Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  “I’ve heard about it, yes,” said Ninel. “Yeltsin needs money, and fast. Another few months of this and we won’t be able to pay salaries, pensions, anything.”

  Dimitri noted how she said “we.” Even with all her wheeling and dealing, she was still a child of the old regime, still tied to the old idea that they were somehow part of a collective. He saw it differently. He saw rats running around inside a barrel, either eating each other, or trying to find a way out.

  It wasn’t new information. Everyone in Moscow with even the vaguest connections to the government had heard the same rumors. They were on the brink of a new collapse with a drunk at the helm.

  What only a few people had heard, though, was that there was a rescue plan, of sorts. Some Kremlin insiders and businessmen who had already made fortunes from the free market reforms were planning on lending the country money in return for the right to buy shares in the larger state enterprises.

  Of course, everyone knew there would be no way to repay the loans. At that point they would be able to exercise their right to buy the shares. Coal, oil, natural gas, mining, all of these would be up for grabs at a fraction of their true value. But not everyone would be allowed in on the deal. That was why he needed Ninel and her connections.

  “I want to do my duty by the country,” Dimitri told her. “I’ll lend as much as I can to help out.”

  “And what has brought about this sudden patriotism, Dimitri?”

  “Russia needs me.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “You should be a politician.”

  “Maybe I will. I’m still a young man.”

  “What they’re talking about, I don’t have the kind of connections to get someone into those meetings.”

  “Then cultivate them. You’re very popular, everyone knows that.”

  “Such charm. Yes, maybe you will end up in politics.” She stood up. “I’ll see what I can do. But I make no promises. And, of course, if I do manage by some miracle to introduce you to the right people, I’ll expect that―”

  He cut her off. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  She leaned in, standing over him. “On the same terms.”

  He was going to argue, but now was not the time. He couldn’t gain access to this without her. They both knew it. Fifty percent was one hell of a cut for getting him into a room with the right people. But what if she did? This would make the vouchers scheme that had earned him so much money look small-time.

  This was the big league. They both knew it.

  He could deal with Ninel and her part of the deal later. For now he would promise what he had to.

  30

  Ninel and Madeline retreated to a juice bar downstairs from the yoga studio. They took a table in the rear so no one would be able to see them from the street. Usually they talked in the locker room, but a change to the studio’s schedule meant another class was about to begin, and it was too crowded.

  Ninel usually kept these conversations light and gossipy. There were two reasons for that. The first was to avoid suspicion, if anyone, including someone surveilling Madeline, overheard them. The second was that she had found, over the years, you could glean more useful intelligence that way, which made the asset feel they weren’t directly betraying anyone.

  “You look tired,” said Ninel.

  “I’m exhausted. There’s been so much going on.”

  “Are you sleeping?”

  “How can I sleep?” Madeline took a sip of the juice Ninel had ordered for her. “I’m not sure I can keep doing this,” she said, eyes darting from the tabletop to Ninel and back to the tabletop.

  Ninel had already explained that Madeline would have to stay where she was for as long as she was needed. “You’re a strong, capable woman,” she said. “You’ll find a way.”

  Madeline looked up and this time she didn’t glance away. “I’m not sure I will. You don’t know what it’s like. Being around him. Being around his wife. And then all this. That girl who was thrown out of the―”

  Ninel moved her hand so that it rested on Madeline, a signal that she needed to quieten down. “You must, and you will. Don’t worry, it won’t be for much longer.”

  As soon as Ninel had said it she knew she had made a mistake.

  “What does that mean? What are you going to do?”

  Ninel tightened her hand around Madeline’s. She had an exceptionally strong grip, the result of years practicing judo, first as part of her KGB training, and later as recreation. “No one is going to do anything, Madeline.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  This was spinning out of control and fast.

  A waitress came over. “Is everything okay, ladies?” she asked.

  “It’s fine, thank you,” said Ninel. She waited until the waitress had left.

  “I promise you. No one is going to do anything.”

  “What about the bodyguard? Anastasia’s bodyguard?”

  “What about him? He killed himself. Not even the police believe anything else.”

  “Yes, but why?” said Madeline.

  “Who knows what goes on inside someone’s mind? He was a veteran. Maybe he had PTSD. Psychological problems. People commit suicide for all kinds of reasons. Being a bodyguard is a very stressful job.”

  That seemed to calm her.

  “Have some more juice,” said Ninel, pushing her glass toward Madeline. “I always get so thirsty after yoga.”

  Madeline pushed the glass back. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “How are the new hires doing?”

  “The new hires?”

  “Mr. Lock and Mr. . . . What’s his name?”

  “Johnson.”

  “Yes, Johnson. So, how are they fitting in?” said Ninel.

  “That’s not what you’re asking me, is it?”

  Madeline’s tone was starting to concern Ninel. She’d been an excellent asset so far, but maybe her time would be drawing to a close soon. Ninel hoped not. She liked her, and in many ways she related to her. A capable woman in a man’s world who had sacrificed her personal life for her career. It was a trade-off that no man had to make. “No, it’s not.”

