The Deceit of Riches

by Val M Karren

  As I watched my tag jump into the passenger seat of the lead car, I suddenly recognized the cavalcade of black Volgas, the burgundy Mercedes with blackened, bulletproof windows. It was the same group of cars that had delivered Mr. P. to the Yarmarka for the city auction. Those same cars had nearly run me down there in front of the exhibition hall. This was undoubtedly who Olya Sergeyevna was warning me about.

  The lead car jumped off the curb and accelerated quickly to catch up with the trolley-bus. I pretended not to notice them and turned forward on the bus until I reached Gorkiy Square again. I was heading back to Gagarin street to speak with Valentina Petrovna again about the library privileges. To go anyplace else, I reasoned would not have been predictable. To have acknowledged the presence of my persecutors would have given them reason to make direct contact with me, to stop me from exposing the obvious. I needed to pretend still that I was not aware of their shadowy actions in order to keep them in my shadows. I needed it to remain passive and keep it at an arm's length for just a few more days, but with each escalation of their activity toward me, how much more determined I was to expose their oppressions.

  I walked from Gorkiy Square back to Gagarin Street to give my pursuers the chance to catch up with me. The black Volga drove past me and parked just beyond the main entrance of the University building. I could feel their eyes on me from the rearview mirrors as I turned right and entered through the iron gates of the school gardens.

  I stormed into the offices of the foreign students and found Arkadiy busily typing away on his word processor. He looked up and greeted me in his always cool, aloof way. It seemed that he was never aware of the stresses of the people around him. He was clueless to the storm clouds gathering around me.

  “How can I help you, Peter?” was his cheerful greeting.

  “I need to speak with Valentina Petrovna immediately,” I replied to him in English.

  “Well, I’m afraid she is in a private meeting. I cannot interrupt her. “She will be another twenty or thirty minutes. The meeting just started,” he smiled his apology and went back to his word processor.

  “OK. Arkady, Can I leave my book bag here for fifteen minutes, please? I would like to go across the street for a drink in the student cafe,” I asked.

  “That’s no problem, Peter,” he replied as chipper as he could be.

  “Can I borrow your overcoat, Sash?” I asked.

  “No problem, Peter!” he couldn’t be distracted from what he was typing.

  I stuffed by cap into my book bag I pulled on Arkadiy’s black thigh length overcoat as I slipped out the door. I walked right out the front entrance of the University and crossed the street to the café opposite where a number of students were gathered smoking and drinking soft drinks at stand tables. From the front window, I watched for any movement in or out of the black Volga. Everything was still. After ten minutes I stepped outside again, passed the other students and jogged across the street again and through the gates a second time, just in time to see the burgundy Mercedes and the second black Volga pull up and park behind the first. I did not stay on the street to watch and learn what they were doing there. I figured I already knew.

  Valentina’s office door was open when I came back to the foreign students’ office. I stepped in without waiting for an invitation and let right into her.

  “Valentina Petrovna, when I arrived at the American Library today, the head librarian informed me that my privileges for using those computers and the database had been rescinded,” I explained.

  “Peter, I thought that you told me this morning that you would not continue your research into this topic,” she rebutted.

  “Valentina, yes, that is what we agreed. Do you expect me to stop all research on any topic? That database has information about all sorts of different topics about Russia. It has nothing to do with my research about the new class entrepreneurs,” I pleaded.

  “Please then explain to me what the topic your research will be and I will see what we can do to restore your research abilities,” she demanded.

  Not having had time to consider a new topic yet, I decided to throw a curve ball at Valentina and see what reaction this might elicit from her. “I am planning to research the government’s current decision for the privatization of the aerospace factories here in Nizhniy Novgorod.”

  With no warning, Valentina stood straight up out her chair and in an outraged voice yelled, “Mr. Turner, I will not stand for this any longer! I have explicitly instructed you to stop researching any areas of politics and economics that have anything to do with Mr. P and his interests. To continue to do so will see your student status revoked and you will be sent home,” Valentina was almost foaming at the mouth.

  I sat quietly and blinked at her in disbelief. I did not say another word for maybe thirty seconds until Valentina had regained her composure and had retaken her seat. She had almost immediately realized that she had just overplayed her hand and let slip information that I had not yet uncovered myself.

  “Please excuse me, that was very inappropriate of me. Mr. Turner, I think it would be best if you handed over to me all of your research materials now and ceased from all forms of research into the current economic and political situation in this country. I am afraid that you asking any further questions will create an incident with the university and the local government that we will not be able to repair. I cannot permit to have any research privileges any longer. You are welcome to continue your studies in linguistics and literature, for which you have been invited to study at our school. Any further meddling in the government’s economic reforms will not be tolerated. Is that clear, young man?” She held tight to her regained composure, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “Very, very clear, Valentina Petrovna,” I muttered with my eyes locked on her in a cold stare.

  “Please then, give me all your notes and materials now and I will have them destroyed,” she insisted.

