Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  She followed him to the back of the place where Viktor hurriedly concealed the line of coke he’d just finished, shoving the paraphernalia into a desk drawer.

  Ninel was starting to have reservations. If time hadn’t been a factor she would have held off, found someone else for this particular task. Sadly an early-morning communiqué from Moscow had reinforced her suspicion that certain elements in the Kremlin were calling into question her judgment.

  In any case, she didn’t need someone who could execute this properly. The opposite was true. Which meant that, however much she disliked and lacked confidence in Viktor and his two friends, who were hustling into the office behind her, they were a good choice.

  “I have something for you,” she said, pulling the floor plan from her briefcase, and laying it out in front of Viktor, with pictures of the townhouse roof taken from an aerial view on Google Maps.

  Over the years, American tech companies, and Google’s map function in particular, had saved the FSB millions of rubles and thousands of hours. It had been one of America’s great gifts to intelligence services everywhere. Viktor leaned forward in his chair as the other two peered over her shoulder at the floor plan and photographs.

  “That’s a nice house,” said Viktor, king of the obvious.

  “With lots of nice art and jewelry. Estimated value of fifty million dollars for the paintings, and ten for the jewelry.”

  She took another file from her briefcase and handed it to Viktor. Still studying the house details, he put it to one side. “And lots of very expensive security. Alarms. Motion sensors.” He glanced up from the plans. “Bodyguards. With guns.”

  “They won’t be there,” Ninel lied. “The family who live there are in the Hamptons. The house is empty. Apart from one or two domestic staff, and you’re not afraid of a simple cook, are you?” she asked, taking a jab at Viktor’s ego.

  She pushed the unopened file across the desk to him. He opened it and began sorting through the photographs and itemized lists that Alexei had secured by hacking the household insurance policy that Semenov kept for his properties and their contents. When you had paintings that were worth millions of dollars, every single item was carefully documented before it could be insured. If you were smart that was, and no one had ever accused Dimitri of being stupid.

  Viktor got to one photograph and stopped, eyes wide. Ninel had known this particular item would get his attention. It was a painting by the late great Russian painter Ilya Repin.

  “This painting, this is here in New York?” he asked, poking a fat finger at the picture. “This one? Not a copy?”

  “In the living room. Hung above the fireplace.”

  That was a lie. It was in the private collection of another oligarch, one who lived in London. But Viktor wasn’t to know that. Alexei had even managed to blend the painting with the actual fireplace in Dimitri’s home. A detail that would almost certainly not be needed. Ninel would be astonished if Viktor or any of his crew made it that far into the house.

  If they did, and they killed Dimitri’s security team, all the better. In a fire fight, especially one conducted at close quarters, nothing was ever certain.

  The painting had been her ace in the hole. It was hard to believe, but Viktor was something of an art aficionado. Not that he liked to collect them, more that he enjoyed fencing them.

  Viktor studied the photograph of the painting. “It’s stunning.”

  Now his interest was established, Ninel directed his attention back to the plans. “Here,” she said. “The roof is the best access point. It’s the one place they don’t have a camera. They have motion sensors here and here,” she indicated, “but you can easily skirt round.”

  “And how do we get up there?” asked Viktor.

  One of the other two leaned forward, his nose almost touching the aerial photograph. “The neighbor’s house. This one?”

  “Exactly,” said Ninel. You can access the house here. It’s a simple enough lock.”

  “It’s not alarmed?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” said Ninel.

  Alexei had already indicated that he would be able to disable the alarm remotely, at least for a short time. The sensors would still pick up any motion, but they wouldn’t trigger the alarm.

  Viktor stood up, then paced to the door and back. She could tell he was already starting to visualize the burglary in his mind. He stopped at the door. “And what’s in this for you?”

  It had taken him long enough to ask that, thought Ninel. She already had an answer prepared, one that would satisfy him.

  “What do you think? I want half of whatever you make.”

  It was a lie. It would never get that far. But a lie based on greed was something she knew a man like Viktor would understand.

  “Half?” he spluttered. “We take all the risk, do all the work, and you take half?”

  “It’s my idea,” she shot back.

  “A finder’s fee is usually twenty percent.”

  “Forty,” she countered.

  “Twenty-five.”

  “A third.”

  “Thirty,” said Viktor. “But you supply the weapons.”

  There was no way she could agree to that. Weapons could be traceable, and she had already taken a huge risk in coming here. This was a black op, completely off the books. She couldn’t have it coming back to her.

  “Okay, twenty-five then,” she said.

  “When?” said Viktor.

  “Tonight.”

  “Impossible. Something like this takes time.”

  “Normally, yes. The preparation takes time. But that’s all been done for you. All the information you need is here. If you wait they’ll be back from vacation and the chance will be gone. It would be too dangerous.”

  “No,” said Viktor, firmly. “The following night. That’s the earliest we could do it.”

  “Fine. I’ll need a time, so we know when to disable the alarm system.”

  “Okay.”

  She stood up. The smell of the place was getting to her.

