The Paradise Prophecy

by Robert Browne

  But Dimitri worked in the service industry. And sometimes that service required him to travel to cities he detested-which, when he thought about it, was probably any city but his own. He had been born and raised and still lived in Balta, a twenty-thousand strong, Russian Orthodox paradise in the Odessa province of southwestern Ukraine.

  He had a wife and two children who missed him terribly when he went away on these business trips, which was far more often than he liked.

  As he had packed for this latest excursion, Yalena had asked him, with some irritation in her voice, how much longer he would be doing this. Their son, Olek, was beginning to act up both in school and at home, and Yalena didn’t feel she could handle him on her own anymore.

  “He needs his father,” she’d said. “He needs to know you still love him.”

  The words had surprised Dimitri. How could Olek not know that his father loved him? Was he not out here, working hard to provide for him? Did the boy think he enjoyed all of this travel?

  “This is the last time,” he’d told Yalena. “I will make enough money on this trip to keep us fat and happy for the rest of our lives.”

  “You’ve said that before, Dimitri. And every time you do, it scares me, because I know what kind of people you associate with.”

  Kovalenko had said nothing then. He did not speak about business with her, but Yalena was not a stupid woman. And she had seen enough of those associates to justify her fear.

  But he hadn’t been lying to her. If things went well tonight, they would have more money than he’d ever thought possible. And all of it would be theirs. Because the people he worked for did not know about this particular transaction. They did not even know that he had left the country.

  Before coming to the Rosse Buurt, Dimitri had rented a hotel room nearby and left the suitcase under the bed. He was not foolish enough to bring it with him. He had no idea if the German could be trusted, and until he saw the money, until he was holding it in his hands, he would not turn over the merchandise.

  And should things go wrong and he wound up dead, they would never know where to find that suitcase. An outcome the German would, undoubtedly, consider unacceptable.

  Dimitri made his way down Damstraat, weaving through the crowd of degenerates, keeping his gaze ahead, not wanting to look into the red-trimmed windows that lined the street. The half-naked women on display would be a temptation for him, and he had only succumbed to that temptation twice before. Although Yalena was a pedestrian lover, whose skills were limited, she was a good mother and a fine wife, and he had no desire to betray her again.

  It didn’t help that the meeting place was a brothel. He found it with little trouble, near the middle of the block, and took a flight of bright red stairs up to an equally bright red door.

  He knocked. Waited. And a moment later it opened a crack and a tall, bored-looking brunette peeked out, a Black Devil cigarette dangling between her lips.

  She blew smoke out of the side of her mouth and said something in Dutch that he didn’t understand.

  “I’m here to see Vogler,” he said in Russian, gesturing for her to open up.

  Nodding, the woman swung the door wide to reveal that she wore only a tiny pair of pink panties, and Dimitri couldn’t keep himself from staring. She gestured him past her, and he stepped into a darkened room that could only be described as a bar or, more accurately, a social club. It was the same as any social club in Balta, men huddled at tables, nursing vodka or scotch. But in this place, each of those men had a half-naked woman hanging on to him.

  Kovalenko forced himself to think of Yalena, which may or may not have been a wise thing to do. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he followed his hostess to another set of steps at the back of the room, where she gestured him upstairs.

  “Bedankt,” he said, the only Dutch word he knew, thinking he’d like very much to thank her more properly.

  She blew smoke at him, as bored as ever, then turned and walked away.

  Dimitri moved up the steps and found himself in a long hallway full of doors. These, he knew, were the courtesy rooms, and because none of them had been soundproofed, it was readily apparent what those courtesies were. He remembered a place very similar to this one, when he himself had occupied one of these rooms. To his amazement, he had discovered that the moans and groans around him had only heightened his pleasure.

  But Dimitri drove such thoughts from his mind. He had business to attend to. At the end of the hall, there was yet another small set of steps leading to yet another door, and he made his way to it and knocked.