  “Yes of course ma’am. Only I do not have them with me. There is too much material for me to carry around with me each day. I have them in my room in Zarachenaya in two folders,” I volunteered innocently, but defiantly.

  “Then you will go get them and bring them to me at once. At once, Mr. Turner!” she stomped her foot under the desk.

  “Would it be allowed for me to bring them tomorrow morning first thing? It would take another two or three hours to make the whole trip. I will be here for early Friday lectures tomorrow morning and I will bring you all that I have, I promise,” I requested deliberately.

  “That will be fine. Tomorrow morning at eight-thirty,” she ordered.

  “Very good. I will see you tomorrow then,” I stood up and excused myself from her office.

  “Mr. Turner, it would be a good idea if you took the next two weeks of holidays to reevaluate your standing at this university and be prepared when we reconvene to stay focused on your language exams for the MGU. Perhaps you would be happier studying in Moscow than our small provincial city.” She was not making a suggestion. This was my expulsion notice.

  “I will certainly do my best to score a high mark on the exam, ma’am. Guaranteed!” I affirmed.

  The parade of cars that were tracking me that morning had thinned out to just one black Volga, with the other two vehicles no longer to be seen up or down the street. Perhaps they had heard the entire exchange with Valentina Petrovna? What Valentina had just revealed to me by accident was more than I was ever meant to know, and remembering Del’s interest to make a link between Mr. P. and the aerospace industry, I had now a very frightened feeling that I had just stepped over a line that would be impossible to get back over. I was desperate to find Del and get out of Nizhniy Novgorod as quickly as possible.

  “Who’s there?" to my relief it was Misha asking his usual gruff questions.

  “Hello, can we meet please?” I pleaded into the telephone.

  “Nyet, that is not possible,” was Misha’s simple answer.

  “It’s very important,” I arg
ued.

  Misha paused and covered the mouthpiece on his handset.

  “OK, when?” he had changed his mind.

  “Four o’clock, Gorky Square. In front of the Telephone -Telegraph building,” I ordered.

  “Too visible!” he protested.

  “Sorry I have no other choice. I’ll be at the bus stop. Just come ride a bus with me,” I commanded.

  “OK, but no talking until we’re on the bus,” was his condition.

  “Agreed.” I hung up my phone and sat down on a bench to take it all in until our meeting in ninety minutes.

  I sat on the bench in the sunshine trying to anchor my racing thoughts after the revelation that Mr. P. was indeed linked somehow to the aviation industry in the city, just like Del and Els had been trying to establish. What did Valentina already know, but more importantly why? I could not make the connection between Mr. P. and Valentina that would put such an inconsequential person in a position to know the current or future business dealings of the head of a criminal organization. It is not often that academia and the mob mix company. The two trades seem diametrically opposed to each other. The academics try to establish and measure truth while the criminal does his best to obscure the truth from any form of daylight. The question played over and over in my head. Had she reacted purely on the point that I wanted to continue to research and observe the privatization process further? Did it really have anything to do with Mr. P. and his future ventures? The aviation industry could in no way be compared to the market for automobile spare parts. Each part for an aircraft must have a verifiable pedigree in order to be installed in an aircraft. A cheap knock-off spare part in an airplane that costs forty-five million dollars brings the whole investment into risk. No reasonable manager or engineer of an aircraft fleet would ever accept a part they couldn’t verify. It seemed to me that Mr. P. was neither clever nor connected enough to be able to launder aircraft parts or forge their authenticity. The producers of such are too few and far between to make bombastic claims that you have taken over the distribution of their spare and repair parts. It didn’t make any sense to me. Was I reading too much into it? Somehow, I knew that if I could share this information with Del that he would be able to shed more light on it. Why I needed that light shined on it was another internal struggle I sat and wrestled with, waiting to meet Misha and hopefully learn how to contact Del in Moscow.

  With just a few minutes until my rendezvous with Misha on the bus I looked for my personal shadow in order to set him up, in order to lose him. He was taking it easy today riding around in the black Volga and smoking with the window down just out of my sight if I wasn’t looking for him, parked in a small service driveway by the T&T building. I hung back a bit out of his sight for a moment as I noticed Misha come from their direction and stand to wait for the next yellow bus to pull up. Misha did not look around for me. He stood with his back to me. He probably already knew where I was and had already anticipated my plan. He seemed very disinterested with the people around him. As the exiting passengers stampeded out of the doors of the arriving bus to the curb, I quickly stepped out from the corner of the building, using the commuters as camouflage, like a fish swimming against the current, and slipped into the middle doors of the bus without the ‘British Knight’ even stirring from his bucket seat. Misha had stepped in through the rear doors. The bus pulled away from the curb leaving a rank cloud of unrefined diesel fumes. Misha and I met in the back and looked out the back window while holding on the poles and railings to not topple over as the bus circled through the roundabout.

  “You’re still being followed,” Misha said in a very business-like manner.

  “Yes, not a day has gone by without the idiot in the white shoes,” I replied with sarcasm.

  “Seems you’ve gotten pretty good at slipping away from them. That was well timed,” he complimented.

