The Russian's Greed

by Cap Daniels

  Viktor laid his hand across the seat, cupping her tiny shoulder. “I’m the lucky one. Tonight, I have two beautiful dates for dinner, and both are Anya.”

  Young Anya swooned. “Oh, uncle, stop it. Please tell me we are going to One if by Land.”

  The girl turned to Anya. “Has he taken you there? It is the best restaurant in the whole world.”

  “He has not, but he promised me tonight would be the first.”

  Volkov rolled his eyes. “I see I’ve been handled by two beautiful women. If it is One if by Land, Two if by Sea you want, then who am I to say no?”

  Viktor reached across the seat and tapped the driver, but the cell phone pressed to the man’s ear told him arrangements were already being made. The driver glanced into the mirror, meeting Volkov’s gaze. “A table for four will be waiting when we arrive, sir.”

  The ballerina grinned and mouthed, “YA lyublyu tebya.”

  Volkov matched her grin. “I love you, too, my niece.”

  The promised table was not only available but also the best in the house. It was quiet, secluded, and perfectly lit. The maître d’ held chairs for Anya the elder as well as Anya the junior and took Viktor’s overcoat.

  When the waiter materialized tableside, Volkov said, “Three vodkas to begin.”

  The waiter immediately turned his attention to the ballerina, and Volkov snapped his fingers above the table and demanded, “Me. Look at me! Three vodkas.”

  He motioned with the back of his hand for the waiter to go, and obediently, he did. Moments later, three tasting cordials arrived on the table, two in front of Volkov and one before the only Anya at the table who could rip the soul from anyone in the room with nothing more than the butter knife beside the bread plate. Without hesitation, Volkov slid the stemmed cordial to the only Anya who could pirouette down a staircase, and glasses were raised.

  In unison, the three cheered, “Zdorov'ye” and emptied the petite glasses.

  Conversation flowed, as did the wine. When they were on dessert, Volkov shot his cuff, revealing his Rolex, and checked the time.

  Anya’s dark, beautiful eyes fell. “Oh, uncle. Please do not say I must return to the company. I so want to stay here with you . . . and with her.” She clung to Anya’s arm as if for dear life.

  Volkov’s eyes moistened as he tried but failed to meet his niece’s gaze. “It is not possible just now, my Anyechka. But someday.”

  “Everything is possible with you, uncle. You are wealthy and powerful. You can do everything. Why can’t I stay?” She turned to her namesake. “Tell him. Tell him he can make anything possible. He’ll listen to you.”

  The assassin’s heart melted. “I’m sorry. I cannot. This thing you want, it is very difficult, but not impossible. Perhaps someday soon you can come to America for good.”

  In typical form for a teenager from any country, she set her jaw and teetered on the edge of a tantrum.

  The drive to the hotel near Lincoln Center was silent and cold. When they pulled beneath the awning of the hotel, Anya threw open the door as Volkov called out, “I love you, my only niece.”

  Standing beside the car and leaning back inside, she glared at the jeweler. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t make me go back.”

  She slammed the door and stormed through the ornate entrance of the hotel.

  Volkov stared between his feet and shook his head, barely perceptibly.

  Anya took his arm. “She is only a girl. She will understand someday.”

  He pulled his arm from her. “No, she won’t. She can never know the truth of her father’s death, and I cannot bring her here to be with me. You will soon understand, but she never will.”

  18

  S MENYA KHVATIT

  (I QUIT)

  The ride to Anya’s apartment was as quiet as the ride to the ballet company’s hotel, but not as cold.

  Before stepping from the Bentley, Anya leaned close to Viktor, pressed her lips to his cheek, and whispered, “She knows you love her, but she is girl child. You cannot understand because you have never been. I have. Good night, my beautiful man. I will begin matching diamonds on Monday, yes?”

  “Thank you, my dear. I am sorry for the way this evening must end, but—”

  Anya pressed her finger to his lips. “Shh. It was wonderful evening, and niece Anya is perfect. I will be ready for driver on Monday morning.”

