Venice Black (Alex Polonia Thriller Book 1)

by Gregory C. Randall

  Good boys. Hard to find good boys these days.

  He’d slept fitfully, thoughts of the next few days roiling around in his head. Last night he’d received word from the two men assigned to find Jurić that she’d taken both of them out, again—one thrown in the canal, the other’s collarbone fractured.

  Yes, it is hard to find good boys.

  “I can’t believe she was there waiting for me at the station,” Kozak said.

  “I think she was waiting for someone else,” Maja answered, spreading strawberry jam over the butter.

  “She was there—for me,” Kozak said, pointing his butter knife at Maja. “I tell you, even before the failure of those fools last night, she is here to stop me or even worse. So help me God, I will make sure that she doesn’t.”

  The manager of the hotel entered and stopped a short distance from Kozak’s table. He coughed softly.

  One of the guards set down his napkin and walked over to the manager, who said something in his ear.

  The guard walked back to his boss. “The American is here.”

  “Excellent,” Kozak replied. He signaled the manager and nodded. The man straightened his uniform and left the terrace. Kozak waved at the waiter. “Set the table for one more,” he said in Italian. “And more coffee.”

  “Do you wish me to stay?” Maja asked.

  “Of course. This fool has some business to discuss; then he is gone. You might find it both interesting and amusing.”

  The air drifting in from the lagoon tasted of rain and damp socks. An excellent hotel, this was, but he couldn’t ignore the reality of it being in the middle of a swamp. It reminded him of mornings he’d spent in Bosnia and the bordellos along the Adriatic, especially Split. Those were the days, but today was important, very important.

  The manager returned with a young man. They waited for Kozak’s signal. The American was dressed in a dark-red leather jacket, black T-shirt, jeans, a bizarre black stocking cap, and, God forbid, cowboy boots. He carried a high-priced aluminum Rimowa briefcase.

  Kozak waved the man over. When he approached the table, one of the bodyguards stood and placed himself between the American and Kozak.

  “Sorry, but we must search you,” Kozak said. “An annoyance, but necessary.”

  The man endured the indignity and then sat in the chair that Kozak pointed to.

  “General Kozak, it is good to finally meet you.” As requested in his preparation for this meeting, he did not offer his hand.

  “And this is Maja Stankić, a friend and associate,” Kozak added.

  Maja just nodded and did not offer her hand either.

  “Anything you say will be held in strict confidence.”

  “Ms. Stankić,” the kid replied. He nodded to Maja, then focused on Kozak. “General Kozak, thank you for the time. I have heard so much.”

  “What you’ve heard is probably not all good.” Kozak picked up a thin slice of toast and began to butter it.

  “No, no. I don’t pay attention to rumors, and besides, what they talk about was more than twenty years ago. I was just a kid in Omaha.”

  “Omaha? Where is this Omaha?”

  “Nebraska. It’s where my most important investor lives. I like to think he did it because of where we both have our roots. The vast Nebraska countryside can make you believe in big ideas.”

  “I’ve not heard of this Omaha. And remember, we all can have big ideas, no matter where you are from. You have asked for this meeting. As you can see, I’m eating breakfast. Hungry?”

  “Thanks, but I ate on my plane, took a water taxi directly here. I’m scheduled to be wheels up at eleven. Coffee would be nice, though.”

  Kozak thought the kid had to be thirty years younger than he. Even at this hour, the American seemed nervous and on edge.

  Good, it’s nice to be feared.

  “Now, what can I, a lowly servant of my people, do for you?”

  “Good, right to the point,” the man answered. “As you know, now that Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Serbia have begun to settle—”

  Kozak put his hand up. “Please do not mention those two pigs in any further conversation, understand? If you are talking with them, we are done.” He waved to his guards.

  “No, for God’s sake, no. We are only talking with you. Please,” the kid pleaded.

  Kozak motioned to the bodyguards to stay, and the men slowly sat, like jackals lowering their haunches to the ground.

