Napoleon Great-Great-Grandson Speaks

by Rafael Grugman

  According to his tax form, Grisha worked for a private security firm at La Guardia Airport. I made inquiries. His duties included «X-raying» those bags that the passengers intended to carry on board the plane as hand luggage. In spite of the economic crisis and unemployment that followed after September Eleventh, airports were one place where thousands of new job openings were created. It was three-shift work and poorly paid; but it was stable, with medical insurance for the whole family.

  From my house to Grisha's was about two miles-it was strange that we had never once met in Brighton Beach. In a car, even taking into account traffic lights and traffic jams-about five minutes; six at the maximum. We hadn't met-and thank God.

  The other question-but it was beyond the bounds of my competence, since there was nothing criminal about it-was why Sophia had carried her legally-gotten millions out of America. We will put a notch in our memory. The topic is closed. As Sandy says, «It is not our business.»

  YURY SHCHEKOCHIKHIN. MURDER OR ACCIDENT?

  Gulya was in New York when an e-mail announcement arrived from Sophia that the accusation of complicity in terrorist organizations had been withdrawn, and she was allowed to go free. However, until the conclusion of the investigation in which she was to be a witness, she was required to stay in Paris. Secondly, Sophia spoke of her mom-was there any new information? And explained: for over three months-since the moment of her arrest-she had received no news. Not a word about Grisha. As though he didn't exist. Incidentally, I hadn't counted on her bringing him up. It wasn't in her rules to confess to her sins until she was caught red-handed.

  I shared this with Gulya-to play against Sophia as equals without feminine assistance was useless. Gulya flared up, having taken the mention of her «rival» to heart. Once she'd let off some steam, she cooled down and suggested putting on a show.

  «Provoke her. Answer her letter. Don't be miserly with words; you can show her a little attention. I give my permission. Discuss her mom, France. Bring up the fact that you happened to meet a man who looked superficially like Doroshenko. You were standing on the subway platform waiting for the F train. The N came in, the door opened, and someone who looked very like him was in the compartment. You called out to him, but the doors closed and the train pulled out. It'll ring true. Ask what she knows of Grisha. We'll see how she reacts.»

  I didn't try to follow her latest recommendation-I was afraid of scaring off Sophia by bringing up Grisha's name too soon.

  The promise made to Sophia in Paris remained unfulfilled. FBI channels had no information about Klara Yakovlevna's fate. Twice I called up Shchekochikhin, and, stuttering a little, he repeated that he was in touch with people who specialized in mediation in negotiations about the ransom of hostages, and was waiting for results.

  The second conversation ended with a counter-request: «I'm the Deputy Chairman of the Security Committee of the Russian State Duma. At present, I'm investigating corruption in the State Customs Committee. I need reliable information on the illegal export of capital. Can you help me?»

  Without stopping to think, I answered, «I'll try.»

  «With enviable persistence, the General Prosecutor's Office is sabotaging the investigation on contraband furniture. First they closed it. There lacks, they said, a corpus delicti. After a parliamentary inquiry, they reopened the case and are quietly putting on the brakes.»

  Shchekochikhin dictated several surnames and continued, «The 'Bank of New York' case is being tried in the Federal court of the State of New York. I've made use of my acquaintance with the chief FBI representative in Moscow, John Di Stasio, and sent an inquiry to FBI Director Robert Mueller. But I think a journalist colleague can get the job done faster.»

  I grinned. I couldn't inform him that, in turning to me, he had wound up at the same shop. Only not through the front door, but through the delivery entrance. The investigation of currency machinations connected with the «Bank of New York» was being conducted by a special subdivision of the FBI, and I knew that serious accusations had been leveled against a number of the bank employees, my former compatriots. However, I asked, pretending to be uninformed, «How is the 'Bank of New York' business connected to the investigation of the contraband furniture trade?»

  «Documents have arrived from Germany confirming that the Benex Company, via the 'Bank of New York,' transferred $4,676,000 to a German firm. The money went to finance the construction in Moscow of the Grand and Three Whales shopping centers. The contrabandists' profits came to as much as ten million dollars.»