  “Oh, there was something I wanted to ask you about,” he said.

  “Twenty-five. No less than that.”

  “It’s not that. That’s agreed. I wanted to ask you about Grigor Novak. No one’s seen him in almost a week.”

  She looked at Viktor. “He’s working on something for me. In upstate. He’ll be back soon.”

  36

  Lock opened the rear passenger door of the blue Ford Edge and got in. The two men in front didn’t say anything. The driver signaled and pulled out into traffic on West 44th Street. As they drove, the passenger scanned the vehicle-mounted cameras for any sign of a tail.

  Ten blocks later, satisfied that no one was following them, the SUV pulled to the curb. The driver killed the engine, and the two men turned in their seats to speak with Lock.

  “So?” said Lock. “What have you got for me?”

  “A big fat nothing,” said the driver.

  Lock wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Nothing at all?”

  The passenger dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small USB storage device. “It’s all here. You can take a look for yourself.”

  “I’d say whoever did the initial background checks did a solid job.”

  “What about McLennan?” asked Lock.

  McLennan had niggled at Lock since he’d met him. It wasn’t that he’d taken an attitude with himself and Ty when they’d arrived to review security arrangements. That part he could understand. Lock might have been the same if the situation had been reversed.

  No, what had unsettled Lock was how quickly he had appeared to quit on the job. If you were in the military, especially special forces, seeing your friends being or hurt or possibly dying came with the territory. That didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to grieve or suffer some kind of psychological reaction. But the job did demand that you compartmentalized that stuff until the mission was completed. You didn’t hole up in a side ro
om for a bitching session with your team, as Lock had found McLennan doing at the hospital. Not unless you were feeling the pressure in ways unrelated to the job.

  It had made him wonder if something else was going on. If the Russians. or whoever was orchestrating this war against Dimitri, had got to McLennan. After all, McLennan had walked away from the bridge incident completely unscathed. And there was still a question mark in Lock’s mind over his role in selecting the shortlisted vehicles, several of which were wholly unsuitable for their intended purpose.

  “All his bank accounts are clean. There don’t seem to be any unexplained payments. Lifestyle checks out for the money he makes. The day off he had, we had someone surveil him, and nothing. No meets with anyone. Phone records check out too. He talks to family back home, some old army buddies, and that’s pretty much it. If he is working for someone else, he’s doing a great job of concealing it.”

  “But he could be compromised in some way?” said Lock.

  “Yeah, that’s always a possibility. The Russians do love their blackmail,” said the driver.

  Like most people, Lock was well aware of that. They even had a designated term for it, Kompromat. It was so much a part of Russian culture that one former US intelligence officer had even called it a ‘blackmail state’ because it was all-pervasive.

  It usually took one of two basic forms. Either there was evidence of an embarrassing or damaging sexual act, or it was something that could get the person prosecuted, normally an act of corruption.

  “What about Madeline, the personal assistant?” Lock asked them.

  “Nothing there either,” said the driver.

  “Bank accounts all checked out,” the passenger added. “No secret ones. No unexplained deposits of money. In any case she’s extremely well paid and, from what we saw, her lifestyle is pretty basic. She works, she comes home, she may take a run in the park, she does a hot yoga class, doesn’t seem to date.”

  Madeline had made Lock’s list because she was the person who had overseen everyone else’s background checks for Dimitri. He also suspected that she was party to a lot of information that would have been invaluable to anyone who wanted to get at her boss.

  “Boyfriend? Friends?” Lock asked.

  The two men exchanged a look. “Actually, we were wondering if she was single.”

  Lock cut them off with a look.

  “Just a little joke,” said the driver.

  “No, it was kind of weird,” said the passenger. “No boyfriend, no close female friends. She had a juice after yoga with some lady in her class but that was about it. Seems like a total career gal. Anyway, it’s all on there. You can double-check it all for yourself.”

  He thumbed at the USB drive that Lock was holding.

  “I will. Thanks.”

  “We ran through everyone else on the list you gave us. More your standard background-check stuff, no surveillance, but nothing popped. You want us to go deeper?”

  “Not for now.”

  “Okay. Well, let us know if you need anything else.” The driver dug out an envelope from his jacket. “Invoice. You want us to send it to Mr. Semenov or what?”

  Lock reached out and took it. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He planned on covering the cost of the deep review out of his own expenses. He hadn’t wanted anyone who worked for Dimitri to know that it was happening. Doing it this way, using an outside agency, one staffed mostly by former FBI and NYPD personnel had been the safest way he knew of ensuring that there was no one close to Dimitri they should be worried about.

  “Listen, thank you,” said Lock, shaking each man’s hand.

  “You got it,” said the driver, then added, “There was one other thing. It’s kind of gossip so we didn’t include it in any of the material we gathered.”

  “Go on.”

  “Bill here’s former NYPD. You know that, right?”

  “Okay,” said Lock. He hadn’t known, but it was hardly a surprise.

