The Russian's Greed

by Cap Daniels

  Anya followed Gwynn’s gaze as she watched Frenchie skillfully clamping stone after stone into her tweezers and bringing them to her eye. When she found exactly the diamond she’d been searching for, she loosened the tweezers, allowing it to drop into her palm. She quickly covered the diamond with her thumb, and using the tweezers, grasped the replacement diamond she’d been palming for twenty minutes. Loaded with the new stone, Veronique handed the tweezers back to the sales associate, and the woman returned the stone to its brivke.

  As if mesmerized by the brilliance of her first diamond, Anya held the ring up to the light and watched the colors dance from the prism as she tilted and twisted her hand. She leaned toward Volkov and pressed herself against him. “It is more beautiful than anything. I do not know how to thank you, Viktor. Is it really mine?”

  He slid his hand across her shoulder and down her back, and in their native Russian, said, “It is yours forever.”

  “I’m happy you like the setting,” Levi said. “If you ever need anything else, please come back, but don’t bring him.” He motioned toward Volkov. “Every time I see him, I lose money. He’s bad luck.”

  Volkov leaned across the glass and gave Levi a playful shove. “I’ve put more money in your pocket than you’ve ever put in mine, so stop whining.”

  Levi grinned. “Get outta here.”

  Volkov motioned toward Veronique. “If she wants anything, let her have it, and you and I will haggle over prices later. Mazl un brokhe, my friend.”

  Back on the street without Veronique, the three continued through the crowd, and Anya couldn’t take her eye from the diamond resting on her finger. She took Volkov’s arm and squeezed. The smile that had melted hearts and resolve all over the world didn’t garner the same reaction from Viktor Yuvelir, the jeweler. His reaction was more like that of a father happy to see his daughter pleased with his gift.

  “Why did you give to me such a beautiful diamond?”

  As if the question were absurd, he looked down in confusion. “I did not give the diamond to you. I gave you to the diamond. It was lonely without you. Now you can make the diamond happy every time you stare at it in admiration, and the diamond can make you happy every time you catch a sparkle of light from a facet.”

  Anya slapped his arm. “How many times have you given this speech to women?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a good speech, no?”

  “Is very good speech, Viktor, but you must not buy for me expensive things. I feel obligation to you after such gift.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “An obligation, you say? In that case, you will have dinner with me tonight, and the obligation is fulfilled.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder. Perhaps my smile hasn’t lost its magic after all. “What about Veronique? She will be jealous, no?”

  Viktor shot a look across his shoulder at Levi’s shop. “You have the wrong impression. She is neither French, nor is her name Veronique. She and I are business partners. Nothing more.”

  Anya raised her eyebrow. “Is this so?”

  “It is, and perhaps after dinner, maybe you would like to discuss a little business, as well.”

  Anya pulled away. “I do not understand. I am actress, not businessperson. There is nothing I can do for you in diamond business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, my beautiful Russian princess. You have no idea how perfect you are for this business.”

  She pulled herself tightly against his arm again. “In this case, yes to dinner, and maybe yes to business talking after, but what about my friend?”

  Viktor gave Gwynn a glance. “Surely, she can find something to do in the big city, but if not, I have a young man—a scientist—who works for me and would love to join the three of us for dinner.”

  Anya turned to Gwynn. “Did you hear this? A scientist. You will come, yes?”

  “He doesn’t wear taped-up glasses and a pocket protector, does he?”

  Viktor laughed. “I think you will be pleasantly surprised. It is settled. I will pick you up at eight.”

  Anya nodded. “We will be ready for you at eight, but we must not go to Russian restaurant. Gwynn does not like to see cow’s feet on menu.”

  “No cow’s feet,” Viktor said, “although they are delicious. One scientist, one businessman, and two beautiful women. It will be a perfect night.”

  11

  AKH, KAPITALIZM

  (AH, CAPITALISM)

  At precisely eight o’clock, the telephone rang, and Anya lifted the receiver. “Da.”