  «A pretty penny.»

  «We have to help the Attorney General,» said Yuri caustically. «With the blessing of the Customs officers, ninety percent of imports are going right past the cash register. The tax inspection-a financial pillar of the government-is surprisingly near-sighted. Everybody's rubbing their hands with glee, from the rank-and-file inspector to the General Prosecutor. You wouldn't believe what's going on here.»

  «I can guess.»

  «I really don't think so. Today, any big business is reminiscent of an iceberg. Its tip is the hundred-percent 'clean' companies, fussily paying all their taxes. Below those are the intermediary companies, semitransparent; still lower-a hole, the fly-by-nights. Before the goods reach the consumer, they go down a long chain. The hole is necessary in order for there to be a break in the chain at some stage. Can you guess what for? Money falls into the hole; and, in times of need, it gets pulled out. In reality, nobody pays their taxes in full. Remember, in ninety-six, in the heat of preparations for the second round of elections for President of Russia, a member of Yeltsin's election staff was arrested on his way out of the Government Building with a Xerox box, in which there turned out to be five hundred thousand dollars, no more, no less? There were no accompanying documents. We ask, 'Where did the dough come from?'»

  «Out of a hole, of course,» I answered for him.

  Yura chuckled. «So, my dear friend, I am begging you: humor the Attorney General. Help the poor thing. There's only one hope remaining. In the West.»

  I couldn't take any action independently, and went to Lloyd for permission to talk with the guys who were disentangling the «Bank of New York» case. I didn't count on success. Operations involving transferring money from one bank to another feature the routing number and account number. Clients' surnames aren't revealed. If Yura had informed me of the precise account numbers, there would have been a chance to follow the route money had been moved along; and, even if the account owner wasn't a client of the bank, to try to find out his name. But to point a finger at the sky and ask, «What do you know about Mr. X?» only makes sense if it's known for certain that the gentleman under investigation is at that moment on a cloud that's floating above you. Otherwise, we give up.

  Yura might have answered the same way-that his informants had nothing to do with Abu al Walid. However, he had immediately agreed to help…

  Lloyd's permission came a day later. I got the opportunity to meet with the guys from the Finance Department, Frank and Harry, and ask them the questions that I was interested in.

  First, they gave me a brief introduction to the case. It turned out that it involved, not millions, but billions of dollars. The General Prosecutor's Office of Russia, without denying the passage of a hundred billion, claimed that the capital being carried away was of legal origin. There were said to be no obvious violations: what was being used were offshore schemes, lowering the values of export contracts, raising the values of import contracts, and so on.

  Unlike my colleagues, who were perplexed by the General Prosecutor's Office's position, I smiled condescendingly. Everything turned out to be familiar, just like in the well-known song, «I knew my sweetheart by his gait,» and besides a sarcastic smile, elicited no emotional response. I politely heard Frank out, and asked whether the names given me by Yura were showing up in the material. And if the answer should turn out to be positive, in how much detail I might report it to the Deputy Chairman of the Security Committee of the Russia
n State Duma.

  Frank took a cursory glance at the list and promised to prepare an answer. I wasn't counting on more than that.

  …What to write Sophia about Klara Yakovlevna? Shchekochikhin was silent. Say nothing for a while? Risky. I might lose the single thread that allowed me to maintain a fragile bond with Sophia.

  A phone call from Moscow in the middle of the night dispelled my doubts.

  «Klara Yakovlevna died.»

  «When?!» I exclaimed.

  «Two months ago. The person through whom I located Abu al Walid's whereabouts has informed me that it can only be a question of reburial. It seems they treated her well; she was getting enough food and medicines; but, unfortunately, she had a massive heart attack. Instant death. They couldn't have saved her even at the Kremlin Hospital.»

  I was taken aback. Yura took my silence as a natural reaction to the sad news. He expressed his condolences and asked politely whether there was anything more he could help with. I thanked him for his sympathy…

  I rewrote the letter to Sophia three times. It's not so easy to inform a daughter of her mother's death. I said nothing about Doroshenko-in the situation that had evolved, to start talking about him would have been unethical. After many corrections, I sent off a letter of sympathy.