  A moment later, the door was opened by a large, blond mercenary type wearing a shoulder harness, the grip of a nine millimeter protruding from its holster. Dimitri recognized him as one of the German’s men.

  The mercenary gave him the once-over, then gestured him inside. And the moment Dimitri crossed the threshold, a sense of unease washed over him and he wondered if he had been foolish in coming here.

  Wouldn’t it have been wiser to pick a more public meeting place?

  The room was dimly lit, dominated by a large wooden desk. Behind that desk sat a dark silhouette that, for a brief moment, did not seem quite human to Dimitri. He felt his gut tighten at the sight of it and had the sudden urge to flee.

  Then a lamp went on and he breathed a sigh of relief as Meinhard Vogler looked up at him and smiled. “Please, Mr. Kovalenko, have a seat.”

  Dimitri did as he was told, pulling his backpack into his lap. He had met Vogler only once before and could not help being intimidated by him.

  A former member of East Germany’s Office for National Security, Vogler had left service just months before the wall came down, only to reemerge several years later as the head of L4, a massive, worldwide private security firm that had its fingerprints on nearly every military skirmish within recent memory.

  Only a few years ago, L4 had been one of the big three private firms working for the U.S. government to help quell unrest in central Asia. But bad publicity and a new president now limited their involvement to the periphery, and Dimitri-through his contacts in the Russian mafia-knew that they were looking for ways to recoup their losses. And because they no longer had any allegiance to a particular nation, they didn’t seem to care how they accomplished this. Assuming they ever had.

  It had occurred to Dimitri that what he was offering them might one day fall into the hands of someone quite dangerous (as if these people weren’t dangerous enough), but he banished such thoughts to the part of his brain where the naked woman and the chorus of moans and groans now resided.

  The less he thought about such things, the better off he’d be, and he had no desire to jeopardize this transaction with a sudden attack of conscience.

  “So,” Vogler said to him in Russian, “you’ve brought us the sample?”

  It was only then that Dimitri realized that someone was standing in the shadows behind the German. A tall man in an impeccably pressed suit whose face was obscured by darkness.

  A shudder ran through Dimitri. Why hadn’t he noticed him before?

  His surprise must have shown in his eyes, because Vogler smiled. “I must apologize. I neglected to inform you that there would be someone joining us tonight.”

  “Why do I think that wasn’t a mistake?”

  Vogler’s smile faded. “Believe what you must. In any case, I’d like you to meet my associate, Mr. Radek. He’ll be attending to the financial end of our arrangement.”

  The man in the shadows stepped forward then, and Dimitri’s surprise deepened.

  He had seen Radek before. Not in the flesh, but on CNN International, which he and Yalena watched with some regularity.

  Raymond Radek was an American investment banker and former chairman of NASDAQ, who had only recently been cleared of all charges of investor fraud that had been leveled against him by the U.S. Department of Justice. A relatively young man, he was nevertheless a Wall Street icon who rose to power quickly and, some said, ruthlessly. The U
.S. Attorney’s failure to bring him to trial-thanks to the recanting of testimony by several witnesses-had been a triumph for Radek. One that was trumpeted worldwide. And though his stature in the halls of finance had been diminished by these accusations and the severe downturn in the world economy of late, he was still a force to be reckoned with.

  But nothing Dimitri had seen or heard had ever connected Radek with Vogler and L4, and his presence here seemed odd, to say the least. Dimitri wondered if he should be asking for more money.

  Radek said nothing to him. Merely nodded.

  Dimitri returned the nod and Vogler said, “Now that we all know one another, shall we take a look at that sample?”

  Kovalenko stared at the two men, wondering again if he’d made a mistake in coming here.

  But then it didn’t much matter at this point, did it?

  Unzipping a pocket of his backpack, he reached inside and handed a small metal cylinder across to Vogler, who then gestured to the blond mercenary and passed it off to him.