  The voice on the other end faltered for a moment. “Uh, hello . . . This is, um, Edward, downstairs. Your limousine is here.”

  “Spasibo, Edward. Please tell driver we will be down in five minutes.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and Edward was even more tongue-tied in person than on the phone.

  Volkov’s driver stood just inside the double-door entrance. He watched Anya and Gwynn step from the elevator and offered a slight bow. Then, he pressed his index finger against Edward’s chin, closing his mouth. “It is not polite to stare.”

  The driver held open the door as Edward remained frozen in place.

  Gwynn whispered. “I hope your jeweler and my scientist are as impressed as young Edward.”

  Anya giggled. “How could they not be? Just look at us. We are most beautiful girls in all of Big Apple.”

  Once inside the limousine, Gwynn smiled with enormous sincerity and relief as she offered her hand to the gentleman sitting beside Viktor. “Hi, there. I’m Gwynn.”

  The young man took her hand and kissed it lightly, just behind the knuckles. “I am Sascha, and I am charmed. Viktor did not tell me you were an angel—only that you were without a date for the evening.”

  She almost blushed as she withdrew her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Sascha. Viktor says you’re a scientist. What do you study?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “It is all so boring. I wouldn’t want to put you to sleep. What do you do?”

  Gwynn gave the man a long review from foot to head, and she liked everything she saw. “My work would definitely put you to sleep. I’m a boring lawyer. Nothing glamorous, I assure you.”

  Sascha leaned forward. “Fascinating. In what area of the law do you practice?”

  The slightest hint of an Eastern European accent rolled from his tongue, but his English was flawless.

  “Contracts mostly,” she said. “It’s certainly not what I thought it would be.”

  “And what were your ambitions prior to settling for contract law?”

  The sting of the word settling didn’t sit well with Gwynn, and she laughed to herself that she’d been offended by an affront on her make-believe job. “Oh, I thought I’d be a big-city trial lawyer, but I’ve never been inside a courtroom since I passed the bar.”

  “I’ll wager a month’s salary you passed on the first attempt.”

  Gwynn looked away. “Well, you’d win that bet, but if I had it to do all over again, I think I may have done something different.”

  “Fascinating,” he said. “And what would you become if you could undo all those years of college and law school?”

  She ran a finger across his knee. “I don’t know. Perhaps I would’ve been a great research assistant for a scientist who’s too shy to brag about his work.”

  Sascha leaned back in the luxurious seat. “You’d quit on day one. Besides, it’s not like I’m curing cancer or putting men on Mars. I’m a geologist and physicist. Basically, I study why rocks don’t move on their own.”

  Viktor laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “My friend is being modest. He is a double PhD in physics and geology. Without him, I would be a peasant on the streets of Leningrad, begging for bread and coins.”

  Anya said, “Is Saint Petersburg now.”

  Volkov sent her an icy stare. “Is Leningrad to those of us who knew it in the glorious days of the Soviet Union.”

  Anya returned h
is stare. “Those days were not so glorious for me. This is why I am now American capitalist.”

  Volkov laughed. “Ah! Capitalism, indeed. I am also one of these.” He turned to the minibar and poured flutes of champagne for everyone. “To capitalism!”

  Glasses were raised, and rims were touched.

  Anya playfully bumped Volkov’s shoulder with hers. “And also to Leningrad!”

  “Leningrad!”

  When the limousine stopped, the foursome stepped to the sidewalk in front of the former Mayfair Hotel on Park Avenue and into Daniel, New York City’s premier French restaurant.

  Before offering his arm to Anya, Viktor leaned down and whispered to Gwynn. “No cow’s feet. I promise.”

  She gave him a wink. “I’m holding you to that promise. And you were quite right about my date. I am absolutely pleased.”

  They were immediately seated at an elegant, quiet table with silver service spread to perfection.

  The maître d’ approached and offered a respectful bow. “Mr. Volkov, how nice it is to see you again. I see you’ve brought the two most beautiful women in the city along with you this evening.”

