by Val M Karren
“You mean the old church out by our building site?” Del didn’t have an idea of what was coming.
“Yes, that’s the one. Mr. P. is also planning an expansion of his night club into a casino and hotel on nearly the same site…” I held my breath to see what his reaction would be.
“Really? We haven’t discussed this at all at the city council meetings. There hasn’t been any permit request or anything filed with the city hall or the governor’s office. Are you sure it’s not just a dream of his? Did he tell you a timeline on his plans?" Del was rather confident that this wasn’t real.
“He showed me the master planning drawings, looked real to me but I’m not an architect nor engineer of course. He said they expected to have the question about the land title settled in June before the summer holidays and they would start digging in February or March next year. There was something about not being able to lay a foundation in the autumn…” I heard Del begin where I l left off, “…because the ground will freeze and thaw causing it to sink in the spring…,” Del’s voice trailed off. He was pensive and paused for a few moments. “Hmmm…he’s obviously done his homework. What else can you tell me?”
I went over my notes again for a few minutes and did my best to recall the conversation behind each line of notes.
“What puzzled me the most was that he has no foreign investors nor domestic bank financing. He tells me that he is planning to finance it all with his own money and partner investors. He may make enough money to live like a local prince, but I can’t imagine the sale of imported cars and radios to be enough to purchase and build such a palace of a place. Not even with the bit of pimping, drugs, and racketeering that he does,” I ventured. “How much would it cost? You probably have a very good idea of that, Del.”
“He would need at least one hundred twenty-five million US dollars to build a basic three-star hotel. Without him being invested in oil, coal or other natural resources he wouldn’t have that type of liquidity. His partners would have to bring that to the table.” Del was rubbing his chin thinking.
“I’m sorry, but we didn’t discuss his partners, in fact, he tossed me out right after he showed me those master plans. It all ended very abruptly,” I added to break the awkward silence.
Just then, Els who had been listening from the kitchen came into the living room and sat down across from me on the sofa and asked, “Peter, what specifically did he say before the interview ended?”
“He said he was busy. He said he had to get back to his work and his secretary would show me out.” I didn’t understand what she was wanting to know.
“No, no. There must have been something he said that he didn’t want any further questions about.” Els spoke as she took the swivel chair next to Del and looked me in the face, “To tell all the information he told you about how he started, about his expansion plans and the rest he must have seen you somehow immediately hostile and therefore ended the conversation quickly. Was it right after you were asking him questions about the financing that the interview ended?" Els had heard something in my story and had now honed in on what had not been said.
“Yes, that’s where it ended and then I was shown out.” I still wasn’t able to put the pieces together.
Els turned to Del, “There must be something in the financing of the plans that he does not want anybody to know. He wouldn’t go reading his biography to a curious foreign student and then just stop all the sudden after a few more inquisitive questions. He could have made up a story about the financing and Peter wouldn’t have been any the wiser for it and moved on. He stopped the interview and threw him out? There is something very sensitive that he is hiding in the financing of the hotel, something so personal that he doesn’t dare discuss it with anybody.”
I sat blinking at the both of them stunned and shocked. I felt a shadow agenda between them and the edge of the veil had been lifted for me to glimpse it but not understand it.
“You see, kid,” Del said to me, “Els worked as a criminal psychologist. She worked for twelve years with the FBI before we met in San Fransisco. Sorry to spook you like that. She is indispensable in this country for understanding people’s behaviors and motives, especially when they are lying.”
Els turned to me now, “Peter there must have been something else he said, some tip that he let slip that made him realize he had just told you too much. He didn’t mean to say it because he doesn’t have a cover story. He’s not good at thinking on his feet so he just threw you out of his office instead of trying to cover his tracks.”
I looked back through to my notes again and chewed on my pen vigorously.
“It would have been just before he threw you out, not early in the meeting.” She was coaching my memory like a hypnotist.
“I’m sorry. You have to remember that when I listen I translate right into English as I’m writing and sometimes I miss a sentence or two while I’m writing an important line. I miss lots of things still,” I was a bit frantic as I felt I was being interrogated now. Els’ voice stayed calm and soothing, “It would have been about the financing of his project. What questions did you ask him? What questions would you still like to ask him to learn more?”
“OK,” I took a deep breath to relax, “The question that remains in my mind is why he was so confident that he would get the building permit for that land when there is a competing, foreign money backed project slated for the same ground. Also, how could he possibly come up with the cash to finance this if he didn’t trust banks and foreigners.”
“Did he say that much?" she asked to clarify Mr. P’s words from my interpretations.
“Yes, he said specifically that borrowing money from foreigners would only keep Russia held back and that the banks would only steal the land from him eventually.” I blurted out.
“Was it specifically about the land? Was he not talking about the hotel project?” she asked again a pinpointed question.
“No, he was talking about the land rights or land purchase. There was a question of leasing or owning,” I remembered.
Del nodded his head, “That’s correct. A renewable ninety-nine-year lease or outright purchase. The laws are being changed right now. We don’t know what the final bill will allow.”
