One Damn Thing After Another

by Dan Latus

  ‘She is trying to hack into systems that are very well protected,’ he told us. ‘That requires a lot of intense work, and a lot of computer power.’

  ‘Can she do it?’ I asked.

  ‘We will see. A personal view? I believe she can.’

  ‘Of course she can!’ Martha added.

  We were like spectators at a big-money chess match. Rapt but silent. It was a game for the knowledgeable, a not to be missed occasion. We had to be there, all of us.

  Nobody said anything else for a while. The two money men, the young guy and the middle-aged woman, pored over paper spewing out of a printer and checked screens that stood on tables along one side of the room. Leon was in his element. Not much violence at the moment, but all the tension and slow-building excitement in the world.

  If I hadn’t been there, I would have guessed it would have been like an operating theatre in a hospital. But it was nothing like that. Operating theatres are crowded and noisy, with people reading off monitors, anaesthetists doing their thing and surgeons giving a running commentary on what they are doing for the benefit of the assistants and trainees alongside them. This was more like a church, a cathedral even, in a solemn moment. Just about the only sound was the clicking and clattering of Olga’s keyboard, coming through the open door from her office.

  A young guy appeared and poured us each a glass of water from a dispenser near the door. I nodded and thanked him. The others said nothing. Olga didn’t seem aware of anything except the screen in front of her. A few minutes later, another young guy brought in a tray of mugs of coffee. If he expected to be thanked, he was out of luck. Not a word was spoken. With bowed head, he passed the mugs around and departed.

  I waited, like the others, caught up in the intensity. If it worked, we might be able to do the next thing in the sequence. Then, at the end of the sequence, Leon and his family just might be able to get on with their lives unhindered, and I would be able to go home. All that seemed a distant prospect at the moment, but it was what we were about.

  By chance, I was the only one in that outer room who saw the moment when Olga’s work come to an end. Leon’s eyes were closed, as he practised whatever form of relaxation therapy worked best for him. Martha had drifted off somewhere. The two money men were poring over a computer printout that required their attention. My own attention had switched away from a print of the Transporter Bridge, the Middlesbrough icon, and back to what I could see of Olga’s right shoulder and forearm, wrist and hand and fingers. It was the fingers I noticed first. They stopped moving.

  I waited. Moments passed, long moments. Olga’s fingers remained still. Then she turned her head slightly, looked over her shoulder and caught my eye. She nodded and gave a faint smile. I smiled back, and released the breath I hadn’t realized until then I was holding.

  Olga stood up and walked into our room. Leon looked up inquiringly. The others in the room stood, quite still, and waited.

  ‘It is done,’ she said.

  Leon, a big grin on his face, whooped and leapt to his feet to grab her in a bear hug. Martha yelped with delight. The money men dashed through into the office Olga had just vacated. I smiled and congratulated her. She nodded at me again and walked out of the room, visibly exhausted.

  Leon was all for getting the champagne out. Instead, Martha organized some fresh coffee, which seemed far more sensible. We had a long way to go yet, and I was already thinking of the obstacles and threats ahead of us.

  When the festivities had died down a bit, I got Leon to tell me the details.

  ‘We took a few hundred million dollars from him, Frank. Olga has emptied his petty cash!’

  I nodded appreciatively. That would give Bobrik something to think about. Hopefully, it would also make him more amenable.

  ‘The next step,’ Leon said more soberly, ‘is to get him to the negotiating table. That’s where you come in, Frank.’

  Leon couldn’t do it himself, he said. He needed someone else, an outsider, to talk to Bobrik and persuade him to meet. I said I was prepared to try. Why not? That should be easy compared with all the other things I’d done for Leon.

  ‘Let’s give him a day or two to learn of his losses,’ I suggested.

  Leon agreed.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ I added, ‘you can work out how to use Bobrik’s money to pay for some of the damage he’s caused.’

  He flashed me a grin. ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Another thing,’ I said. ‘I’ll need someone at the negotiating table with me, if we get that far, someone who has all the information, and who knows how things work in Russia.’

  ‘Of course.’ Leon grinned again and added, ‘Will you ask her?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Well, you know Martha better than I do by now.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  SURPRISINGLY, BOBRIK WAS CURRENTLY in the UK. Leon conjured up a phone number for him, which I rang. I didn’t expect to speak to him in person, but I was confident my message would reach him.

  ‘I am speaking on behalf of Mr Podolsky,’ I said carefully.

  I ignored the cynical laughter at the other end and continued, ‘I have an offer to make to Mr Bobrik.’

  ‘What offer?’

  From the accent, I judged I was talking to another Russian tough guy.

  ‘Mr Podolsky would like to bring the current difficulties between himself and Mr Bobrik to an end. He is prepared to make a generous offer in order to help bring that about.’

  ‘Yeah?’ the voice said suspiciously. ‘So what’s he offering?’

  ‘A very valuable asset. A gold mine. Check with your boss. When you’ve done that, call me back on this number and let me know if he is interested in meeting to discuss the offer.

  ‘As a sign of good faith, I’m willing to let him choose the time and place for a meeting, but it must be in a public place. And it will be just him and me – no-one else.’

