by Ty Patterson
Yuri moistened his lips nervously. ‘We can’t say all that, boss, not in a newspaper. They’ll sue us for libel.’
Gorbunov’s brows came together. ‘We already accused them. This isn’t new,’ he thundered.
‘We informed their board and their lawyers. Going to a newspaper, that’s making it public. They’ll—’
‘Bah. You think I’m scared of their court cases? These Americans. They run to their courts at the first sign of trouble. Patten will know how a Russian fights. We don’t go to courts. Do it.’ He snapped his fingers and Yuri scurried out.
A man in a dark suit entered the office just as Yuri left.
Daniel Lavrov was Gorbunov’s most trusted man. A lawyer by profession, he was the Russian’s chief advisor and had been with him ever since Gorbunov had started out in Russia, as a street thug.
‘You told him?’
‘Da.’ Gorbunov crossed his elegantly shod feet on the desk and watched his friend peer out the window.
The apartment overlooked the west side of the park and was one of the most coveted units in the city.
Several buyers had been bidding for it when it had come on the market. Gorbunov had doubled the asking price and, after acquiring it, had invited national newspapers and media companies for a party.
He’d been making a statement. Valentine Gorbunov had arrived in America.
Soon after the apartment’s acquisition, he’d formed Salaluga Corporation in America, the vehicle for his investments, and started buying mining companies in the US.
And then, he had set his sights on Cole Patten and Chisholm Corporation.
‘Not even two years. We have come far, Valentine,’ Lavrov mused as he sipped at the black tea a flunky had brought.
‘Yes, brat. America is not very different from our home country, though,’ Gorbunov laughed. ‘They called us mafia there. They call us the same here.’
‘You have to be careful with that side of the business, Valentine.’
‘We have been careful all our lives.’
Lavrov looked up at a slight sound.
A lean man rose from a couch in a far corner of the office. He had been lying so still that neither Yuri nor Lavrov had noticed him.
Novel Kirilov was Gorbunov’s hatchet man. His killer. He was the liaison between Gorbunov and the entire army of street soldiers that made up the Russian’s gang.
The Russian mafia didn’t have one gang or one boss. Like the Italian mafia in the US, it was made up of several gangs.
However, Gorbunov’s gang was the most prominent, and Russian mafia had become synonymous with Valentine Gorbunov.
The gang’s activities ran wide and deep, from bootlegging in Siberia, to contract killing in Moscow.
Like most modern criminal outfits, Gorbunov’s had diversified into legal businesses. He owned factories in Russia, oil companies, gas stations, restaurants, and chains of convenience stores.
It helped that his gang controlled the unions in the businesses he owned. A win-win for him.
Gorbunov had visited America several times, and after each visit, his desire to live in that country had grown.
His gang had already had operations in the region. Not just in America, but in Mexico, Canada, and South America.
Once the business with Chisholm Corporation, had gone south just over a couple of years back, he had been determined to move to America.
It had been relatively easy to secure the paperwork and the visas. He, Gorbunov, had never been arrested in Russia. Despite the rumors of his mafia association, or that he himself had killed several men, not one witness or Russian police officer had challenged him.
Gorbunov had connections. He had money, and his story was that he, a Russian billionaire, aimed to invest in America.
He found that the lubricants of money and connections worked in America too. Once he had settled in the new country, Kirilov and Lavrov had brought over his best men. Fifteen of them. All killers, but not ordinary hitters. These were intelligent men, who could blend into the new country, could speak the local language fluently, and didn’t look out of place.
Appearances mattered in America.
The killers reported to Kirilov alone. They didn’t interfere in the existing criminal operations. They were running smoothly, and there was no reason to change the status quo.
Gorbunov pushed back in his swivel chair and clasped his hands behind his head as Kirilov approached.
His ace killer was lean, pale, his skin tight around his cheekbones. His eyes were flat and never showed any emotion. His dark hair was cut short, and while he was dressed neatly in a suit, appearances didn’t matter to him.