All of a sudden, my mental dam broke! “He said his father had left him some money that he would purchase the LAND with! That was the last thing he said to me before he rolled up the plans and kicked me out. He didn’t even shake hands, he just tossed me out.”
“Well done, Peter.” Els looked at Del with an expression that asked a show of appreciation for her assistance.
“Well done, Els!” Del chirped.
Els stood up and looked at us both and asked “Something to drink, boys?”
After cold bottles of Pepsi were passed around and opened we sat in the living in the room and the interrogations continued.
“What do you think he meant about his father leaving him money?” I asked Del. “From my understanding, there was no such thing as an inheritance in the Soviet Union. Everything belonged to the state and you couldn’t pass down property or assets to your family because it wasn’t yours to keep. The state was there to take care of orphans and widows, in theory, and therefore inheritance wasn’t allowed.”
“True, but that changed in about 1989 when the good citizens could start making profits and buying property and foreign investors could buy shares in state enterprises. Owning property did become legal, and now we’re a few years later as well. It’s possible his father was also a government crony and privatized some state assets into his name, like Gazprom for example. Maybe his father got rich overnight and left him shares in a privatized state enterprise…or stashed in a foreign bank,” Del speculated.
“No, he said his father was an engineer and lived here in Nizhniy Novgorod,” I discounted Del’s theory with more information from my interview.
“Did he tell you that too?" Els jumped all over this new revelation.
“Well, it was part of
his story. That’s how he learned to be mechanical with the cars. His father studied and worked in East Germany for some time. They would speak German together when nobody else was around. That’s how he could negotiate in Germany so well he said.” I explained.
“Kid you know what Nizhniy produces right? You know why the city has so many engineers and engineering schools, right?” Del asked rhetorically.
“Yes, the GAZ factory is just down the street from my place; cars, boats, trains, airplanes, and whatnot,” I proudly answered.
“MIGs, kid, MIGs.” Del spelled it out for me. “The Soviets closed the place because this was their center of excellence for fighter planes, military aviation, not GAZ built troop transports.”
“Do you remember anything he said about aviation?" Els asked me again looking me square in the face.
“No, I had it my head from his story that his father was an automobile engineer. That’s how Mr. P. got the idea and first inroads at the car parts factory and the rest. His father has a dacha where he kept the inventory and he drove his father’s car once a week to pick up a new load of spare parts. In my mind’s eye, I imagined his father to be an automotive engineer,” I begged their understanding.
“Nothing at all that would tie him to airplanes, aviation, radar technology?" Del continued with the questions.
I hesitated with my answer as I felt like I was being treated as a hostile witness now and I gave them both a very unsure look. This wasn’t about the hotel anymore. Something had shifted in the discussion and I couldn’t figure out exactly what.
“We’re just trying to figure out if his claims of having money left from his father are viable enough to make us worry about his bidding for the ground, that’s all,” Els reassured me with a smile.
“The only mention of the word airplanes was that he rented an unused warehouse from an aircraft parts manufacturer that was short on orders and supply. He stored his car parts there when they branched out to other car models and needed more space,” I revealed.
“There it is!” Del slapped his knee and stood up and paced around the room.
“Did I miss something?" I queried looking back and forth between the two of them.
After a few moments of talking to himself and staring at a blank wall, Del asked me, “Kid, you understand don’t you, why he wants to set up a casino?”
“Well, he says it’s to bring money and jobs to Nizhniy. He wants to make Nizhniy a Las Vegas type of city, God willing,” I answered.
Del explained. “Kid, you said you had the impression that the guy wasn’t more than a crook with honor maybe, but make no mistake about it the casino will be there to launder money, white wash it and put into foreign reserve banks, out of the hands of the Russian government and tax collectors. The little shark has to get his money out of the country before a bigger shark comes and eats him and his territory up, or as Mr. P. might put it, take over his market share. It sounds like Mr. P. has tapped a vein of wealth and is getting ready in the next year or two to make his big move and is setting up the needed infrastructure to move his money around Russian banks to someplace else. I think you found your perfect example to prove your model for your paper, but he is still perhaps too small of a fish for you to recognize it at this point. He’s just about to make his move into the major leagues with the casino plans. No doubt about it. It’s a perverted ‘rags to riches’ bonanza!”