  Volkov silently nodded, and Anya slid from the car.

  As she walked through the apartment door, Gwynn rose to meet her. “Tell me everything. Where did you go? What did you do? Spill it, girl.” Gwynn’s excitement waned as she studied Anya’s expression. “That doesn’t look good. What’s wrong?”

  “I am no longer certain I can do this. I think I must quit.”

  Gwynn shook her head and grabbed Anya’s hand. “Come, sit down. I’ll make you some tea, and you can tell me everything.”

  The Russian pulled from Gwynn’s grasp and ambled down the hallway toward her room. By the time Anya returned, dressed in flannel pajama pants and a University of Georgia baseball jersey, the tea was ready, and Gwynn was curled up on the end of the sofa.

  Anya nestled into the plush cushion and cupped the mug in both hands. “Thank you for the tea. It smells delicious.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, tell me what’s going on.”

  Anya blew across the mug and took a tentative sip. “Viktor Volkov has a niece, and her name is Anya.”

  Gwynn slammed her mug onto the end table and leaned toward Anya. “Shut up! You’re lying.”

  Anya shrugged. “It is true. She is prima ballerina of Bolshoi second company. I saw her dance tonight at Lincoln Center, and she is beautiful.”

  Girlfriend Gwynn was instantly transformed back into Special Agent Davis. “How did we not know he had a niece? We have to tell Agent White.”

  Anya laid a hand on Gwynn’s arm. “Yes, of course I know this, but I must tell you everything before you call him.”

  Gwynn continued ignoring her tea and listened intently as Anya spoke. “He said Anya is daughter of his murdered brother, and he is responsible for the murder.”

  “He told you he killed his own brother?”

  “No, he only said he was reason for his brother’s murder—not that he killed him.”

  Gwynn grabbed a pen and Chinese restaurant menu from the end table drawer and flipped it over. The pen flew across the paper as she furiously took notes of every word. “What was his brother’s name?”

  Anya took another sip. “Also Volkov.”

  Gwynn slumped. “Yeah, I kinda figured that since they’re brothers. I meant, what’s his brother’s first name?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Okay, so, tell me about the niece.”

  “I know only that she has my name and is wonderful dancer. She had dinner with us, and she demanded that Viktor let her stay with him in America, but he refused.”

  “Why?”

  “I suppose like most poor Russian children, she believes America would be better.”

  Gwynn let out a groan. “This is getting painful. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to communicate with me. Of course the girl wants to come to America, but why did Volkov refuse.”

  “This is meaningful part of conversation. He said, ‘She can never know truth of her father’s death, and I cannot bring her here to be with me. You will soon understand, but she never will.’”

  Gwynn stopped writing. “What does that mean?”

  “I do not know.”

  “So, why do you think he feels responsible for his brother’s murder?”

  “This I do not know, either, but his heart is broken for his niece. He loves her, and she believes he can do everything.”

  “This is great stuff. I can’t wait to tell Agent White.”

  Anya paused and dived into her tea. After two long swallows, she said, “Do you believe Viktor is dangerous man?”

  “We don’t know yet. We know he’s practically printing money, and now that w
e’ve seen his girl Veronique switching diamonds in a shop, it’s starting to come together that he’s stealing high-quality diamonds and replacing them with lesser stones.”

  “But he is not killing anyone, and he is not bringing into country bags of cocaine, yes?”

  “We don’t think he’s involved in any of those things, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t breaking the law.”

  “I realize this, but this little girl, Anya, she is without father and will be without uncle if we send him to prison.”

  “That’s what happens to people who break the law in this country.”

  “Not always. Sometimes people break laws for many years and do not go to prison.”

  Gwynn sighed. “Are you suggesting we lay off of Volkov simply because he has a niece with your name?”