  “Good. Now, what is your proposal?” Kozak asked.

  “My international booking agency uses the latest algorithms—my design, of course—to search out and lock in vacation rentals across Europe. We see big things in Croatia. Over the last few years, thousands of quaint rental properties have been built or renovated. As it was before the war, people want to return to Croatia to relax, drink the wine, and enjoy Croatian hospitality.”

  “True, that’s all true. And the reason you think this is all happening?”

  “You are affordable. You don’t use the euro, the exchange rate makes it a bargain, and—”

  “We are not a bordello to be used and taken cheaply.”

  “Oh no, no, no,” the kid said. “It’s just that with all the troubles in Greece, the crazy prices in Italy, and the impossible access to the coasts of France and Spain for the average traveler, Croatia is poised to be the place to vacation.”

  “So, why are you talking to me? I’m not a travel agency. There are government officials for all that.”

  One of the guards poured them coffee. Kozak took a long sip, his eyes never leaving the young American.

  “People I know say that you have the inside track on the presidency,” the American said. “What I want to discuss are the opportunities for my company to have an important role in accessing and managing these rentals.”

  “And you think I can help you in this matter.”

  “It is always good business to know people in government that have the interests of their people at heart. So, yes, of great help. If you become president—”

  “Not if, but when.”

  “Sorry, when. For both of us it would be mutually beneficial to know that our interests are of the same mind.”

  “And that is?”

  “To allow my company to be the sole point of access to all these rentals.”

  Kozak buttered another slice of toast. “Now, how could I manage that? There are thousands of these houses from Rijeka to Dubrovnik.”

  “That you do not have to worry about. That is my business. All I ask is that there are no impediments thrown in our path. Government bureaucracies can be so difficult to deal with.”

  “That is true. How much might be involved in such an opportunity?”

  The kid unpocketed an envelope and laid a spreadsheet on the table. “Now, this is just a preliminary estimate based on ten thousand rentals, but we believe there are far more, and the longer there’s peace in the region, the more vacation rentals that will become available.”

  At 20 percent Kozak’s share would be enormous. “And my participation?”

  “Would be deposited into an account of your choosing. Of course, none of this will happen if you don’t win.”

  Kozak waved his butter knife at the American. “Now you insult me.”

  “No insult meant. In fact, this fine piece of German luggage is a token of our interest. It is yours, no matter the outcome, no strings attached.” The American picked up the briefcase and set it near Kozak, where it landed with a heavy thud.

  “I have watched your American movie The Godfather many times. I know there will always be strings. The person who pulls the strings makes all the difference in the world.”

  The American leaned back in his chair. “No strings, just a mutual agreement—nothing more than a handshake. I have done business that way my whole career.”

  “And that career, as you say, is now maybe six years?”

  “I look young for my age. Ten years, actually.”

  Kozak laughe
d. “I have underwear older than that.”

  They talked for another fifteen minutes, and three times the guest looked at his Vacheron Constantin watch.

  “Are we delaying you?” Maja asked.

  “Sorry, I just need to be in Zurich by one o’clock.”

  “I’m sure you will make it,” she replied sourly.

  CHAPTER 17

  Alex woke in a haze. Maybe it was the massive bed, or the suite. Maybe it was the knowledge that Albert Nox, ex-army master sergeant and concierge, was downstairs. Or maybe it was the two vodka tonics she had fixed for herself from the bar the previous night. She walked across the room to the bathroom and slipped on a white robe. She checked her phone. One text: Good to hear that all is well, I’m trying to get on the afternoon train, will arrive at 5:00. I hope you slept comfortably.

  Her heart fluttered, then jumped. What the hell was that? Am I falling for this guy?

  The room phone rang.

  “I hope I didn’t wake you, Ms. Polonia,” Nox said once she answered. “What would you like for breakfast? Agent Castillo seldom eats in the unit. He prefers a pastry shop around the corner he refers to as—”

  “Let me guess: fabulous.”