I laid awake that night in my room until late thinking about the last few days and all the information I had learned and processed. It was enough to leave me suspicious of everybody and anybody. The evening with the Sannings had left me very unsettled. From the steel door to the panic button and the nonchalant way that both Del and Els took the break-in and the threats, to the professional interrogation that Els put me through to pull information from me about their business competitor. I had felt a palpable shift in the intensity of their interest when Mr. P’s father was being discussed. I began to suspect that Del and Els had a shadow agenda that they were also keeping from me. After all the warnings that Els gave me about looking into peoples’ motives and being careful with my choice of research methods, she lulled me into a sense of security to trust her, to trust Del with everything that I heard and learned during my studies and interactions with people in the city. Perhaps it was time to be less forthcoming with them about what I was learning. Maybe I needed to start asking them the questions that would fill in my gaps instead of me being used for the information I had gathered through my investigations and research. I felt that I was starting to be carried along by deep currents of other people’s agendas which were becoming frighteningly obvious; violence, corruption, industrial espionage. Perhaps it was time to be very, very cautious. Perhaps it was time to walk away…
19. British Knights
Hans had a new girlfriend without whom he could go nowhere. Not even our Saturday afternoon fried chicken lunch was sacred anymore. She held his leash very tightly. Tamara was as beautiful as any fabled Russian girl and for that Hans could be forgiven for falling head over heels in love. Most likely it was lust, but at twenty-three years old, who really knows the difference? She was indeed beautiful and most likely a gold-digger looking for a foreign boyfriend to take her far away from the poverty, snow, and ice. Unfortunately, her brains did not match her beauty.
“Just look at what that tramp is wearing! Look at her hair and look at her fat backside, she needs to wear some heals to flatten that out!” was Tamara’s critique of nearly every female that entered our favorite eating establishment that day.
I rolled my eyes at Hans while Tamara poured scorn on what I thought were some very attractive young ladies. Hans gave an apologetic look back, but he was hardly sincere in his shameful looks. It was tragic to watch and hear.
“Why can’t these Russian girls see that their boyfriends are ugly dogs? Russian men look like cavemen! They all look like gorillas the way they walk. And why don’t they wear any colors? I can’t stand the black leather jacket look.” She clucked on while I silently devoured chicken thighs and drumsticks. Tamara ate nothing. I assumed it was to keep her fabulous figure from developing fatal flaws.
Those who have the impression that Russia is a gray, colorless place obviously, have not visited the country in the spring, because when the weather is warm the streets are awash in all the colors possible under the sun. The wearing of bright, brash and clashing colors by the ladies is almost an expression of the freedom of the body liberated finally from the black, gray and navy wool overcoats and fur hats. Young college girls wear the shortest skirts, the sheerest blouses and the tallest heels they can without breaking an ankle. The young men wear the same in their own right—tight silk button downs or the t-shirts of their younger, much smaller brothers with their new denim jeans. Wild flowers grow from any unpaved patch of dirt, springing up from between the cracks in the pavements and walls, in the brightest, happiest colors. This spring ritual of promenading without much on in Russia is undoubtedly a back lash from the months of not being able to feel attractive under the heavy winter clothes that one must wear to keep warm, indoors and out. In the warming weather people have a need to be noticed by those around them as opposed to everybody looking the same wrapped from head to toe to the point that even gender is sometimes not discernible through the layers. Gordost that afternoon was full with young couples enjoying the late April sunshine and making Russia look all the better for it! Only Tamara didn't see it that way. Hans didn’t see anybody but Tamara.
“And just look at this gangster-looking thug walking in. He drives a black Lada, he wears a black shirt and black leather jacket, black denim pants and what does he wear on his feet? British Knights trainers whiter than new snow! Where did he find those? First time wearing them. Just look how clean they are. They must glow in the dark. Why can’t Russian men get a hairstyle? You think they all just came from the army.” I feared what she might say about my worn-out style of mismatched jackets and dirty blue jeans I couldn’t quite get clean for
the last four months.
“They wear their hair that short so nobody can pull their hair in a fight, and the police can’t grab them by it,” Hans commented to her, somehow instantly knowledgeable about gangster fashion.
“Don’t encourage it, Hans,” I said dryly to him across the table in English. This woman was thoroughly ruining my weekly ritual. I quickly checked my own reflection in the plate glass window. My hair looked horrible and I had thinned out considerably.
“Hans, how did your presentation go last week? Did your Masters topic get approved by the panel?” I asked him, trying to infuse some intelligence into our conversation.
“Yes, the panel approved. So, I will start my formal research now and then come back in September for one more year,” he cheerfully replied.
“Hans is taking me to Germany for the summer break, right Hans?" Tamara added.
“Is that even possible, Hans?” I queried with irony. He kicked me under the table.
“How is your research coming along, Peter?" Hans was trying to change the subject quickly.
“Swimmingly, thanks!” I was very amused at the perturbed look Tamara had her face at the thought that a girlfriend visa was not a valid travel document. I took a swig from my Pepsi bottle trying not to laugh at the world of trouble Hans was in now.
“Sweetheart, you told me it was possible for me to stay with you this summer in Germany,” was the most intelligent comment she could make, not picking up on the real motivation in this faux relationship.
“It should be fine. Peter is doing the same with his girlfriend and it’s harder to get a visa for America than for Germany.” He was surprisingly very good at lying.
“Oh yes!” I put down my bottle and played along for Hans’ sake, “I will go to the American Embassy in June with our papers to prove that we are a serious couple and tell the consular that it’s time that she meets my parents. They’ll stamp the paperwork without further question.”