Avenue of Thieves

by Sean Black

  What was supposed to have been, from Lock’s earlier view of the teleprompter during rehearsals, a sober and somber announcement of hedge-fund billions being moved into a charitable trust to help the poor and unfortunate was becoming something else.

  To the delight of the tabloid elements and apparent horror of the likes of Bloomberg and the more mainstream Wall Street news outlets, Dimitri roamed back and forth, like some kind of demented Russian Oprah Winfrey. Lock was half expecting that he’d ask every member of the media to check under their seat to see what they’d just won.

  “As you’ll see outlined in the press pack you have all received, over half of the first billion dollars I am giving away will go directly to help the poor and disadvantaged in Russia. In particular, money will go to help children suffering from cancer and other life-threatening conditions. My own family has been touched by such an event, and while my daughter is recovering, her convalescence hasn’t been helped by the way in which my family has been targeted by shadowy forces.”

  A sea of hands shot up from the first three rows of reporters. The home invasion was in the public domain and the media knew that his daughter had been present, but her recovery from cancer had been kept private.

  Dimitri waved off the questions that had begun to come at him. He had just thrown a big bucket of chum into shark-infested waters, and Lock didn’t believe for a second that his revelation was an accident.

  Going after some Russian billionaire was hardly likely to elicit public sympathy. Targeting the family of a child with cancer was something else. It wasn’t just that the public would find it abhorrent, they would. It was that their abhorrence would force the hand of politicians and law enforcement.

  Onstage, Dimitri Semenov was starting to fight back, and it looked like he was only getting started.

  “As you are all aware, I and people close to me have been the subject of intimidation and violent attacks. Some have paid for their loyalty to me with their lives. I hope in making this announcement today, that I will be liquidating my fortune and giving it away to others less fortunate, that the people behind these attacks will come to their senses.”

  He took a theatrical pause.

  “But if they do not then I say this to them.”

  He made sure that he was looking at the section of the ballroom holding the members of the Russian media. “Intimidate me all you want. Hurt me. Murder me even. But do so knowing that you will never receive a cent of my fortune. I owe my enemies nothing. Not a single ruble.”

  He stopped again, redirecting his attention back to the front of the ballroom.

  “Now, if anyone has any questions . . .”

  Lock moved out onto the stage, closer to Dimitri, as the place exploded with noise.

  54

  Alexei hunched over his laptop as Ninel paced back and forth. She was waiting on a call from Moscow, and as Alexei’s communications were more secure than anyone else’s, she had pitched up at his place to wait for it.

  He had never seen her like this before. She was agitated, unable to settle.

  Finally, his screen lit up. She almost shoved him out of his seat in her haste to take the call. She grabbed the headset and put it on. “Yes?” said Ninel. “I’m here.”

  Alexei toggled a switch on the laptop keyboard, switching on his earpiece so that he could listen in.

  The caller spoke in Russian with a deep, tobacco-heavy voice. Alexei had no idea of his name, only that he was important enough to make Ninel very nervous.

  “Are you safe?” said the caller.

  “Yes, I am,” said Ninel.

  “Good. You’re important to us.”

  “Is there a decision?” Ninel asked.

  “Yes,” said the caller. “We cannot tolerate this kind of open dissent. You can proceed to termination.”

  At that word all the tension seemed to melt from Ninel. Her shoulders rolled back, and she sighed.

  “Termination?” she repeated.

  “Correct,” said the caller.

  “It’s the right decision,” she began, as the caller disconnected.

  Alexei looked at her as she walked to the apartment window. From what he knew this must have been like Christmas, New Year and her birthday rolled into one. She had finally been given official clearance to take out Dimitri Semenov.

  There was only one problem. Before she’d arrived Alexei had also received a call from Moscow. It had spoken of a termination, but Dimitri’s name hadn’t been mentioned.

  55

  Bridgehampton, New York

  One week later

  Lock opened the French windows and walked onto the vast wooden deck that looked out over the sand dunes. Steps led down to a wooden dock where Dimitri Semenov was puttering around on a small boat, one of several pleasure craft he kept at the house.

  They had moved out to the estate on Surfside Drive four days ago, Elizabeth Semenov finally getting her way, as Lock had always known she would.

  Along with McLennan and what remained of his crew, Lock and Ty had spent the time identifying as many possible weak spots in the property’s security as they could.

  Lock had concluded that with good surveillance they could make the more isolated location work to their favor. At least out in the Hamptons you had a better shot at spotting a threat as it approached.

  New cameras had swiftly been installed around the perimeter. A new control center had been established in a crow’s nest room to monitor the cameras and the existing alarm system.

  Better still, a replacement close protection team had been sourced: eleven men and one woman from a small but highly regarded company based in Denver. They were arriving in a week’s time.

  When the new team arrived, Lock would work with McLennan on a three-day handover. Then he and Ty were heading back to Los Angeles, much to Carmen’s relief.

  Ty was a different matter. He’d formed a strong bond with Anastasia, and he was reluctant to leave her side. It was going to be a wrench when he left for LA with Lock.

