. Doesn’t look like they’ve even rolled the Lear out yet.”
“Good. I have been thinking. It is all these women. I have been delivered from a
desert at home to the most wonderful oasis I could have ever imagined. I am wondering
about my feelings.”
“Your feelings?”
“I find that I lust after the woman of the moment, but become even more enchanted
by the next.”
Larson laughed. “Doesn’t seem like the end of the world to me, Ivan.” “I suppose not.” He hesitated. “A question?”
“Go.”
“Have you ever been married? I have given it some thought. I am no longer a young
man. There was the harsh training that kept me away from civilization. After I entered
regular service, there were many moves around the nation and a few around the world.”
He paused. “I may have been poisoned by types of females I met in my KGB days.
What do you think?”
Larson laughed. “I think you’re a reject just like me, Ivan, but we have to make the
most of what comes our way.” He pointed at a Lincoln Town Car. “The troops are here.
Let’s go see what Buddy McLean abandoned.”
Cooper was waiting at Daisy’s bar again. “So, where’s the cash?”
Dreshchensky handed him an envelope.
Cooper counted the hundred-dollar bills, then laid two on the bar and compared their
serial numbers. “Just checking. Can’t pay bills with Monopoly money.” “Monopoly?”
Cooper frowned. “Where you from, Jeff?”
“New York.”
“They don’t play Monopoly in New York?”
Dreshchensky sipped his beer. “Now, tell me everything you know about Sam
Larson and Larson Interests.”
“How do you know about Larson Interests?”
“That is not your concern. For five thousand dollars you are to tell me what you
know.”
“I’m not sure five grand gets you any information about Larson Interests. Our
arrangement was for information about Sam.”
“There is nothing about Mr. Larson other than his management company that is of
interest to us.”
“Tell me which regulator you work for.”
“I am wearying of this charade, Mr. Cooper.” Dreshchensky leaned forward. “Pay
close attention. I do not work for the government. I work for Giovanni Cardessi.” Cooper’s eyes opened wide. “The Cardessi?”
“I have been very gentle with you, T.C. Johnny is of the opinion that honey is more
persuasive than force, but I have paid you and now I want the information.” Cooper gulped his second beer, signaled for another, and then told Dreshchensky
some of what he knew about Larson and Larson Interests. He spun on his barstool. “And
that’s it.”
Dreshchensky slapped Cooper’s face, first with his right hand, then with his left. “What!” Cooper looked around the barroom, but there was no interest. “That was meant to secure your attention, Mr. Cooper. The next will be more
forceful.”
“What more do you think I know?”
“I think you know why Mr. Larson is such a spectacular success in the stock market.” Cooper hesitated. “He’s got some sort of souped-up, computer-aided technique.
That’s all—”
Dreshchensky drove the stiffened fingers of his left hand into the soft tissue under
Cooper’s chin.
The coughing continued for several minutes.
Dreshchensky held Cooper’s chin. “I could have done anything I wanted with that
stroke, Mr. Cooper—anything from brushing your cheek to causing your lifeless body to
fall to the floor.” He smiled. “Do you believe me, Mr. Cooper?”
Cooper massaged his throat. “Yes.”
“Good. How does Mr. Larson predict the stock market?”
“What’s your interest.”
“Simple. If it works, we want it.”
“Well, you see—”
Dreshchensky pulled the right sleeve of his suit coat back and stiffened his fingers. “I
am much better with this hand.”
“Enough!” Cooper told Dreshchensky what he knew about Augur.
Dreshchensky signaled for a new round of drinks. “That was easy, was it not?” Cooper nodded.
“I speak for Mr. Cardessi. We want you to help us take control of the program.” “Can’t. If you take the program, Larson’s out of the picture. That means I’m out,
too. No more profits to share.”
Dreshchensky displayed both of his hands. “Choosing between lost earnings and lost
life should not be an insurmountable problem for you.”
Cooper’s face brightened. “How about you paying me to help?”
“Why should we pay anything?”
“I’d be a willing worker.”
“What service will you provide?”
“I don’t know if you can take over the program with anything less than Professor
Rubenstein’s help, but—”
“Professor Rubenstein? Who is he?”
“I’ll get to that. What I’m trying to tell you is that I’m damned sure you can’t make a
sensible move without someone on the inside.”
Dreshchensky narrowed his eyes. “How much would you expect?” “I’m in the deal until November. I should earn—maybe a million between now and
then. I’ll lose that if I help you guys.”
“I shall have to call New York.”
June 25
Dreshchensky reported early the next morning. “Connect me to Eugen Yakovich.” “What business? I am to filter your calls, Dreshchensky.”
“Switch me now or be ready to explain why my report was delayed.” Staranov came on the line. “What is so important that Parenko could not handle the
call?”
“I have questions beyond Parenko’s capability to answer.”
“Continue.”
“My man has convinced me that we need him. He wants to know what we will pay?” “Is he being paid by these people at this time?”
�
�So he says.”
“How much?”
“He claims he will lose a million dollars between now and November if he aids us.” “Secure proof.”
It was still dark when Dreshchensky knocked on Cooper’s door. “Jeff, goddamn it, you know what time it is? Who’d you talk to in New York this time of day?”
“Johnny rises early.”
“So, what’d he say?”
“He wants proof you have this much at stake.”
“I don’t leave much in my bank, Jeff.” He paused. “But I’ve got deposit slips.”
“Show me.”
Dreshchensky scanned the bank records. “I shall call the boss.”
Dreshchensky found Staranov at dinner. “And?” “ I cannot be certain how much he has at stake, but I believe that many thousands of dollars have passed through his bank account.”
“The likelihood that the man you describe has a million dollars at stake seems small. Should I be concerned that you might be his partner in this?”
“No! I saw his bank deposit records.”
“Which could have been forged.”
“Except he had no reason to suppose that we would ask for them.”
Staranov hesitated. “Very well, tell me why this person would be willing to sell out his associates to us?”
“Fear of us. Of me. Also, his relationship with the principals is to end in November.”
Staranov paused. “I suppose that the capability you have described might indeed produce those levels of profit.” He paused again. “Offer him the million.”
“Cash?”
“You disappoint me. Offer him one hundred thousand, to be paid when we have the program operating and the remainder from our profits.”
“Will we pay him?”
“Do not trouble me with nonsense questions. Call me after you have confirmed his participation.”
June 26
Dreshchensky waited until noon to call Cooper. Courtesy was indicated for the
moment.
“Johnny offers the one million that you state you will lose if you aid us. Ten percent
of that when we have the program operating and the rest from profits.”
Cooper paused. “We’ve got a deal, but I need some front money.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Ten.”
“When.”
“Two days.”
“Why the wait? You guys don’t have ten in a drawer somewhere?” Dreshchensky didn’t respond.
“Ten. At Daisy’s at one on Tuesday.”
June 27
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