Gorbunov had seen him effortlessly toss a portly man over the roof of a high-rise. The victim had been late in protection payments and had pleaded for time.
Kirilov didn’t negotiate. If he appeared at a scene, death had arrived. Usually in a painful form.
‘He went to a Columbus Avenue building,’ the killer spoke softly. He never raised his voice, not even in anger.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Some security consulting firm. Networks. People. Offices. Hostage negotiation. That kind of work.’
Gorbunov stopped rocking in his chair. ‘Why would Patten go there?’
‘There are two women in that office. Twins. They have a reputation. Good investigators.’
‘Like private detectives?’
‘Da.’
‘He’s hired them to check out his identity. Maybe investigate us as well.’
‘Da. That seems likely.’ Kirilov brought out his phone and showed several photographs to Gorbunov.
The Petersens from various interviews. In their SUV.
‘Who’s this?’ Gorbunov pointed to one picture of a black man and a blond man.
‘Two employees. Ex-Army.’
‘They’re involved?’
‘Don’t know. I will get some equipment in their offices.’
Equipment meant surveillance devices. Kirilov wasn’t a conversationalist. He used words differently.
‘You’ll be careful?’
The killer didn’t answer. He returned to his couch and went back to his passive state.
‘Cole Patten won’t know what hit him,’ Gorbunov gloated to Lavrov.
‘Once his share price tanks, after today’s press release, he will come running to me. And then he’ll find out what I really want.’
Chapter Seven
Cole Patten was at his desk the next day when Ken Farrell came into his office.
‘How’re you holding up?’
‘Like a punch-drunk boxer.’ Patten grimaced.
Ever since Salaluga Corporation’s press release, he had been taking calls. From business associates and investors. From the few friends he had, and most importantly, from his board. His board demanded answers and a swift and satisfactory closure to the scandal.
‘We might have to act,’ his chairman had told him ominously. ‘Otherwise…’
Patten knew what that action would be. He would be stripped of his title, his shareholding taken away. Criminal proceedings would follow.
Farrell picked up the remote on Patten’s desk and turned off the wall-mounted TV that was on mute.
The media had gone into a feeding frenzy since the story had caught everyone’s attention.
Talk show hosts filled their programs with ‘experts’ who passed judgment on Patten and Chisholm.
The scrutiny took its toll on the company’s share price. It was at an all-time low, perfectly priced for Salaluga to snap it up.
‘Can’t we do anything? Go on the offensive?’ the CEO asked his lawyer.
‘We’ve already shot off cease-and-desist letters to the Russians. Threatened to sue them.’
‘Posturing?’
‘Yes.’ Farrell dropped into a chair opposite his client. ‘That’s all we’ve got. I have more bad news.’
‘What?’
‘We no longer represent the company. Your chairman call
ed me early in the morning. Said it would be a conflict of interest. Followed it with a letter.’
He drew it out of his breast pocket and slid it across the desk.
Cole Patten didn’t pick it up. A haunted look appeared on his face.
‘What options do I have?’
‘Prove who you are,’ Farrell replied grimly.
‘I’m waiting for the Petersens to get back to me.’ He raised his hands helplessly.
‘They aren’t the only investigators in the whole country. For Christ’s sake, Cole—’
The door burst open and Beth and Meghan Petersen strode in.
Farrell jumped. ‘How did you get in? Cole, call security. They can’t barge in here.’
‘Down.’ Meghan pointed with a finger and drilled the billionaire with a cold stare. ‘There’s history between you and Gorbunov. What’s it?’
Sighing, Cole Patten rose and closed the door. He crossed his arms and leaned against a bookshelf.
‘Valentine Gorbunov was my father’s partner.’
‘Keep talking,’ Meghan replied curtly without missing a beat.
‘Ken knows the backstory better. I heard it from him.’