  “No, this is not what I am suggesting. I only want to know what he is doing to break laws. Maybe he is not doing something so bad that his niece should suffer for the crimes of her uncle.”

  Gwynn closed her eyes and sighed. “What you’re experiencing is common among law enforcement officials. It’s called criminal sympathy, and we simply can’t let ourselves fall into that trap. Think of it like this. How many people did you kill on the orders of your superiors while you were an SVR officer?

  Anya bowed her head. “I do not wish to tell you this number.”

  Gwynn nodded. “Okay, that’s fine. Just tell me if it’s a one-digit or two-digit number.”

  Anya looked up. “Is two digits, but when I put with it the number I have killed while working for American government, it is three digits.”

  Gwynn swallowed the uncomfortable lump in her throat in an effort to continue making her point. “Okay, three digits. So, anyway, how many times did you disobey and not kill a target because they had children or family who would suffer because of their loss?”

  Anya’s face turned pale. “This is very different thing.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s the same thing. We’re a nation of laws, and without those laws, anarchy would destroy us.”

  “Yes, of course, I understand this, but this little girl wants to be American. She is brilliant dancer who will one day be famous in Russia, but she doesn’t care about that. She only wants to come to this country.”

  “You’re projecting, Anya. You’re seeing yourself in this little girl, and you believe you can undo the wrong of what you were forced to endure as a child by protecting Anya Volkov.”

  Anya groaned. “This is not true.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s exactly what’s happening.”

  “Yes, of course, you are right about this, but you are not correct about girl’s name. Is Anya Volkovna. Volkov is name for boy, and Volkovna is name for girl.”

  Gwynn almost laughed. “Here we go with the failed communication thing again.”

  Anya swallowed the last of her tea and stood.

  Gwynn cleared her throat. “You can’t quit.”

  “Yes, I can. This is agreement with Agent White.”

  “No, Anya. Agent White never said you had the option of quitting when you wanted.”

  “Yes, he did. He told me I would do this thing or go to American prison. If I go to prison, Anya Volkovna will not suffer, but if her uncle goes to prison, this will mean she has lost both men—you call them father figures—in her life, and that is terrible for a little girl. Good night, Special Agent Davis.”

  Gwynn bit her jaw. “Good night, Captain Anastasia Burinkova.”

  Anya glared at her partner before making her way to her bedroom.

  * * *

  When she awoke the next morning, Anya heard the familiar voice of Supervisory Special Agent Ray White, and she suddenly dreaded what lay ahead.

  A shower did little to relieve her dread, but she’d postponed the inevitable as long as possible. She pulled her hair into a ponytail as she stepped into the living room. “Good Sunday morning, Ray. I think you should be at church, no?”

  “Oh, so it’s Ray and not Agent White now?”

  “Is only my attempt to make this morning comfortable. I know why you are here.”

  “If Agent Davis is correct, I’m here to arrest you. How comfortable does that sound?”

  Anya held out her hands as if ready for the handcuffs, but Ray motioned to the sofa. “Sit down, and tell me what’s going on.”

  She did as he ordered and laid out the story just as she’d done for Gwynn the night before.

  White listened intently, then leaned toward the Russian. “Listen closely, Anya. A guy we’ll call Bill Smith had his brother killed in cold blood and then fled Canada for the United States. He became the biggest car thief in Chicago and sent piles of cash back to Montreal to his murdered brother’s widow and child out of guilt for what he’d done. I caught this bastard eighteen years ago while I was based out of the Chicago field office and sent him to prison for ten years. After he served his sentence here, he was deported back to Canada, where he was tried and convicted for the crime of having his brother slaughtered. He’s now serving a life sentence under the watchful eye of the Canucks. Should I have patted him on the ass and let him go instead of arresting him?”

  Anya let her eyes fall shut and sighed. “This is not real story. There is FBI field office in Chicago, but no Department of Justice field office there.”

  “DOJ agents often find themselves temporarily assigned to the FBI.”