  I ended the call. It was up to them now. We would have to wait and see. Leon knew that. He nodded and got up to leave the room.

  ‘Well done,’ Martha said with approval. ‘You handled that well, Frank. Brief and to the point. He’ll want to know more.’

  I shrugged. ‘Let’s see if it works. We might need a Plan B.’

  Two hours later the phone rang. I answered.

  ‘Are you the guy I spoke to a while ago?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘The boss wants us to meet, you and me.’

  ‘I need to talk to him.’

  ‘You can talk to me first. Then we’ll see.’

  I let a second or two go by before agreeing. ‘OK. Where and when?’

  ‘The American Diner on the A1, just south of Gateshead. Do you know it?’

  ‘I’ve seen it. Never been in it, though.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there. Four this afternoon. OK?’

  ‘Yeah. Who am I meeting?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll find you, if you sit with a coffee.’

  That was it. The phone went dead.

  ‘OK?’ Martha asked anxiously.

  I shrugged. ‘Maybe. Who knows? That was Bobrik’s guy, not Bobrik himself. He wants to meet just outside Gateshead, on the A1.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘I’d better get moving.’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’re not. You can’t. It’s just him and me meeting.’

  ‘That was for the meeting with Bobrik.’

  ‘It’s the same thing.’

  ‘Either I come with you, Frank, or I’ll follow on behind. I’m not letting you go alone.’

  Shit! What to do?

  ‘OK,’ I said with a sigh. ‘You can come with me, but I’ll drop you off before the actual meet.’

  She wanted to argue, but I said, ‘Agree to that, Martha, or I don’t go myself.’

  Reluctantly, she agreed.

  Next I briefed Leon.

  ‘You going to be OK with this, Frank?’

  ‘Should be. I’m just the messenger, rememb
er?’

  ‘Messengers don’t always come out in good shape.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Leon. Just what I needed.’

  He patted me on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be OK. He needs to get back the cash he’s lost in Cayman.’

  That was how I saw it, too. It was a thought to cling to as I made my preparations.

  The American Diner at a service station on the A1, just outside Gateshead, was exactly as you might expect. A little bit of Stateside traditional popular culture. Long, low and shiny tin on the outside, with colourful and extravagant neon lighting to show it at its best at night. Rows of booths with plastic bench seats and little formica tables on the inside. Elvis and Little Richard, alternating, singing their hearts out in the background.

  It was nearly empty when I arrived. I sat down at a table overlooking the parking lot for lorries and vans. A waitress in the smart uniform smock that was the house style came over. I ordered coffee and a cheeseburger and fries. Healthy eating was a long way from my mind just then. I needed some nutrition, and some caffeine.

  It had been a cold, clear, sunny day, but the sun was going down now as we neared nightfall. On the A1, traffic was building up towards the rush hour peak. I watched the streams of vehicles carrying people homeward, their working day done. Amazingly, plenty of people seemed to have jobs, despite the recession.

  Recession? What recession? Well, the same one there seems to have been in the North East all my life. Only London and the South East don’t really have recessions. But down there they have other problems, ones I wouldn’t want to live with. Too many people, for one thing. What we call overcrowding and traffic congestion would be a quiet day in London.

  I ate the cheeseburger and fries, which were good. I drank the coffee, which I also liked. Having considered ordering another burger, I reluctantly decided just to order more coffee. Elvis on the juke box was warning me off. Anyway, I needed adrenalin more than I needed more extra super-saturated fat, or whatever it is that makes good burgers dangerous in the eyes of the food police but so very tasty.

  A young couple got up, paid their bill and left. They separated in the car park, each going to their own vehicle. A middle-aged couple did exactly the same thing. Bobrik’s man had chosen well. This was a place for people on the move, and for people who didn’t want to be noticed or remembered.

  He came through the door. I hadn’t seen another car arrive, but here he was. Blue jeans and a black leather jacket, biker style. Bald, burly and tough looking. Forty-ish. He didn’t look much in the mental department. Just a bruiser. Hired help, that was all. My first impression.

  He made his way directly to my table and sat down. I nodded.

  ‘Nice place,’ he said, glancing around with apparent approval. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Well, you chose it. Too American for me.’

  He laughed at that. Must have thought it was good.

  ‘So what do you want to talk about?’ he asked when he stopped laughing.

  The waitress came and hovered before I could get another word out. He looked up at her and said, ‘Coffee.’

  She looked insulted by his lack of courtesy, and I wondered if she would spit in his coffee before she brought it over. I waited until she had moved away before starting my spiel.

  ‘Mr Podolsky wishes to bring the long-running feud with Mr Bobrik to a close. To help achieve that, he is prepared to make Mr Bobrik a generous offer: ownership of a gold mine that has a good record and plenty of profit left in it. In return, he wants to be assured that attacks on his family and property will cease.’

  He stared at me and said, ‘That’s it? That’s the offer – all of it?’

  I nodded.

  He brooded a moment or two, moving the salt and pepper cellars around with one hand while he did his thinking. I watched the tattoo on the back of his hand. It changed shape as the hand moved, starting off as a tiger and becoming something else – a horse, it looked like. I wondered how long it would be before the novelty wore off, and you got sick to death of a tattoo like that.