‘What do you know of Valentine Gorbunov?’ Farrell said, taking his cue, replacing his angry expression with a lawyerly one—bland, and patronizing.
What I wouldn’t give to sock him in the chin and wipe away that condescending look…
Meghan hoped her thoughts didn’t show on her face. ‘Why don’t you tell us?’ she challenged him.
‘Gorbunov grew up in Salaluga.’ Farrell adjusted his cufflinks and flicked a speck of lint from his lapel. ‘A town a hundred miles east of Moscow. A mining town, once. Then the mines disappeared, and what remained was high unemployment, and bands of thugs. Gorbunov belonged to one such gang. He joined it when he was very young. Pickpocketing, assault, robbery, those were his occupations. Of course, none of this is proven, you know. There was an unauthorized biography of him a few years back. I’m quoting from it.’
Meghan made a discreet hand sign to her sister when Beth fidgeted.
Let him speak.
They had let Werner loose on the Russian and had studied the thick dossier the supercomputer had produced before coming to Patten’s office. The lawyer wasn’t telling them anything new.
Let him have his moment.
‘The petty crimes graduated to more serious ones. He’s rumored to have had his first kill at the age of eleven. When he was thirteen, he met one Eldar Sokolov. Sokolov was a member of the Communist Party’s Youth Wing. Sokolov was eighteen then. The two became close friends, the criminal and this youth worker. Sokolov became Gorbunov’s mentor. Got him to move away from crime. Encouraged him to get into business. Approved of the young Gorbunov getting into steel and automobile factories. The two grew up, and you know what happened to Sokolov.’
‘He’s the Russian president. And Gorbunov didn’t quit crime. He became more sophisticated,’ Beth replied drily.
‘Gorbunov and Billy Patten. How did they meet?’ Meghan asked the lawyer.
‘You asked where Billy Patten got the funds from. To buy the mine.’
‘And Patten said it was from his mother’s family.’
‘That’s right. What he didn’t tell you was that when he was scouting the mines, he met another investor.’
‘Gorbunov?’
‘Yeah. The young Russian met the war-weary Billy Patten in Chisholm. Before Gorbunov moved to the USA for good. Both he and Billy Patten were interested in the same mine. They liked each other, to the extent that they struck a deal. They would become partners. Pool their funds and buy the mine and operate it together.’
‘I thought you said he had no money then.’
‘He didn’t.’ Farrell gave a wintry smile. ‘But he was no fool. He had taken a loan out on his house. Used that to make a deposit on the mine. That gave him right of first refusal. He would lose that deposit if he didn’t make good on the purchase. And he would lose the house too. However, he didn’t tell Gorbunov all this. He gave the impression he was sufficiently funded. The two shook hands over their agreement. The Russian went back to his country to dispatch his share of the funds, while Billy formed Chisholm Corporation, the holding company, to acquire the mine.’
‘And then Billy Patten got the investment from Rachel’s family, and Gorbunov was no longer required.’
‘That’s right, ma’am. The Russian felt he had been betrayed. There were heated phone calls and at least one angry meeting that I know of, but the ship had sailed.’
‘Why now?’ Beth shook her head unconsciously. ‘Something doesn’t feel right. Why’s Gorbunov going all-out now? After all these years?’
‘There’s something else—’
‘That you didn’t tell us?’ she snarled and whirled on the CEO. ‘Patten, if you want us to help you, you and your flunky better come clean. About everything.’
‘You can’t talk to us like that.’ Farrell stood up angrily, his face turning red. ‘We have been polite with you, but the two of you are acting like prima donnas.’
‘Are you done?’ Beth’s eyes could have frozen the Sahara.
Farrell clamped his lips tight and darted a glance at Patten. The CEO looked unsettled and out of his depth. He motioned for his lawyer to sit down and turned to the sisters.
‘You came to us.’ Beth’s hand jabbed the air like a fencing sword. ‘You want us to help you, you tell us everything. Every little detail about what exactly happened.’