  “This is also lie,” Anya said, “but it does not have to be true to make your point.”

  White lowered his chin and focused on Anya. “My point isn’t what you think, but you interrupted before I could finish. If my story about Chicago had been true, I would’ve told you how I made arrangements with the State Department to have Bill Smith’s brother’s widow and orphaned child brought to the States and set up in a great little house on the edge of the Rocky Mountains, where the child learned to ski and won two Olympic gold medals wearing the American flag on her shirt.”

  Anya felt the edges of her lips turn upward in the slightest hint of a smile. “Does this mean Anya and her mother can come to America and she can dance with New York Ballet Company?”

  White sat back in his chair. “No, that’s not what it means. It means if you and your girlfriend in there put Viktor Volkov in prison and figure out what he did to get his brother killed, ballerina Anya can dance with any company she wants right here in America, and maybe you can give her one of those little plastic American flags you love to carry around.”

  A suspicious look of doubt came over Anya. “Do you have power to do this thing?

  Ray shook his head. “No, I can’t get that girl a spot on a ballet company, but I can get her and her mother here and on a path to citizenship. But only if you and your tea wench do your job and put Volkov where he belongs . . . in a federal prison cell.

  Anya said, “I will do this for you, but only on one condition.”

  White scowled. “You don’t get to make conditions, especially now that you’ve gone all softhearted on us.”

  She smiled. “I think this is acceptable condition. I am hungry and would like to have pancakes. The kind of pancakes you made for me in your home in Georgetown.”

  19

  MY IDEM NA RABOTU

  (OFF TO WORK WE GO)

  Monday morning dawned to find Anya Burinkova, the belle of the ball at Saturday night’s performance at Lincoln Center, dressed in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a hooded sweatshirt. Her driver held open the car door at precisely eight thirty, and she slid inside, anxious to send Viktor Volkov to the New York Metropolitan Correctional Center, the federal administrative detention center in Lower Manhattan. If he were truly guilty of federal crimes as the Department of Justice believed, that’s where he’d be held until he was convicted, and sentencing was handed down by the U.S. District Court for the Southern District of New York.

  The same garage door she and Gwynn had been driven through the previous week rose as the driver approached and promptly closed it behind them. The building looked the same,
but the feeling of the place was different. Something left the fearless former SVR officer with a sense of dread.

  The car came to a stop, and Viktor Volkov stepped from the inner sanctum of the bland, dark building with his arms outstretched. “Ah! The queen of the angels has returned to me.” He threw his arms around her and drew her body against his in a long embrace. “Have you eaten?”

  Anya nodded. “I have, and I am ready to go to work.”

  “I’m sure you are, but we have a bit of ugly business to attend to before we get started.” He held the door for her, and she discovered Sascha waiting in the lavishly appointed interior of the space. He wore an expression she’d never seen on his boyish face. It was a look of determined accusation—the same look Ray White wore the day he first questioned her.

  “Good morning, Sascha. Is everything all right?”

  The scientist bored holes through her with his eyes. “Starting a relationship with a lie is a dangerous beginning. Diamonds are rare and beautiful things, just like trust. The only thing worse than lying to us is stealing from us.”

  Anya’s mind reeled with a thousand questions, and she scanned the room for both weapons and exits as she palmed the two diamonds she’d “borrowed” from the vault.

  Have they found out I am working with the Justice Department? What will they try to do to me? Must I kill both of them? Would that be good enough for Supervisory Special Agent Ray White to bring Anya and her mother to the States as he promised?

  In an effort to delay the coming storm, she said, “I do not understand. What is problem?”

  Sascha wasted no time in answering. “The problem is someone stole a pair of diamonds from the vault, and you and your girlfriend are the only two people who’ve been inside the vault since we last saw the missing pair of stones.”

  “This cannot be true,” she said. “If my friend and I were the last ones inside the vault, how do you know the stones are missing?”

  “Because I counted them myself this morning,” Sascha roared.