  “So what do you want to know?”

  Ninel spread her hands on the table. “Is there anything we should be concerned about?”

  “They’re asking about the cars. Who recommended them, what the process was for the tendering.”

  “And?”

  “I told them there was a shortlist and that Mr. Semenov made the final decision.”

  “That’s good. Have they asked who chose the shortlist?”

  “Yes. I gave them the document we talked about before.”

  “Good,” said Ninel. “That’s good. Anything else?”

  “Yes,” said Madeline. “They’re having everyone background-checked again.”

  “Just background?”

  “That’s what Lock asked for.”

  That wasn’t a concern for Ninel. Nothing would show for Madeline. She was a perfectly clean skin. She had never had any involvement with Russia before. Not until Ninel had cultivated her, and even then the only time they crossed paths was here. There was no electronic trail to link them together. That was the beauty of old-fashioned informant meetings such as this.

  “What happens next?” asked Madeline.

  Ninel didn’t like the question. Madeline had never asked anything like it before. It had to be handled carefully. “That depends on Dimitri. If he repays what he owes then this all goes away.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  Ninel got up from the table. “That was a great class.” She picked up the check. “I have this. Oh, and I left you something under the table. There seems to be a problem with your old one.”

  As Ninel went to pay the cashier behind the juice bar, Madeline looked down to see a bag. She peered into it.

  Inside was a brand new, latest-model iPhone.

  The two men sitting in the blue Ford Edge SUV watched as first
Ninel, then Madeline left two minutes apart. The driver tapped his phone screen, activating one of three cameras mounted at various points on the car.

  Only a dope actually lifted a camera or a phone to their eye, these days. Everything was automated.

  The passenger watched Madeline with a more than professional interest.

  “She’s in pretty good shape for a woman her age,” he said to his partner.

  “Like you’re picky,” said the driver.

  The passenger laughed. “Quantity over quality, that’s my motto.”

  “I know, I’ve seen some of ’em.”

  The driver looked down at the photos they’d taken of the two women. They knew who one was, Madeline Marshowsky, personal assistant to Dimitri Semenov. They had no idea about the other.

  “So, what do you think?” said the driver, tilting the phone screen.

  “I already told you. I like the tall blonde one.”

  “Not that, you moron. You think this means anything?”

  “I think it looks like two ladies who do yoga and gossip, but what do I know?” said the passenger.

  31

  Ty gently closed Anastasia’s bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Since she had got home he had assumed the role of de facto head of residential security with special responsibility for ensuring she was cocooned from as much of the craziness as possible.

  Meanwhile, Lock had assumed the role of designated bodyguard to Dimitri, shepherding him from the house to the office. McLennan seemed to have accepted the changes. Mentally, the guy seemed to have checked out. It would have been better to have him out there, but according to Lock, the Red Notice from Interpol was making it even more difficult to get good-quality replacements in post that would allow them to step back from their current babysitting duties.

  His shoes sinking into the deep pile of the carpet, Ty walked down the hallway, heading for the stairs. As he passed the master suite, Elizabeth Semenov called to him from inside.

  “Hey, Tyrone, can you spare me a second?”

  He about-turned. The door into the master suite was cracked open. He couldn’t see Elizabeth, but he could hear her.

  “What’s up?”

  “Come on in.”

  He pushed the door open and walked into a master suite that he guessed was three times as big as many people’s Manhattan apartments. A huge antique four-poster bed dominated the high-ceilinged room. Separate walk-in closets and his and hers en-suite bathrooms were located on either side of the bedroom.

  One of the bathroom doors was open, and he could hear water running into the tub. Elizabeth appeared with her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was wearing a thigh-high silk camisole and an equally short silk robe.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Semenov?” Ty said, businesslike.

  “Call me Elizabeth, please. Mrs. Semenov makes me sound old. You know I’m only thirty-two.”

  That was a lie. Ty knew from all the background reports that she was thirty-seven. Not that it mattered to him either way.

  She bent down to pick up a discarded item of clothing and throw it into a laundry hamper. He made a point of keeping his eyes elsewhere. This was one distraction he mostly definitely did not need.

  “What can I do for you?” he repeated.

  “I just wanted to thank you for looking after Anastasia.”

  “You’re very welcome but I’m just doing my job,” he said, turning back toward the door.

  “Except it’s more than a job to you,” she said.

  It was like she was determined to keep him here, talking. He had a good idea why, too.

  “I mean,” she continued, “I see how you are with her. And I see how she is with you. She likes you.”

  “I like her too. She’s a good kid.” He made another move toward the bedroom door.

  “Stay and talk to me,” she said. “Please.”

  “I have things I need to be doing,” he said.

  “Five minutes. There’s no one I can talk to around here.”

  “I thought that was what therapists were for,” said Ty.

  Her eyes flashed with anger. She hadn’t liked that comment.