‘I met Gorbunov, just over a couple of years back.’ Patten ran a hand through his hair wearily. Gone was the façade of a man in control. He looked hunted and desperate. ‘In D.C., at a conference. He introduced himself. Suggested we merge our companies. I would stay on as CEO. The combined group would be the largest steel business in the world.
‘I laughed it off. Didn’t take him seriously. He didn’t take it well. He brought up the gentleman’s agreement with Dad. How my father had betrayed him. I knew none of it, at that point in time, and told him so. Even if I had, nothing would have changed.
‘I didn’t hear from him until he made that formal offer to my board. We declined it, and he then went hostile.’
‘Doesn’t answer my question,’ Beth rapped out. ‘Why now, after all these years?’
‘China,’ Meghan surmised, recollecting the dossier Werner had put together on Chisholm and Patten. ‘You made your first acquisition in China, one of the largest steel plants there. The Chinese government made a big deal about it. They gave you the red-carpet treatment.’
‘Yes.’ Patten smiled faintly, recovering his poise. ‘Chinese steel is everywhere. Chinese companies are on an acquisition spree. We went out and bought this company, and it changed our fortunes. We were now able to ship steel at a lower price than before. We were able to compete with the Chinese on their terms.’
‘Your share price rocketed up. You became the hottest steel company on the planet, and that got Gorbunov’s attention,’ she concluded.
‘Yes.’ He paused and asked hesitantly, ‘You will help me?’
‘Yeah.’ She didn’t need to look in her sister’s direction for confirmation. They could sense what the other was thinking. ‘We will. The same conditions apply. You don’t hide anything.’
‘Deal.’ Patten shook hands with them, his face lightening.
‘What swung you?’ Farrell asked them.
Meghan gave him a wicked smile. ‘We don’t like Russian gangsters.’
She rose, Beth joining her, and prepared to leave.
At the door, she turned back and fired a last volley at Patten and Farrell.
‘Just so we’re clear, we don’t care about Chisholm. We are interested in finding out who you are.’
Chapter Eight
The sisters had taken only a few steps to the mirror-polished elevator doors when Meghan caught Beth’s sleeve and halted her.
‘You notice something? Those dudes were missing.’
‘Th
e heavies? Yeah. I didn’t see them either.’
They turned back and, for the second time in the day, flung Patten’s door open unceremoniously.
The two men started and turned in their direction.
‘Your goons—where are they? You know what they did?’
Farrell took a step forward and then stopped on seeing Meghan’s set face. ‘We heard of it, ma’am. You didn’t have to…’
His voice trailed off when she raised her hand to silence him.
‘You talk too much, Farrell. I guess you get paid by the word. I wasn’t talking to you.’
She looked beyond the lawyer at Patten. ‘Why were they following us?’
He looked away in embarrassment. ‘I wanted to know what you would do. That could help me influence you.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I fired them.’
‘Because we spotted them. If they were that good, we shouldn’t have noticed them, right?’
His silence was her answer.
‘We’ll break the legs of the next heavy who follows us.’
Beth winked at her when she slammed the door shut, and they returned to the elevator.
Their vehicle was in the basement parking garage, a cavernous space that held several other vehicles.
It was empty of people, however, and their steps echoed as they went swiftly to the SUV.
Meghan was fishing for the keys, and Beth was circling to the passenger side, when two shadows emerged from behind another SUV.
Meghan whirled instantly and flung her bag away when she recognized them.
The heavies.
‘Beth,’ she warned her sister.
‘You don’t make us look like fools,’ the one in the front growled as he advanced threateningly.
‘Back off. You’ll get hurt,’ she ordered, force and authority in her voice, as her sister joined her.
The two of them crabbed sideways until they were no longer backed up against their vehicle.
Open space behind them. The thugs in front. Menace in the air.
‘You heard what she said, Joe? We’ll get hurt,’ the heavy scoffed.