  Volkov lifted a butter knife and exhibited swordplay toward the man. “How dare you insult my guests like this. Their beauty cannot be contained within a city of only seven million. It is possible they are the two most beautiful women in all the world.”

  “My apologies, sir, but—and I have no reason to doubt this fact—if they are the most beautiful women in all the world, would that not also make them the most beautiful in the city?”

  Volkov grabbed his chest. “Touché. Now, champagne.”

  “Only the finest, of course.” The man bounded away as if sent by the king himself.

  Soon, champagne flowed, and servings of Golden Ossetra caviar were delicately placed in front of each of them.

  Gwynn glanced at Anya for the briefest of moments and remembered her saying, “I am terrible Russian. I do not eat caviar, I do not drink vodka, and I detest cold.”

  Perhaps Anya was a better actress than Gwynn knew. She devoured the fish eggs as if they were sumptuous manna from Heaven.

  Next came Maine lobster salad, celtuce, shiso bavarois, lemon crème fraîche, and crispy yuba.

  Gwynn suddenly came down with a case of the nervous giggles, and all eyes turned to her.

  Sascha leaned in. “Are you all right, my dear?”

  She covered her mouth with a linen napkin. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that I’ve never eaten a meal like this.”

  “It’s not a meal yet,” Sascha said. “This is only starts and appetizers.”

  The giggles continued. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, I’ve never been to a place like this. I’m lucky to have Chinese takeout twice a week. This is utterly amazing.”

  Viktor laughed, Sascha relaxed, and Anya smiled at her friend and partner.

  “Food is life,” Viktor said. “And life should be celebrated. After all, this is why we work so hard at being capitalists.” He slapped Sascha on the back. “Right, my friend?”

  The scientist raised his glass. “Absolutely!”

  The meal continued for two hours and culminated with a dessert the waiter described as Apurímac coconut finger lime sorbet, dark chocolate crémeux, and cajeta sauce.

  No waiter appeared with a weighty check, expecting someone to offer an American Express; however, the maître d’ made a final tableside appearance. “I hope everything was perfect.”

  “As always,” declared Viktor.

  “I shall pass your compliments to the chef.”

  Viktor tucked more than a couple folded one-hundred-dollar bills into the man’s cupped hand. “This is for you and the waitstaff.”

  “Please do come again soon. It has truly been too long.”

  Viktor led the way back onto Park Avenue, where the limo waited, and they climbed inside. Ten minutes later, they pulled through an open garage door and into a warehouse on the Upper East Side.

  The door immediately closed behind them, and Anya scanned the interior of the building, memorizing everything she saw. “What is this place?”

  “This is my shop. I told you we would talk about business tonight.”

  They filed from the back seat, and Volkov entered an eight-digit code into a cipher lock beside an oversized, heavy steel door. A pair of electronic tones sounded, followed by a series of clicks. Volkov turned the handle and pulled open the door. The hunk of steel looked more like something that would be found sealing a vault than a shop door in a vacant warehouse.

  Inside the space, a collection of fashionable sofas, chairs, tables, and lamps was arranged perfectly upon an Oriental rug that probably cost more than the limousine. A pair of French doors, also with cipher locks, opened at Volkov’s touch, and the doorway revealed an interior room much less formal than the previous. Industrial carpet covered the concrete floor, and straight-backed chairs lined the wall. The only other door in the space was, unquestionably, a vault door. Volkov entered a ten-digit code that Anya immediately memorized and then pressed his thumb to a small, oblong glass window. A few seconds later, an electronic voice said, “Identification verified,” and Volkov spun the spoked wheel and pulled the massive door from its jamb.

  Lights flickered on inside the vault, and the Russian led the three of them into the space. Colored velvet bags, perfectly spaced five feet apart, lay on a thick wooden counter. Volkov lifted a black bag, freed the string, and dumped the contents onto a lighted glass section of the counter. As the light played through the dozens of diamonds dancing their way across the glass, the prismatic effect sent showers of purple light pouring onto the ceiling and around the room. When the gems finally came to rest, Anya and Gwynn gasped in unison.