  “I don’t know if this sets your mind at rest any, but word is that the bodyguard in the cupboard was having some mental health problems. That hadn’t been his first try, if you know what I mean.”

  “So he wasn’t killed?” said Lock.

  “Sure doesn’t look like it.”

  37

  “So nothing, then?” said Ty.

  Lock stood with him in the front hallway of the townhouse.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” He dug the USB drive from his pocket. “I’ll go through everything myself, but there certainly wasn’t anything that jumped out at them. No payoffs. No Russian buddies. Nada.”

  “That’s good, though, right?” said Ty.

  “Yeah, I guess it is. The more we know we can trust the people around us, the better.”

  They turned to see Elizabeth Semenov walking down the hallway toward them. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, emphasizing razor-sharp cheekbones, and she was wearing running gear.

  “I need to go for my afternoon run. Seeing as I’m not allowed to leave the house on my own at the moment, Ty, can you accompany me?”

  Lock stepped in. “I got you. I’ll throw on some sneakers and we can go. Do you want to walk over there, or would you like a car to take us?”

  Elizabeth cocked her hands onto her hips. “I don’t think I asked you, did I?”

  “I’m who’s available,” said Lock.

  “Tyrone looks pretty available to me.”

  Ty tapped Lock on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go check on Anastasia.”

  He walked past Elizabeth without looking at her. Judging by the look on her face she wasn’t used to being thwarted.

  “Wait,” she said. “I asked for Tyrone to accompany me. Now, as far as I’m aware, you work for my husband, which means you work for me.”

  Lock straightened. Situations like these were a dime a dozen when dealing with wealthy and entitled clients. The trick was usually to remain polite, but firm. “I’m currently in charge of the security team. A security team that’s pretty much a skeleton crew right now. That means I decide who goes where.”

  She took a step back, studying him. “If this is about the little confusion yesterday when I was getting changed, don’t worry, I don’t have any designs on your friend.”

  “Mrs. Semenov, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lock lied. “Now, if you’d still like to go for your run just give me two minutes.”

  Ty knocked gently on the bedroom door. The nurse who had been monitoring Anastasia opened it.

  “Good timing,” she said, with a smile. “We’re almost done here.”

  “You want me to come back later?”

  “No, you’re good. Come on in.”

  Inside he was greeted by the sight of Anastasia, dressed in regular clothes and sitting in a chair by the window.

  “Woah!” said Ty, beaming from ear to ear. “You’re out of bed.”

  “That’s right,” said the nurse. “Anastasia still needs to take it really easy, but she’s off the IV, and she’s free to move around. Although she still needs to get lots of rest, and I’ll be here to make sure she does.”

  “Me too,” said Ty.

  Amid all the chaos and death, it was great to have some good news.

  “Hey, do your mom and dad know?”

  “Yeah, I saw my mom, she was really happy, but she said my dad’s probably too busy working to come up here and see me.”

  “You hold that thought,” said Ty. “I’ll be right back.”

  He walked out, pulled the door closed, and stood there for a second, trying to compose himself. If there was one thing he hated to see in situations like this it was adults using kids to get back at their partner. No matter what sins Dimitri had committed, his wife’s attempt to undermine his relationship with his daughter was a shitty thing to do.

  Ty went downstairs and found Dimitri in his office. He was going over some papers with Madeline. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I thought you should know, Anastasia’s out of
bed.”

  Dimitri stood straight up. “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” said Ty. “I guess the doc cleared it.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Dimitri told his assistant, hustling out of the office with Ty to visit his daughter. “Listen, about last night …”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “My wife’s a good woman. A good mother. But I’ve not always been the best husband.”

  “It’s none of my or Ryan’s business. We’re here to keep everyone safe and that’s what we plan on doing.”

  “And I appreciate it. We all do.”

  Dimitri stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “You don’t think it’s a good idea to move the family to the Hamptons house? I still think the fresh air would do Anastasia the world of good.”

  “Hey, it’s your call, but I agree with Ryan. From a security point of view I’d say you’re much better sitting tight here. At least until the cops get a handle on some of this craziness. Something bad happens in the city, you have an army of cops outside. Something goes bad out there …”

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Dimitri.

  38

  Thankfully, there was no invitation to join the Semenovs that night for dinner. Instead, Lock and Ty spent the rest of the afternoon putting together an updated security rota with McLennan. They were still going to be stretched but having everyone in the same residence made it just about manageable with the numbers they had.

  “You think you can get your boss to send some fresh bodies?” Lock asked McLennan.

  “I’ve spoken to him about that already. He thinks he can maybe get us two more guys next week. They’re coming off a rotation in Dubai. I should know more on Monday.”

  “That’s good. Thanks,” said Lock.

  McLennan tapped his pencil against the rota they’d just finished drawing up. “Listen, I owe both of you blokes an apology. I haven’t been at my best since, well, you know …”

  “Forget it, man,” said Lock.

  “Water under the bridge,” added Ty, holding up his hand in apology at having mentioned a bridge. “You know what I mean. No apology needed.”