  Dimitri waved Lock down to the dock. He set down his mug of freshly brewed coffee on the railing and walked the short distance to the Russian. “You need help with something?”

  “No,” said Dimitri. “Could use some company, though.”

  “Sure,” said Lock, jumping onto the narrow deck.

  “I just wanted to thank you for everything. I know this wasn’t what either of you signed up for.”

  “Hey,” said Lock. “It’s never been a nine-to-five gig. You do what’s required. We were never going to abandon you, not with Anastasia being ill.”

  “I should have told you about that, shouldn’t I?” said Dimitri.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Because I needed you. I knew that if you saw her, you’d stay. Not just stay but do everything in your power to keep my family safe.”

  Lock didn’t say anything to that. You didn’t get to accumulate the kind of money Dimitri had without being able to get people to do what you needed them to do.

  Dimitri reached into the pocket of his gray cashmere hoodie and took out a piece of paper. He handed it to Lock.

  It was a check, made out to Lock’s company. “That’s a lot of zeros,” he said to Dimitri.

  “I figured that while I was giving away my fortune, I might as well take care of the people who had my back when I really needed them.”

  Lock was still looking at the check.

  “Go on,” said Dimitri. “Take it.”

  “Maybe I’ll frame it. Put it on my wall as a keepsake.”

  “That’s up to you,” said Dimitri.

  “Can I ask you something?” said Lock. “The last few days you’ve seemed very . . . relaxed. Like you know something we don’t.”

  “You’re good, Ryan. You can read people.”

  “Lots of experience,” said Lock.

  “You’re right. I am feeling a little more relaxed. It’s amazing what clarity comes from telling people you’re happy to give everything away.�
��

  “The Russians?” said Lock.

  “They opened a channel of communication shortly after my press conference. They weren’t happy that I would offer money to people back home without them having any involvement in how it was spent.”

  “They want to decide who you give it to?” said Lock.

  “And maybe take their cut,” said Dimitri. “Not that it was presented like that, of course. But some things never change. We have a word for it in Russian. It’s called the obschak. The vory used it. It’s like a big pot of money, a slush fund, that the people in the gang have access to. Only this gang are in the Kremlin, and you need to put a lot of money into their obschak if you want them to leave you alone.”

  “They mention your number one fangirl?”

  “Indeed they did. They are painting her as . . . What’s the phrase in English? Oh, yes, a rogue element. They’ve assured me she won’t pose any further threat.”

  He finished tying the bowline knot he’d been working on, holding up the rope to check his work. “I suspect she overplayed her hand and that may also have helped my cause.”

  “So, that’s it?” said Lock. “You’re in the clear?”

  “I would never assume that, but certainly things are more favorable than they were. Of course, I have to finalize all the details, and perhaps I won’t be quite as generous as some of the media have reported. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll still be contributing a significant proportion of my wealth, but I’ll have enough left to keep everyone in the lifestyle to which they’ve become accustomed.”

  The wind was picking up. The boat rolled a little in the water, choppy waves slapping up against the dock pilings.

  “So everything’s worked out?” Lock asked him.

  “It usually does,” said Dimitri. “One way or the other.”

  56

  Never return to the scene of a crime. Wasn’t that the saying? Yet here he was with Ninel, speeding through the Midtown Tunnel on their way to Bridgehampton. Ninel on a mission to wreak her revenge against Dimitri Semenov, Alexei in the passenger side to make sure she never got there.

  Alexei dug his laptop out of his backpack as they came up on their exit off the Long Island Expressway. Ninel gave him a quizzical look. “Everything okay?”

  “Just some last-minute tweaks,” he said, completely truthfully.

  There was no way Ninel would have stepped into a Level 2 vehicle. This, like most modern cars, was a Level 1. But if you had physical access to the vehicle they were easy enough to rig by installing additional hardware.

  Of course, he could have just tampered with the brakes, but that offered far less control and Alexei didn’t want to take any chances while he was a passenger. He dug out his phone and checked that it was synced and working with the laptop. Jamming the laptop back into the backpack, he placed the backpack in the footwell, keeping one hand on the strap.

  There was a stop light about five miles from the house. Immediately beyond it there was a turn-off that led down to a bridge. He would jump out at the light, take control of the vehicle from his phone, lock the doors and pilot the vehicle off the edge of the bridge, at speed.

  Even if, by some miracle, she survived the impact, which was unlikely, given that he had also disabled the driver’s air bag, she would be in no shape to do anything to Dimitri.

  The last embers of sunset gave way to darkness. When you’d lived in the city for as long as Ninel had it was easy to forget just how black the night could be, even with a half-moon and an ocean for it to glimmer off.

  They were almost there. Ninel took a moment to appreciate the young man next to her as they came up on a stop light that was showing red when there was no other traffic within a half-mile of them.

  He was quite brilliant, Alexei. A rare and precious talent. But, sadly, no amount of technical expertise could offset her understanding of the human mind.