  They all sat in silence as the mercenary went to a corner of the room and fiddled with the cylinder. He came back a few minutes later and nodded to Vogler.

  Vogler looked across at Dimitri, and it could have been a trick of the light, but Dimitri was again struck by the notion that there was something not quite human about the man. Something in his eyes.

  “I have to say I’m impressed, Mr. Kovalenko. How much of the merchandise did you bring with you tonight?”

  “Fifty pounds. Just as promised.”

  Vogler’s eyebrows raised. “A man of your word. Even more impressive.”

  He gestured to Radek and the businessman bent down, hefting a small suitcase onto the desk. Laying it flat, he spun it in Dimitri’s direction and opened it, showing him the two million euros in various denominations stacked neatly inside.

  Dimitri felt something shake loose in his brain, as if a flood of opiates had suddenly been released and were slowly spreading throughout his body.

  What an extraordinary sight.

  And just as he was thinking what he and Yalena could to with so much money, Radek closed the suitcase, hiding the bills from view.

  “I assume you have something for us?” Vogler said.

  Dimitri nodded, then reached into his pocket and brought out his room key. “Hotel Hemel,” he said, then tossed it to Vogler.

  Vogler, in turn, handed it to the blond mercenary and the large man exited the room.

  The hotel was less than a five-minute walk from the Rosse Buurt, and they didn’t have to wait long before the phone on Vogler’s desk rang.

  Vogler picked it up, said something in German, then listened. A moment later, he hung up and smiled at Kovalenko.

  “I continue to be impressed, Dimitri. I can’t imagine a more promising start to our new relationship.”

  “Start? I only agreed to the one transaction.”

  Vogler gestured to the suitcase atop his desk. “I think once you’ve seen what’s inside, you’ll reconsider.”

  Dimitri frowned. “I’ve already seen what’s inside.”

  “I don’t think so,” Vogler said. “Look again.”

  Kovalenko hesitated. What kind of nonsense was this? Leaning forward, he grabbed hold of the suitcase lid and lifted it. And to his astonishment there was nothing inside but a small framed photograph.

  How could this be?

  Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

  It was then that he realized the photograph was one that normally occupied a spot on his night table, beside his bed: Yalena, Olek, and his sixteen-year-old daughter, Kateryna, smiling happily for the camera.

  Looking up sharply, Dimitri found both Vogler and Radek staring at him now, and their gazes were not close to being friendly.

  “You have a beautiful family, Mr. Kovalenko. And I know many people who would pay dearly for such beauty. Your wife looks as if she might be a bit conservative in the bedroom, but I’m certain she could be properly trained.”

  Anger shooting through him, Dimitri jumped to his feet. But the moment he did, Radek’s hands were on his shoulders, pushing him back into the chair. “Sit down, Dimitri.”

  How the man had managed to get behind him was a mystery, but there was power in those hands, and Dimitri did not doubt for a moment that Radek could snap his collarbone with very little effort.

  “We have friends all over the world,” Vogler said. “Men who will put the contraband you provide to very good use. All we ask is that you continue to work with us, and you’ll soon have riches beyond anything you’ve ever imagined.”

  Dimitri was trembling all over. He knew what these men were capable of and he was certain they would follow through on their threat. He looked at the photograph and felt tears threatening to flood his eyes.

  “Well?” Vogler asked. “Can we count on you to cooperate?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, of course.”

  Vogler smiled again. “Excellent. I think it only fitting that we seal our agreement with a kiss.”

  And the moment Vogler said this, Dimitri realized that the hands on his shoulders were no longer Radek’s. Radek, to his surprise, was again standing behind the desk next to Vogler.

  The hands that remained moved up to Dimitri’s chin and tilted his head back, then the tall, bored brunette in the pink panties leaned down and rolled her tongue into his mouth, her breath smelling faintly of tobacco.

  “This is Klara,” Vogler told him. “She has agreed to entertain you tonight.”

  Dimitri didn’t know how or when she had entered the room, but he felt powerless, unable to resist her.