  “Why thank you very much. I will treasure the compliment from a professional,” I answered with some pride in my voice.

  “So, what is so important?” Misha asked turning to look me in the face.

  “I need to contact Del. I have some important information he needs to know,” I muttered in a low tone. Do you know how I can reach him wherever he is?”

  “No, I’m sorry. He contacts me daily but never tells me where he is. He calls at different times of the day as well,” was Misha’s honest reply.

  “Do you have any idea of where he could be? Someplace that you know he stays regularly while in Moscow?” I was searching for any leads.

  “Yes, he regularly stays at the Slavyanskaya hotel, but not always. He moves around also during his stays in Moscow. Never more than two nights in one hotel,” Misha confessed.

  “What is it with this guy, Misha? There is something more to him than his hotel project, isn’t there,” I mused.

  “I don’t ask. He pays me to run his business here in Nizhniy and keep his information safe and legal. He pays on time and he pays well. The rest doesn’t interest me,” Misha mumbled while looking disinterested out the window. “Doing this type of big ticket, highly visible business in Russia is not safe. He’s probably smart to stay moving around. Somebody always wants to steal what you’ve built.”

  “Do you have a telephone number of that hotel?” I asked with hope.

  “No, sorry I don’t. He usually calls me. I only know this information because I see his invoices that he keeps for tax deductions.”

  “Would a receipt have a telephone number on it?" I was searching for hope.

  “No, maybe in Germany or America, but not in Russia. They don’t want you calling them!” he looked at me with irony in his eyes.

  “Ah yes, Russian customer service,” I sighed.

  “The Slavyanskaya is near the Kyivskiy railway station. Do you know it?” Misha asked.

  “Yes, I do,” I was in thought, trying to picture the skyline. “it’s just opposite the Supreme Soviet, correct?"

  “The Russian White House, yes,” Misha confirmed.

  The next morning, the final day of lectures before the spring break, I arrived at Valentina’s office at eight-thirty to surrender all my notes and research materials. I found her office dark and locked. I also found Arkadiy behind his desk typing his eternal letter. He was as upbeat as ever.

  “Can I help you, Peter?” Arkadiy chirped.

  “Valentina Petrovna? Is she not coming to school today?” I inquired.

  “No, she has been called away. Can I help you with something?” he asked.

  “No thank you. I think it would be better if I give these materials directly to her,” I said puzzled.

  “I will tell her that you came by this morning. Is it something urgent?" Arkadiy never looked up from his screen but just kept typing.

  “No, but it’s…,” my voice trailed off as I had become distracted, “…important. When will she be back?”

  “Not until after the holidays I’m afraid.” Arkadiy looked up finally just as I was exiting the office.

  I returned to my apartment with my bag filled with notes, articles, and interviews. I did not want to be out and about with this trove of information around my neck. It was not only heavy but very exposing should I be found with it. Better to keep it at home under my table if Valentina was not available to take custody of it. I thought about destroying it but figured that Valentina would not believe that I had done so and expel me from the university. I had to turn the notes over to her even if it was after the May break. I then spent five straight days at home avoiding the old city in order to avoid any trouble.

  With my research privileges revoked by Valentina and whoever was pulling her strings, and with no lectures to attend, perhaps the urgency of tracking my every movement would diminish and in mid-May, I could go back to life as normal. I spent the days reading on my bed with the windows open to catch the warming spring breezes and tried unsuccessfully not to worry about the world around me.

  23. Fifty Years Victory

  On the morning of May 9th, the ap
artment was a flurry of activity with Natasha and Raiya preparing for the Victory Day celebrations and presentations. Natasha was to receive a medal and recognition from the mayor and she was as nervous as a prima donna going on stage on opening night. The ladies had pulled their Sunday best from the closet and were fussing about hair or headscarves. Babushka chose for a rich red and paisley headscarf. She was beaming that morning. I slipped out the door before her family arrived and purchased her a small bouquet of roses, red roses for the Red Army hero, which she carried with pride with her up the old city to watch the parade and air show and be ready for the presentations. I accompanied the family up to Minin Square but did my best to keep out of the family discussions. I was present but kept a low profile. We rode the bus to Gorkiy Square where the bus stopped as the city center was closed down for only pedestrian and parade traffic. We strolled down Bolshaya Pakrovskaya to Minin Square where the festivities and ceremony would be held.

  Knowing that Del had returned to the city on Thursday night I was very anxious to speak with him. I brought with me my book bag with the two folders of research materials hoping that together, before I had to surrender them to Valentina Petrovna, that Del could help me complete my model of a small criminal organization, the little shark, growing into a great white shark with teeth that take huge chunks of capital and lifeblood out of a country with one big bite. Even if I was not going to be able to publish the research in Nizhniy Novgorod I had decided that I was going to process the information as deeply as I could before the materials were confiscated so that I could reconstruct it once I was free again to research and write what I wished, in an environment of academic freedom. Valentina would not be able to expunge the information in my head once she shredded my materials. I was determined not to let the investment I had made come to nothing.