  Sascha lifted a blue bag and poured its contents onto a second lighted glass panel. He produced two pairs of clamping tweezers from a nook in the back of the counter and clamped the jaws of each around a diamond from each of the two lighted panels. He pulled a loupe from his pocket and placed it in Anya’s palm. “Please compare the two diamonds.”

  Anya stared down at the loupe. “But I don’t know anything about diamonds.”

  Volkov cleared his throat. “This is not true. You know far more than most people. Perhaps you simply don’t realize it. Last night, at dinner, after your unfortunate encounter, we discussed the four Cs of diamond grading. I’m certain you remember.”

  Anya said, “Yes, I remember, but . . .”

  “No but,” Volkov said. “Simply look into each diamond, and tell me the differences.”

  Anya pressed the loupe to her cheekbone and closed her left eye. Pulling the first diamond into focus, she admired the clarity with one tiny exception. She pulled the stone away. “It has small black spot, deep inside.”

  Sascha studied the stone. “You are right. That black spot is called an inclusion. That is one of the things that lowers the value of a diamond. Now, take a look at the other.”

  Anya lifted the second stone and studied it carefully. “This one has also inclusion but is maybe larger.”

  Sascha looked and agreed.

  Volkov asked, “How good is your memory?”

  Anya stared into his eyes. “One-zero-four-seven-two-two-nine-six-three-one.”

  Volkov took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “You are perfect, my beauty. You have the face of an angel, the body of a fashion model, and the mind of a chess master.”

  “Thank you, I guess,” Anya said.

  Volkov continued. “Remember the first diamond you studied with the tiny black inclusion?”

  “Yes, I remember this.”

  He motioned toward the first pile of diamonds. “Now, find its twin in this collection.”

  One by one, she clamped each diamond into the tweezers and studied it through the loupe until she found the perfect match. She handed the gem to Viktor, and he passed it to Sascha.

  The scientist pulled the stone into focus and studied it for several seconds. When he
was satisfied, he said, “She’s done it.”

  Volkov grinned. “Try four.”

  Sascha pulled four stones from the second pile and had Anya study each of them. “Now, find their twins in the first pile.”

  Anya used the tweezers to separate the stones she’d memorized and slid them beside the four she’d just seen. “These four are the closest matches.”

  Sascha cast a doubtful look toward Volkov, and the Russian said, “This is not possible. No one can memorize that many stones.”

  Anya stuck the tweezers toward him. “See for yourself.”

  He lifted each pair of diamonds and examined them closely. After the fourth perfect match, he wrapped Anya in his arms. “You are my angel sent to me just when I need you most.”

  12

  KOMMERCHESKOYE PREDLOZHENIYE

  (THE SALES PITCH)

  Viktor Volkov returned the diamonds to their velvet homes, and Sascha did the same with his collection. With the bags back where they’d been when the foursome walked in, Viktor led them from the vault and back into the lavishly appointed sitting area. “You said you are an actress, yes?”

  Anya glanced quickly at Gwynn and then let her gaze settle on Volkov. “Yes, I am actress.”

  Volkov inspected his fingernails for a long moment. “And acting . . . Does it pay well?”

  Anya felt the warm, familiar feeling of her prey falling perfectly into her talons. “Sometimes, yes, and sometimes, no. When I have part in commercial or television show, I am paid far more than back in Russia.”

  Volkov crossed his legs. “And when you’re paid for a role, how many nights could you afford dinner like we enjoyed earlier?”

  Anya feigned embarrassment. “I think maybe only once, and I would then be hungry until next time I have job.”

  Volkov watched the toe of his shoe as he made figure eights in the air. “Do you ever take private acting jobs, or is all of that done through an agency?”

  Anya’s curious smile turned to stone. “Are you asking if I am devushka legkogo povedeniya?”