  “Everyone thinks that just because I have all of this I should be happy to accept all the other things,” she said, her arms taking in the plush surroundings. “But it hurts. It hurts to be married to a man who behaves like he does.”

  Ty really didn’t want to get drawn any further into this, but he sensed her pain was real. He knew what she was saying. Money could solve some problems, but not all of them. Some it only made worse.

  “I’m an attractive woman, right?”

  “Mrs. Semenov …”

  “Elizabeth.”

  She let the robe slip from her shoulders and puddle on the carpet.

  “I used to model. I’d like to think I still have the figure for it. God only knows I do enough dieting and Pilates. What do you think?”

  Shimmying out of her camisole, she stood there, naked. Ty stepped toward her. He was standing next to the bed. He held eye contact with her as he reached down to the bed.

  His hand felt for a blanket at the foot. He picked it up and tossed it the few feet to her.

  “If you want to keep talking to me then cover yourself up,” he said, his voice firm. “This isn’t a game, and I’m not here for your or anyone else’s personal entertainment. You have a bad marriage or you’re unhappy? Go speak to your husband or get yourself a divorce lawyer. Either way it’s none of my business.”

  She took the blanket and tucked it around her torso. “I didn’t mean to―”

  “Lady,” said Ty. “If some Russian assassin comes through your daughter’s window at three in the morning, I’m prepared to take a bullet to stop him hurting her, or you for that matter. But don’t go twisting that into me doing anything else for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I feel stupid.”

  “I’m not asking for an apology, or for you to feel anything. This isn’t a game to these people. The quicker you wake up to that, the better.”

  He stalked to the door and this time she didn’t attempt to stop him or call him back. He walked out into the corridor, pulling the bedroom door closed. He stopped for a moment, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. “Man, save me from crazy rich people.”

  32

  Along with McLennan, Lock escorted Dimitri up the stone steps leaving the two patrol cops to handle the reporters on the sidewalk. Ty opened the door, scanning the people outside as they stepped in.

  “How are you, Tyrone?” asked Dimitri.

  “I’m good.”

  If Ty’s encounter with a naked Mrs. Semenov had left him feeling uncomfortable, greeting her returning husband at the door wasn’t helping. He pulled Lock to one side as Dimitri went to see his daughter. “How’d it go?” Ty asked in an undertone.

  “The attorneys think there’s no chance of the US doing anything with the Red Notice, so that’s good. We’re back in one piece. And no one else got killed today as far as I know. How were things here?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” said Ty, as McLennan headed over to speak with them.

  “Listen, I was down to have the evening off. Jeff’ll take the night watch. You mind if I get out of here?”

  “No, of course not. We got you. Ty and I can stay here tonight. Give your guy the night off,” said Lock.

  “Really?” said McLennan, apparently taken aback by Lock’s largesse.

  “Sure. When did you last have some time off?” said Lock.

  “Weeks ago,” said McLennan, sounding as weary as he looked.

  “Take tomorrow as well. Check back in tomorrow night. I’d rather have people fresh.”

  McLennan took a step back, like he was seeing Lock for the first time. Or, at least, seeing this version for the first time. Ty also seemed caught off guard by Lock’s generosity.

  “That’d be great. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” said Lock.

  Ty waited until McLe
nnan had headed back outside. “What? You’re best buds all of a sudden?”

  Lock walked down the hallway, headed for the kitchen. “The Red Notice isn’t going to be an issue in terms of any kind of arrest or extradition,” he explained. “But it’s scaring off the big private security companies.”

  “So we’d better start being nice to the men we do have?”

  “Precisely,” said Lock. “So what was it you were going to tell me later?”

  “Mrs. Semenov.”

  “What about her?”

  “Let’s just say her husband isn’t the only one who has a wandering eye.”

  Lock smiled.

  “Don’t laugh, man. Shit ain’t funny.”

  Lock did his best to look serious. “What happened?”

  Ty leaned in so he wouldn’t be overheard. None of the house staff had been party to Elizabeth’s little show and he wanted to keep it that way.

  “She calls me into the bedroom and dropped her drawers. And, no, before you say anything else, nothing happened. I’m just keeping you in the loop.”

  “Hey, the woman’s not made of stone, is she?”

  “Very funny,” said Ty. “Listen, the last thing we need in the middle of this shit show is the lady of the house chasing around after me. That kid up there is sick. The grown-ups around here need to step up and start behaving accordingly.’

  “You want me to speak with her?” said Lock.

  “No. Definitely not,” said Ty. “Like I said, I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

  “Okay. I’ll try and make sure she’s not left alone with you.”

  “Any more word from the cops about the model? Or the bodyguard?” Ty asked.

  “Nope, and they don’t seem to be in a particularly sharing mood with our principal either.”

  “Maybe he could make a donation,” suggested Ty. “NYPD must have some kind of benevolent fund and, not to stereotype or anything, it’s not like a little bit of bribery would be an alien concept where he’s from.”

  “I’ll mention it to him. Never hurts to support local law enforcement. How’s the kid?”