by Andrew Grant
“I think this chart sums the position up perfectly.” The executive pointed to the final slide on the iPad he’d perched on the edge of Walcott’s desk. “As you can clearly see, if our recommendation is implemented without delay, the country will benefit to the tune of five point seven billion manat over the next five years.”
Walcott’s face remained impassive. “So the country benefits. I take it your company benefits. But who else benefits from your scheme?”
“It’s funny you should ask that.” An oily smile spread across the guy’s face. “You see, in the course of testing the feasibility of the technological aspects of our proposal, we happened to carry out several field studies in a remote part of Uganda, in Africa. While we were there, we stumbled across a small colony of Rothschild’s giraffes. Now, these animals are very rare, as you may know. They’re critically endangered, in fact. As responsible citizens, we would like to help them. If we’re awarded this contract, we’ll be able to generate sufficient funds to bring a breeding pair to a safer country. Say, here. Although we’d still need to find suitable accommodation for the animals, so I was wondering if the president, given his particular experience in these matters, could perhaps suggest somewhere? Maybe I could put the question to him, if we have the opportunity to take the project forward?”
“Maybe you could.” Walcott leaned back and steepled his fingers. “If you have the opportunity. However, you’d be surprised how many proposals have crossed my desk recently. All of them offering to flood the country’s coffers. And all of their sponsors having coincidentally come across an exotic animal in need of relocation. So. What else do you have to offer?”
“Well, I truly believe our package is the most well rounded, if considered in its entirety.” The guy tipped his head to the side. “Perhaps if you had more time to assess it, you’d agree? If you were studying it in more conducive surroundings? Say, on our corporate yacht? It’s currently moored off Santorini, Greece. There’s a helipad on board. You could fly out tomorrow and go anywhere you want in the Mediterranean. Or the Aegean. And you could stay as long as you want. I mean, you could take as long as you need to properly assess the benefits of the proposal for the country.”
“I hope you’re not trying to bribe me with a free vacation. My assessment is purely economic. As things stand, I can’t recommend what you’re proposing. You simply haven’t provided enough detail. However, if I had access to all your figures and assumptions, and uninterrupted time to study them, perhaps that could change.”
The guy smiled. “I can have all the information you need, here, first thing in the morning.”
“Good.” Walcott nodded. “Send the information. By close of business tomorrow will be fine. But don’t bring it yourself.”
“Why not?” The guy swallowed hard. “I put the proposal together. I’m the best placed to explain the intricacies.”
“When you came to give your preliminary presentation last month, you brought two colleagues with you. Two young women.”
“With respect, I don’t think that’s right. My boss and I presented last time.”
“I’m not talking about the presenters.”
“Oh. OK. Now I know who you mean. But those girls are just interns. They have no detailed knowledge of our systems. No authority to make changes to our offer.”
“I understand that. And I want them here tomorrow, or there’ll be no deal.”
“You’re saying, if the girls come, we get access to the president?”
“Not necessarily. Whether matters progress depends on the girls’…demeanor. There’s no guarantee. But I can tell you this. If they don’t come, you definitely have no chance.”
The guy was silent for a moment. “OK. I think I can make that happen. But the girls, they’re very young. I wouldn’t want to send them anywhere they might not be…safe.”
“What do you mean?” Walcott leaned forward. “Why might they not be safe?”
“Well, there are rumors about things that might have happened on other occasions.” The guy closed his eyes for a moment. “No one mentioned your name, of course, Mr. Walcott, but they’re the kind of thing that makes me worried.”
“I see. Who did you hear these rumors from?”
“I’m not trying to make trouble for anyone. I’m just looking out for my interns. As long as they’ll be safe, I’m happy to send them along.”
“Good. Tell them to be here at 5:00 P.M. They should be prepared to work late. Now, who’s been spreading these rumors?”
“I don’t like to say.”
“Who?” Walcott banged his fist on the desk. “Look. Do you want the president to hear your proposal, or not?”
“It was Tarlan Huseynov.”
“OK. Thank you. Now, tell your girls not to be late.”
* * *
—
Walcott waited for ten seconds after the door closed, then hit a speed-dial key on his phone. His call was answered on the first ring.
“Connect me with Minister Balayev, right away. This is Mr. Walcott with the president’s office.”
The call was transferred and a man’s voice came on the line.
“Rigel? This is Ramil. How’s business?”
“You know. Can’t complain. Now, Ramil, listen. I need your help. There’s a guy, Tarlan Huseynov. Some energy company executive. I heard he’s been spreading salacious rumors about me. There’s a chance he’s being set up by one of his rivals, I guess. But talk to him anyway, would you? See if there’s anything to the story?”
VII
ONE YEAR AGO
“Bu lanet görünüşdən nifrət edirəm!” The woman turned away from the window and stamped her foot, causing the giant shiny telescope to rattle on its stand.
“In English, Nataliya.” Madatov looked up from his laptop and glared at her. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
“You know what I’m saying.” Nataliya marched across to the couch and flung herself down in the corner opposite another woman, who could almost be her twin. “I hate this fucking view!”