  The next day, Frank sent an announcement that he had dug up something for me. One of the functionaries named by Shchekochikhin, Mr. G. (for certain reasons, I am not at liberty to disclose his name) in June of 1998, paid a visit to the USA in a private capacity. He was invited by former vice-president of the London branch of the «Bank of New York,» Lucy Edwards, born Lyudmila Pritsker. There would have been nothing strange about Mr. G.'s visiting New York, if not for two circumstances. Firstly, Mrs. Edwards and her husband, Peter Berlin, had been accused of running illegal banking operations and laundering money for the Russian mafia. And, secondly- what sort of dough had a humble worker on the Customs Committee had, to acquire a super-expensive apartment in Manhattan? Bought with cash. The question is still open.

  Shchekochikhin's idea about a possible connection between two independent cases was borne out. I called Moscow. His family informed me that Yura had gone on assignment to Ryazan and would return by the weekend. If it was something urgent, they advised me to use a fax or e-mail. I scanned in the document certifying purchase and sale of the apartment, and sent it, along with detailed explanations, by e-mail.

  Yura answered with a short letter. He thanked me for the find and asked me to broaden the search-he gave the names of several high-placed employees of the General Prosecutor's Office. He promised to call on his return to Moscow. I asked for permission to work in the archives (I didn't want to keep bothering Frank), and, receiving the okay, started looking through the material.

  The married couple Edwards-Berlin had created fictitious companies, «Benex International Corporation» and «Banks International L.L.C.» The couple quartered both businesses in a one-room office on Queens Boulevard, rented in the name of the «Torfinex» corporation-yet another fly-by-night. Lucy was one of the leaders in both companies-serving in more than one position, she was vice-president of the London branch of the «Bank of New York.»

  From February, 1996 to July, 1999, nearly five billion dollars passed through «Benex,» mainly from Russia. «Banks» was more modest-it rolled over two billion. The fact that the fly-by-night firms had no banking license didn't bother the couple. We only live once.

  Almost all the money that was transferred to «Benex» and «Banks» accounts came from «Sobinbank» and DKB («Depozitarno-Kliringovy Bank»). Two schemes were used. The money either was passed from «Sobinbank» through «Bank of New York,» or «Sobinbank» transferred money to a corresponding DKB account in the same «Bank of New York.» From there, it went to «Benex» and «Banks» accounts.

  Orders for transfer were usually given by fictitious banks. The main one was «Sinex Bank.» It just disappeared. Between September, 1996 and February, 1997 alone, «Sinex» transferred more than six hundred million dollars from a «Sobinbank» account to «Benex» and «Banks» accounts. On the payments, it was indicated that «Sinex» was located in Cliffside Park in the state of New Jersey. To an FBI inquiry, the New Jersey authorities answered succinctly: «Sinex Bank» was not registered on New Jersey State territory. After that, according to the documents, «Sinex» migrated to Sydney. They made inquiries of Australia-such a bank did not exist. When Berlin opened a DKB account in the «Bank of New York,» in the course of two years, «Sinex» transferred nearly two-and-a-half billion dollars to accounts in «Benex» and «Banks.»

  I was reading documents. Names flashed by of phony banks and little-known Pacific island nations. Has anyone heard of Nauru? After all, it was there that «Sinex Bank» was first registered. And another fly-by-night bank-«Commercial Pacific Bank.» Or, for example, the nation of Vanuatu? Who's heard of it? A bank might be registered just as successfully on Alpha Centauri.

  Besides Lucy Edwards, yet another employee was in the spotlight in the «Bank of New York» case: Senior Vice-president for Eastern Europe Natalya Gurfinkel-Kagalovsky. Her husband, Konstantin Kagalovsky, represented Russia in the International Monetary Fund in1992-1995; and, after Mikhail Khodorkovsky, was the second person in Menatep. Don’t you see connections?

  Edwards and Berlin admitted their guilt and began actively cooperating with the investigation. Okay. Time to return to my own duties-the case of the «Bank of New York» didn't fall within the circle of my interests. The promise given to Shchekochikhin had been fulfilled.