  Then, abruptly, he said, ‘We need more information about the mine.’

  ‘That can be arranged, once we get an indication the offer is acceptable in principle.’

  ‘In principle?’ he said, chuckling at the idea.

  The waitress arrived with his coffee. I watched as she put it down. He didn’t touch it, or thank her. Consistent as hell.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ he said when she had gone. ‘Where do you stand in all this? Who are you anyway?’

  ‘I have a job to do. I’ve been engaged by Mr Podolsky to help with security.’

  ‘That right?’ He looked even more amused. ‘Like at that big house of his that went up in flames the other night? Were you helping look after that?’

  I gave him a stony look that was supposed to tell him all I was interested in discussing right now was the Podolsky offer.

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said carefully in his American English. ‘Podolsky can go fuck himself! How’s that?’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ I said, nodding.

  Then I put a twenty pound note on the table and slid out of the booth before adding, ‘He’ll probably tell me to urge you to get Bobrik to check his investment accounts in the Cayman Islands.’

  ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

  I sat back down and leant forward.

  ‘Look,’ I said patiently, ‘this vendetta could well end up with everyone penniless – and dead – if it goes on much longer. Think about it. And contact me again if Bobrik decides he wants to talk about an alternative future, one where everybody lives and makes some decent money – and is able to keep it.’

  He stared at me for a moment. Then he moved his coffee cup away, untouched. He didn’t like coffee, it seemed. Not this coffee, anyway. He didn’t even like the smell of it. The horse on the back of his hand quivered, nostrils flared. They made a fine pair, him and the horse.

  ‘What was that about … Where was it again? The Cayman Islands? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Just check,’ I advised.

  ‘We’ll check. What else you got?’

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s quite enough,’ I said, smiling knowingly.

  He made to get up, his coffee still untouched. Then he paused. ‘I know who you are, Doy,’ he said, staring hard. ‘You think about that.’

  ‘I will,’ I assured him. ‘But I would still advise you to check on the Cayman Islands.’

  He finished getting up and walked away, something weighing heavily on his mind.

  The waitress came across, picked up the note and said, ‘I’ll get your change.’

  I shook my head. ‘Keep it.’

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to fill my pockets with change.’

  She smiled. ‘Didn’t your friend like the coffee?’ she asked, nodding after Bobrik’s man.

  ‘He doesn’t like anything very much,’ I told her. ‘Don’t take it personally.’

  She laughed. I got up again, and followed Bobrik’s man through the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  THERE WAS NO SIGN of Bobrik’s man when I got outside. I walked over to the car, got in and waited until Martha joined me a minute or two later.

  ‘How did it go?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see. He was coming on strong, but my advice to check their Cayman investments stopped him in his tracks. Let’s see what they have to say when they’ve done that. Did you recognize him, by the way?’

  She shook her head, disappointing me.

  ‘He didn’t seem anything special,’ I added, ‘but he must be close to Bobrik.’

  ‘Probably,’ Martha said with a yawn. ‘I’m cold and hungry. Can we get something to eat?’

  I grinned at her. ‘Priorities, eh?’

  ‘You bet! It might have been very nice inside that diner, but it wasn’t where I was standing.’

&nb
sp; ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Amongst the rubbish bins out the back.’

  ‘Tut-tut! The things the modern project manager has to do.’

  ‘Just drive, Frank. Drive until you see somewhere decent to eat.’

  In the event, I didn’t see anywhere really worth stopping. I just grabbed a burger for Martha and coffee for us both at a service area. Then we sped on down to Teesside. Leon was waiting for us at Samphire Batts. He was calm and listened patiently while I told him what had happened.

  ‘So it’s wait-and-see time?’ he suggested when I’d finished.

  ‘That’s about right.’ I grinned and added, ‘Let’s see how they react to losing all their money in Cayman.’

  ‘Badly, I should think,’ Leon said with a grin of his own. ‘Bobrik never did like losing.’

  ‘And he’s lost a hell of a lot this time,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Too bad, eh?’

  We tossed it around for a minute or two. Then Leon said, ‘The guy you met, he didn’t give a name?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘What was he like?’

  I described Bobrik’s man as best I could. ‘He didn’t seem top drawer, if you know what I mean.’

  Leon nodded. ‘And that was how Martha saw him?’

  ‘Well, she didn’t disagree.’

  ‘Nothing else, Frank?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I would guess he’s seen the inside of a prison, but I don’t suppose that will surprise you. The most distinctive thing about him was a tattoo on the back of his hand.’

  ‘A tiger that shifts, and becomes a horse?’

  ‘Exactly!’ I said with surprise. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Congratulations, Frank!’ Leon said with a chuckle. ‘You just met Yevgeni Bobrik, and survived.’

  ‘The man himself?’

  Leon nodded. ‘You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you.’

  ‘He got pretty close to it, I think.’

  ‘Don’t let him get that close again.’

  Something puzzled me. After all, I had seen Bobrik once before.

  ‘I didn’t recognize him. He had hair when I saw him in Montenegro,’ I pointed out.