“Tell me something new.” Madatov closed the computer. “Anyway, the view’s not that bad. Would you rather be in Baku?”
“I would, actually, yes.” Nataliya crossed her arms tight across her chest. “If that meant we weren’t living like we were in a jail.”
“If I hadn’t brought you here, you would be in a jail. Or in a graveyard. So shut up and stop complaining.”
“Like you brought us here as a favor.” Nataliya pulled her throw around herself. “Why can’t we at least move to the top floor? You can see the water from up there. A little bit.”
“I’ve told you a thousand times.” Madatov cracked his knuckles. “The center of the building is the safest. We shouldn’t even be on the street side, so count your blessings.”
“Couldn’t we just—”
“No.”
“But—”
Madatov’s phone rang, and he held up his hand for silence before answering. “Yes. Good. I’m glad you could get here. You know the address? Good. My man will pick you up outside in ten minutes. Then I’ll see you at the venue soon after that.”
“Was that the poor guy?” Nataliya’s voice had softened.
“It was.” Madatov stood and slipped his phone into his pocket. “The deal’s on. Go downstairs. Get the girl. The new one. Make sure she’s ready. Then take her over and get her situated. Collect Mahir on the way. Check he’s had his blue pill. And make sure you’re not followed. I’ll meet you there.”
* * *
—
The sign above the double doors read The Rose Garden in handwriting-style script, with its letters boxed in by intertwined red and pink flowers. Madatov didn’t like it. He didn’t like the name, either. He’d inherited it along with the business when the previous operator took involuntary retirement. H
e’d planned to change it, but had never thought of anything better. It wasn’t a high priority—it wasn’t like he could advertise the place—but it still annoyed him every time he went there. He scowled, then worked the lock and went inside.
The air was heavy with the scent of artificial flowers. It was another thing Madatov didn’t like, but he’d once tried switching off the machine that produced the fragrance and had found that the room’s underlying odor was even less pleasing. He suppressed a sneeze, then turned to Nataliya, who was already inside, waiting. She’d come in through the staff entrance and was now sitting on one of the couches in the center of the room with her feet up on the coffee table. She was wearing red stilettos, mainly because she hated having her toes on display. The sight of all the old ballet scars always reminded her how different her life could have been without people like Madatov taking control of it.
“All set?” Madatov stopped in front of her.
Nataliya nodded.
“Which room are they in?”
She gestured over her left shoulder.
There was a full bar to the side of the main entrance. Two doors in the wall to the left. Three in the back wall. And two in the wall to the right. All had cutesy little nameplates covered with more pictures of roses, starting with Sundance on the door nearest to the bar. Then there was Angel Face, The Fairy, Double Delight, China Doll—the one Nataliya had indicated—Sleeping Beauty, and finally Daddy’s Little Girl. That one was reserved for a particular clientele, and Nataliya did her best not to think about the kind of things they paid to do.
“OK, good.” Madatov checked his watch. “We should still have a few minutes. Want a drink?” He crossed to the bar, took a bottle of Moët from the fridge, opened it, and grabbed two glasses.
“Do we have to do it this way?” Nataliya shifted her feet to the floor and leaned forward. “It’s so fucking qəddar.”
“Speak English!” Madatov handed her a glass. “And yes. We have to do it this way. There’s more money in it. Unless you want to go back to work. Make up the difference on your back.”
“I want to kill you, you bastard.” Nataliya put her drink down, untouched.
Madatov laughed, but before he could reply his phone beeped. He checked the text, then drained his glass. “They’re on their way up. Come on. Get ready. It’s showtime.”
* * *
—
The doors swung open and a guy hurried into the room, taking short urgent steps. He wasn’t much under six feet tall, but he seemed far smaller because there was hardly any meat on him at all. His face was almost as gray as the cheap, shiny suit he was wearing. His chestnut hair was shaggy and unkempt. His eyes were wild, flickering around the room from Madatov to Nataliya to the sets of bawdy pictures on the walls without ever settling on anything in particular. All in all he had the look of a weak animal that knew it was about to become something else’s prey. It didn’t help that he was followed inside by Madatov’s giant ape of a security guy.
“Mr. Garayev.” Madatov stepped forward. “It’s so nice to meet you in person. Can I offer you a drink? Champagne, perhaps, to celebrate your impending reunion with your wife?”
“Yuliya? Is she here?” Garayev’s eyes were still dancing around the room. “Can I see her?”
“She’s here.” Madatov smiled reassuringly. “And you can see her very soon. Assuming we can work out the outstanding business arrangements. You brought the money?”
Garayev’s eyes widened for a moment, then he unslung the duffel bag from his shoulder and held it out. “Here it is. Of course.”
Madatov tipped the bag’s contents onto the coffee table, gave them a cursory glance, then turned back with a puzzled expression creasing his face. “Mr. Garayev, what’s going on? I thought you wanted to take your wife home today.”
“I do! It’s our little girl’s birthday at the end of the week. She’s back home with my mother, and I need to book flights and arrange our travel.”
The lines bit deeper into Madatov’s forehead.
“What?” Garayev gestured toward the table. “The money’s all there. Count it! Please. It’s what we agreed.”