  Before returning the folder to the archive, more from curiosity than a desire to catch anything, I started looking at the photos snapped during the search at the office on Queens Boulevard. What was my surprise when I saw that two photographs of a New Years' Eve party captured-together with Peter Berlin-Sophia. The blood pounded in my head.

  How had she come to be there?! At the time when she had returned to me and was making a show of love, promising to settle down and start fertility treatments, she was leading a double life! Oh, God! How blind I'd been! A trusting blockhead! How on earth had I managed to fall in love with a she-devil? As though there weren't any others-domestic, intelligent, and sexy!

  I was used to getting surprises from Sophia. But that she had gotten mixed up here, too! That was too much already! Her personal life had gone beyond the boundaries of the private and the inviolate.

  Lloyd heard my announcement with surprise, and gave an order to trace all stages of her American life without delay, beginning with her studies at Kingsborough Community College.

  After additional interrogations of Edwards and Berlin and searches for the relatives of the deceased old lady that Sophia had worked for as a companion, and an examination of the will, through which she had allegedly inherited the five-room condominium, the picture started to become clear.

  Sophia had not inherited any ten-million-dollar condominium. Moreover, she wasn't mentioned in the will at all. The question arose: how had she come to have the ten million? The answer was simple. She had stolen it. And the story about the will, she had thought up to pull the wool over my eyes. Which, by the way, she had succeeded in doing.

  From the interrogations of Edwards and Berlin:

  In the medical office where Sophia accompanied her employer once a week, in line to see the doctor, she made the acquaintance of Lucy Edwards. Sophia made a favorable impression on Lucy. The latter was on the lookout for an energetic Russian-speaking woman with a fluent command of English, who would fill the role of telephone secretary in both offices.

  They originally hired Sophia for a part-time workweek-from nine to one. Four times a week, from Monday to Thursday. That worked for both parties-after lunch, Sophia was busy with the old lady, while Lucy required time to check in on her and make final decisions. To be precise, it was Peter who looked in on her, since Lucy was almost never in the office-her primary employment was at the «Bank of New York.»

  Sophia made an impression on Berlin, too; and
, as he admitted to the investigator, a feeling of sympathy blossomed between them, leading to an easy, no-strings-attached flirtation. Berlin taught Sophia how to use the computer-she turned out to be an able pupil-and in time, he started giving her small jobs to do.

  The time difference between Moscow and New York is eight hours. The beginning of the workday in New York corresponds to the end of the workday in Moscow. And if it's necessary to clarify anything by telephone? To verify sums and addresses for items «received» and «dispatched»? Berlin asked Sophia to start work at seven in the morning; he himself was too lazy to get up early, and came in towards nine. By that time, it was necessary to prepare an account, and, if questions needed to be cleared up, to get in touch with the senders. Most often it was the Baltic region; more rarely, Moscow.

  Sophia was neat, painstaking, and, most important, devoted. So, in any case, it seemed to Berlin. Intimate relations, so he thought, strengthen trust; and, as much as opportunity allowed, he tried to attach this key employee more closely to himself.

  Lucy guessed the nature of their relations; but, in order to have documentary confirmation-mere suspicion of spousal infidelity wouldn't count-she hired a private detective. Soon she had in her hands a videotape showing flirting, a dinner at a restaurant, and a trip to a motel. I watched the tape from beginning to end. For understandable reasons, I will refrain from comment.

  Lucy, although she was upset, wasn't about to make a scene. She hid the tape in a safe-Peter was hooked-and feigned ignorance. Let him enjoy himself.

  As she later explained to the investigator, business is business. If Peter got enamored enough to lose his head and consider divorce, the question of dividing their assets would inevitably come up. A second variation: in case her own romance with a businessman from Yukos, whom she saw periodically in London, should surface. In any apportionment, the tape with evidence of her husband's infidelity would be a weighty argument in the hands of her lawyers. In the first case, she would «strip» him for as much as possible; in the second, she would weep and wail that her behavior was the revenge of a woman scorned. And, once again, she would rouse the judge to pity and win the biggest possible settlement.