  “Precisely. Happy to fix you something instead, though. An American breakfast perhaps?”

  “Mr. Nox, don’t you ever sleep?”

  “I’m off duty at ten o’clock. It’s a twelve-on, twelve-off shift.”

  “Brutal.”

  “It is Venice, ma’am.”

  “Tough duty. Breakfast would be wonderful. Give me forty-five minutes—that work?”

  “In your apartment or the rooftop?”

  “There’s a rooftop?”

  “Yes, take the elevator to the fifth floor, then walk up the stairs. Today you are my only guest. The view is quite nice. Bring a coat if you wish to sit outdoors. There is also a small enclosed glass house. The forecast is rainy this afternoon, and there is a cold front moving in. But right now, even if a bit chilly, it is quite nice.”

  “Mr. Nox, it seems that I do not have anything to wear. The dress is the worse for last night, and the heel on my shoe is bent. So . . . it will have to be my room.”

  “Outside your door is a bundle you will find helpful. I hope everything fits.”

  “Are you always this accommodating?”

  “Agent Castillo suggested that a few things from the clothing locker might be useful. If you need something else, pick up the phone.”

  “That said, Mr. Nox, the rooftop.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Knock off the ma’am stuff.”

  “Yes, ma’am, knocking it off.”

  Javier’s apartment was a lot nicer than her lovely room at the Aqua Palace. But then again, this was an offshore government safe house. If you were going to be safe, you might as well be comfortable.

  The clothes in the bundle—slacks, sweatshirt, and tennis shoes—fit reasonably well. Going braless was surprisingly refreshing; she decided that at least until she returned to her hotel, she could suffer through wearing the same panties two days in a row. After dressing, she removed both the Makarov and Javier’s small Glock from her handbag, wrapped them in a small towel, and headed for the elevator.

  Coffee was waiting on a small buffet in the glass house, along with juice and cut fruit. She filled a dish and went out on the small terrace that faced west. Four tables with chairs were set across the red-tile floor. The building was taller than its neighbors, so privacy on the terrace was excellent. If it weren’t for the fact that the observation deck of St. Mark’s Campanile was looking down on her, it would have been the perfect place to see and not be seen. For now, she ignored the visitors standing in the campanile’s windows. Surely, they had other things to look at.

  Mr. Nox placed a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hash browns on the table.

  “How did you find hash browns in Italy?”

  “My own recipe, ma’am. Enjoy.” His eyes moved to her bundled towel.

  “One item in the towel was a spoil of war, the other a loan from Agent Castillo. Please deal with them.”

  “Gladly, ma’am.”

  She gave up on the ma’am business; the man was so military. Nice gig if you can get it.

  She gazed across the confusion of red-tile rooftops. Old TV antennas rusted and bent, modern satellite dishes all angled the same direction, and early laundry strung high over Venetian passageways told her one simple thing: this was also a town where people lived. While the costumes and masks gave it a Disney World atmosphere, she saw it differently from her perch high over the city. Venice was also a city of mystery and, after yesterday, international chicanery and underhandedness.

  Her phone buzzed, and the numbers 007 displayed.

  “Good morning. Is Mr. Nox treating you well?” Javier asked.

  “I like your screen ID. Very Bondish.”

  “Some say I have a sense of humor, but you—are you okay?”

  “Yes, all things considered. Having my own butler is a treat. But I refuse to ask him to do laundry. I need to get back to my room. My dress is a shambles, and I feel a little out of sorts in these clothes. The sweatshirt is overly large, but the army logo is a nice touch. That said, I may move in. What’s the rate?”

  “More than you can afford. Your temporary accommodations are an off-the-books thing between Mr. Nox and me. He’s quite discreet. He is off at ten. I’ll ask him to walk you to your hotel. It’s on his way home.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “No argument,” Javier said. “And besides, after your little escapades from yesterday, there are two pissed-off bad guys out there. The next time they will be prepared.”