  She eased off the gas pedal. Then, a few hundred yards short of the stop light, she jammed hard on the brakes, bracing one hand on the steering wheel.

  Alexei startled.

  She let go of the steering wheel and came up with her gun. “Time for you to leave,” she said, opening the driver’s door.

  “What?” said Alexei, not moving.

  She stayed where she was, looking through the open door at him.

  “You don’t want to be here for this, do you?”

  He was frightened. He knew something was up, but he was hoping to ride it out. But the fear came off him in waves.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” she said, still leaning into the cabin, the gun pointed at him now, “you don’t like to kill up close. That’s not your thing. You like it remote. Computer-controlled. I, on the other hand, don’t mind it. I’m happy to look someone in the eye when I do it.”

  She waved the gun. “Get out.”

  “Why? Get out? Why?”

  He was disintegrating in front of her. She didn’t want to have to shoot him here, but she would if she had to.

  She raised the gun, two-handed, finger on the trigger. “Out. We’re going to take a walk. Just you and me.”

  Hands shaking, he opened his door and climbed out, still holding that beloved backpack of his.

  “Step away from the car,” she instructed him.

  She didn’t want him climbing back in and taking off on her as she walked around to his side.

  “Further,” she said, as he backed away.

  He took six more steps back. She closed the driver’s door and walked quickly around.

  “Down there,” she said, motioning toward the side road leading down to the bridge.

  “No,” he said, standing his ground.

  He knew what was coming. If he’d been smart he would have walked, maybe picked up the pace a little, got some distance and taken off. She would have shot him in the back, but there was always a small chance she might miss.

  “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “Goodbye, Alexei.”

  She pulled the trigger, catching him high in the chest. He fell backward, still holding on to the backpack. She pulled the trigger twice more, taking her time.

  Bending down, she retrieved the backpack, walked back to the car and threw it inside. She went back to him, stripped out his wallet, phone and keys and put them into her pockets.

  Finally, she rolled his body off the side of the road and down a shallow slope. It would be discovered. But not in time to make any difference.

  Tonight, she had one advantage and it was a good one. Ninel had neither the intention nor the expectation that she wouldn’t be caught. As long as it came after she had settled her score with Dimitri, it wouldn’t matter to her. She was already a dead woman walking.

  57

  Ninel abandoned the car in an unused overflow beach parking area about a quarter-mile from the house on Surfside Drive. She and Alexei had assessed the security. It had been ramped up since the family had relocated. There was no way that one person would be able to dodge the alarms and bodyguards and make it inside the property without being caught.

  Given the remoteness, a full-on armed assault would have worked. That, however, wasn’t an option open to her. She was good with a gun, but so were the three men inside.

  Thankfully, there was another option. She couldn’t be certain it would work but her instinct told her it would.

  Perhaps the greatest weakness in any man was his ego. And Dimitri Semenov was no ordinary man. Not anymore. He was a billionaire, and had the ego to go with it. Like the other oligarchs he had labored under the delusion that he was somehow self-made. That the vast fortune he had accumulated had come from his own abilities. That somehow he was unique, an intellectual king among peasants.

  That was his weakness, and she would use it against him. Why go to all the trouble of disabling alarm systems and picking locks when there was a much simpler, more elegant way?

  She came to the driveway that led down a shallow slope to Glasnost. Stepping off before she was picked up by the s
ecurity cameras mounted at the entrance, she hunkered down, out of sight, and settled in to wait.

  Dimitri clinked the crystal tumbler with his salad fork. He sat at the head of the table in the dining room, Anastasia to his right, Lock to his left, and Elizabeth at the other end. They had been joined by a family who also had a vacation home nearby and a daughter close to Anastasia’s age.

  The atmosphere between Dimitri and his wife was the best Lock had seen. He had no idea whether it would last, but the arguments and petty sniping appeared to have fallen away since they’d left the city. It was good to see, if for no other reason than that their daughter already had enough on her plate without adding warring parents to the mix.

  “So, I would like to propose a toast.” He signaled to the housekeeper to fill shot glasses with Russian vodka. “You and you can have lemonade.” Dimitri pointed to Anastasia and her friend’s glasses as everyone laughed.

  “Lemonade for me too,” said Lock. “I’m on duty later.”

  “Very good,” said Dimitri. “Three lemonades and vodka for everyone else. Now, the toast.”

  He stood up and raised his glass, looking at Anastasia.

  “We,” he began, “are a family of fighters, and there is no greater fighter at this table than my daughter, Anastasia. Not even Mr. Lock here.”

  Lock raised his freshly filled tumbler of lemonade. “No argument from me.”

  “Today, we received some very good news from Anastasia’s oncologist at Mount-Sinai,” said Dimitri.

  Lock was watching Elizabeth, tearing up at the end of the table. She reached across and rubbed her daughter’s arm.

  “Our beautiful brave daughter is in remission. A toast! To Anastasia!”

  Everyone raised their glasses as Anastasia beamed.

  “Anastasia!” they all toasted.