Madatov covered his eyes with his palms for a moment, then shook his head. “Oh, Mr. Garayev, didn’t you listen? The amount we talked about, that was for travel and accommodation only. If you want to take her home, I’ll need a matching contribution for the loss of future earnings. I’m not running a charity here, you know.”
“I don’t have any more.” Garayev’s breathing was becoming fast and shallow. “I’ve given you everything.”
“OK, well, don’t get upset.” Madatov flashed a cheery smile. “It’s not the end of the world. We’ve still made progress here. Yuliya can work off the rest, and then be with you in half the time. I’m sure she’ll be grateful for that, at least. She has seemed a little homesick, to tell you the truth.”
“No!” Garayev’s hands balled themselves into fists. “Please. I’m desperate. Let me take her home today. I’ll pay you whatever you want. I just need time.”
“How much time?” Madatov tipped his head to the side.
“I don’t know. Two months, maybe? I will pay you. I swear.”
“Two months is a long time.”
“OK. Six weeks. No. A month. Give me a month!”
“A month might be doable.”
“Oh, thank you.” Garayev closed his eyes for a moment. “Thank you. I’ll get you the money, I promise. Now, please, can I see Yuliya?”
“You want to see her?” Madatov raised his eyebrows. “OK. Follow me.”
Madatov led the way to the door marked Double Delight. He pushed it open, then stood aside to allow Garayev to go through first. The space was long and narrow, more like a generous closet than a room. Its walls were painted flat cream. The wooden floor had been recently polished. There was a pair of couches, back to back along the center, facing wide windows that were covered with closed venetian blinds. The couches looked solid and were finished with smooth gray upholstery beneath a protective layer of clear vinyl. There was a wooden table at either end, each holding a family-size box of Kleenex, and next to those, on the floor, was a plastic trash can with a swinging lid.
“I don’t understand.” Garayev turned back toward the door and almost tripped over his own feet. “What is this place? Where’s Yuliya?”
“You’ll see her in a minute.” Madatov perched on the arm of one of the couches. “But before you do, there are some things it’s important for you to be clear about. First, Yuliya’s staying here till you pay me whatever amount we agree on. Second, if it takes you a month to come up with the money, Yuliya’s working for that month. I’m not giving out free food and shelter. And third, this is what working looks like.” He stood up and opened the blind on the right-hand side.
“Yuliya.” Garayev almost whispered her name, then stretched out and touched the glass. “Oh my God.”
Yuliya was lying on a bed. She was on her back. Her arms were above her head, handcuffed to a brass headboard. Her long black hair was fanned out across the pillow. Her face would have been pretty, if not for her vacant, stoned expression. She was wearing only a tiny pair of plain white panties, and there was a bite mark on her right breast. Madatov rapped on the window and a man came into view. He was naked, and his Viagra was clearly doing its job.
“No!” Garayev screamed and made as if to punch the glass, but the security guy wrapped his arms around Garayev’s chest and pulled him back.
“I should maybe explain something. Your wife was a little unruly at first, so we allocated her to a certain subset of clients. Those, shall we say, who are particularly large. And who like it rough.” Madatov rapped on the glass again and the guy climbed onto the bed.
“Stop him!” Garayev was struggling to break free from the security guy’s monstrous arms. “Make him stop. I’ll pay you anythi
ng.”
“Anything?” Madatov turned to stare at Garayev. “How about double the outstanding amount?”
“Yes.” Garayev nodded frantically. “Double. No problem.”
“In one week?”
“OK. Yes. One week.” Garayev nodded again. “I’ll get the money. Somehow.”
“Good boy.” Madatov patted him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d see sense.”
“But you’ve got to stop that guy.” Garayev finally wriggled one arm free and pointed to the window. Right now. Before he touches Yuliya. And then don’t make her do that anymore. Because I’ll pay you. I swear.”
“I believe you will pay me.” Madatov cracked his knuckles. “But here’s the thing. If you want me to bench her for a whole week, that’ll cost you more. Say, triple the outstanding amount.”
Garayev’s eyes widened and he was having trouble catching his breath.
Madatov rapped on the glass and the guy leaned down, tore Yuliya’s panties off her inert body, and threw them to the floor.
“OK!” Garayev was almost choking. “Triple. I can do it. Just make him stop.”
* * *
—
Nataliya didn’t speak when she got back to the apartment after dealing with Yuliya, and she wouldn’t set foot in the lounge where Madatov was stretched out on one of the couches. She pointedly ignored him, and stormed straight into the kitchen. Madatov thought she was sulking, maybe thinking back to the time he’d bought her freedom. Though that would be pretty ungrateful, given that they weren’t even married and he’d also freed Nataliya’s friend—and now flatmate—Mariya when she’d asked him to. But Madatov was satisfied with the extra profit he’d just made, so he decided not to pick a fight. He opened up his laptop and focused instead on the delivery service menus. Successful business always made him hungry, and he was still debating whether to order Thai or pizza when Nataliya slipped out of the kitchen, headed down the corridor, and ducked into Mariya’s room.