  And as she took hold of his hand and led him to the door, he went along willingly, all thoughts of Yalena and his promises to her vacating his mind.

  “We look forward to working with you,” Vogler said.

  But Dimitri barely heard him.

  When Kovalenko and the girl were gone, the one who called himself Radek shook a Black Devil cigarette from the pack atop the desk and lit it, exhaling a plume of smoke.

  “Nasty little thing,” he murmured.

  The one who called himself Vogler leaned back in his chair. “The Russian or the cigarette?”

  Radek smiled and shook his head.

  “Our secret interloper,” he said, then turned his attention to a darkened corner of the room. “I know you’re there. You may as well show yourself.”

  The darkness shifted, and as expected, the intruder emerged from the shadows looking radiant as always, her nearly translucent skin glowing in the lamplight. She looked even more beautiful than she had in Istanbul the other night. Had Radek not known what lay beneath the surface, he may have found her attractive.

  She mirrored his smile. “Gentlemen. I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re progressing.”

  “Perfectly fine without you,” he told her. “As always.”

  “What’s wrong, my darling? Are you upset with me? You two left that tea shop in such a hurry, I had to wonder if I somehow hurt your feelings.”

  Vogler scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. We weren’t interested in watching you seduce your little plaything.”

  She shook her head in amusement and sank into the chair in front of his desk.

  “But isn’t that what it’s all about?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you’ve done with this Russian and so many others?” She leaned forward and shook out a Black Devil for herself. “Taking a new skin and dressing up like a wannabe soldier doesn’t change that fact. It all comes down to getting these insects to do exactly what we want them to do.”

  “A means to an end,” Vogler said with a wave of the hand. “I’m afraid neither of us takes the pleasure from it that you seem to.”

  She lit the cigarette. “It’s true. I do take pleasure in it. Great pleasure. Turning them is half the fun. Then all we have to do is crank out a tune and watch the little monkeys dance.”

  “But the dance itself is all that matters,” Radek told her. “Getting them t
o do what we need them to do. And our methods should always be simple and direct. There’s no point in calling attention to ourselves. Something you obviously haven’t yet learned.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “The girl in Brazil. You put on quite a show there.”

  She shrugged. “I wanted information; she gave it to me.”

  “And you went about it in the most spectacular way imaginable, when what you should have done was approach her through the boyfriend. Worked through him to get that information.”

  “You two act as if we have all the time in the world,” she said. “The fourth moon is only days away and there won’t be another lunar tetrad for decades. I did what had to be done.”

  “And what has it gotten you? While we’re busy making real progress, you’re wasting your time chasing a myth.”

  She sighed. “Must we have this argument again?”

  “If I think it’s one worth having, yes.”

  “This is my party, remember? You both agreed to let me run with it.”

  “Not if it means seeing us fail,” Radek told her. “You know me better than that.”

  “Indeed I do, Radek.” She rose from her chair and moved around the desk toward him, stopping only inches away. “And you’re starting to sound as if you consider me some kind of threat. Let’s get it out in the open. I’m done sneaking around, pretending we’re something we aren’t.” She took a drag off the cigarette, blew smoke in his face. “Am I a threat to you, my darling Mamman? Are you scared of little old Belial?”

  Vogler spoke sharply, “Not here, not now. We can’t know who’s listening.”

  Belial turned to him, “And what of it, Moloch? Are you afraid the vermin will hear your real name? Do you think they look into your beady little eyes and don’t realize what you truly are-even if in their coward hearts they can’t admit the truth to themselves? Don’t make me call our brother out west to back me up. You know how he feels.”

  Vogler didn’t flinch. “Don’t think for a moment you can intimidate me, Belial. And Beel doesn’t scare me, either. Not anymore. Not since he became distracted trying to reach these creatures by manipulating their so-called culture. When all is said and done, we’ll have our chance to settle our differences, and I don’t think you’ll be too happy with-”