  “You better tell that to Marika. She is the one they are after—not little old me.”

  “I told her. She’s glad that you are all right. When she told Ehsan, he offered to come to your aid. I said no. I’d rather not include my apartment in their address book.”

  “Understood. Mr. Nox would be fine. One of these mornings I’m going to finally become a tourist. That is the reason I’m here, or so I thought. I’m taking Marika up on her suggestion and going to Murano later this morning, then spending the afternoon with her.”

  “I talked to the water taxi people. The boatman’s name is Roberto. We worked together in Afghanistan. He was with an Italian regiment assigned to NATO. Good guy. But I don’t think he can take you to Murano. He said he has a tour this morning.”

  “The vaporetto will be fine. Thank you for this afternoon. Are we still on for dinner?” The tone of her voice, soft and expectant, surprised her.

  “Of course. I will pick you up at eight.”

  “I will need a dress. Seems the one I brought has seen better days.”

  “Or evenings.”

  “Maybe Marika has an idea about shopping in this town.”

  “My guess is that she does. See you this evening.”

  “Did the information go out?” she added, wishing the call wouldn’t end.

  “Yes, now it’s up to State. If they decide to denounce Kozak, the fireworks start. Not my problem and Marika is a big girl. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  “I can believe that,” Alex said. “Mr. Nox is coming. Do you want to talk with him?”

  “Already have. He’ll be glad to escort you to your hotel.”

  “You assume too much, very Special Agent Castillo.”

  “It’s my job.”

  Marika sat in the richly decorated dining room of the Ai Reali, looking out the large windows that faced the canal.

  In two days this will be all over. The monster will be ruined. Two days.

  Ehsan arrived and kissed his mother on the cheek.

  “Good morning, Mother,” Ehsan said. “I wasn’t sure after last night whether you would be up this early.” He waved to the waiter and pointed to his coffee cup.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve lived with that day for all these years. One more telling didn’t make a diffe
rence. I slept well. Are you having breakfast?”

  “Starving,” he answered. “While dinner was excellent, after my workout in the gym, I’m famished.”

  He ordered when the waiter set the coffee carafe on the table. “You should eat,” he said after his mother didn’t order anything for herself.

  “I had some fruit and a croissant. It’s enough. Are you still meeting Asmir and Cvijetin?”

  “Yes, they are coming in tomorrow morning. Asmir is taking the early train from Trieste, and Cvijetin says he’ll arrive soon after. There are fewer trains from Zurich, and today being somewhat of a Christian holiday, the trains are full.”

  “I’ve told you many times that religious traditions are just that: cultural touchstones to our past. It is good you have kept your college friends. They are fine men. Good to have their support, considering their pasts are as difficult as ours.”

  “We all carry the scars, but I don’t want to talk about that. Yes, it will be good to see them. Asmir tells me he was promoted. He’s now head of the container division of the logistics company. Cvijetin just moved to a new position with Swissôtel as director of marketing to Muslim countries. Yes, good boys, smart boys, lucky boys.”

  “We were all lucky,” she said.

  “My luck is you,” Ehsan said. “I’ve had a wonderful life because of you. Thank you, but I have said that so many times. It is too easy to become maudlin. Today is a good day for us, and in two days you will triumph. The killer will be destroyed; the world must see him as the monster he is. Your work—”

  “Our work.”

  “Your work, Mother, will open a new chapter of peace for our homeland.”

  “I hope so.”

  “It will, Mother. It will.” He poured himself more coffee. “Are you still going out this afternoon with that American woman?”

  “Yes, it may be a pleasant diversion. As you said, it will be nice to get out of this room. Agent Castillo sent me a text explaining the taxi. It might even be fun.”

  “And Kozak’s people?” Ehsan asked.

  “They’ll do what they do. I can’t just sit here. Besides, the woman is a police officer.”

  “Oh really? Now, this is a surprise.”

  “Ehsan, I think between the two of us, we should be able to handle most anything that might happen.”