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"I knew nothing of such things."
"You're a liar."
"That's for certain," Hurley said as he stood with the bag full of files and disks. He placed the rug back over the closed safe and while moving the chair back said, "You have their names, their accounts." Hurley shook the bag. "You knew exactly who you were dealing with."
"I was doing my job ... for the bank."
"Like a good Nazi." Hurley gave him a big smile and pointed the Beretta at Dorfman's head. "And I'm only doing my job." Hurley squeezed the trigger and sent a single bullet into Dorfman's brain. The man fell back against the hardwood floor with a thump that was louder than the gunshot. A puddle of blood began to seep out in all directions. Hurley looked at Rapp and said, "Let's get the fuck out of here. We need to be in Zurich by sunrise."
"What's in Zurich?"
"Same thing that's always in Zurich ... money and assholes."
CHAPTER 33
MOSCOW, RUSSIA
I VANOV carefully lowered himself into his chair at SVR headquarters in the Yasenevo District of Moscow. Last night had been a wild one. He had closed a very lucrative business deal. A group of foreign investors were looking to pick up some natural gas contracts and were willing to give Ivanov a seven-figure retainer and a nice piece of the action if he could guarantee the acquisition. Now all Ivanov had to do was talk some sense into one of his countrymen who had already made a nice profit on the fields. And if he couldn't talk some sense into him he would have Shvets and a crew of his loyal officers pay the man a call and make him an offer he couldn't refuse. Ivanov smiled as he thought of his favorite movie, The Godfather. He would very much like to meet Francis Ford Coppola some day. The man had captured the essence of power perfectly.
That was what Russia was all about in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union. The two systems were not, at the end of the day, all that different from each other. Both were corrupt to the core, and both systems served to line the pockets of the powerful. Under the old Soviet system, the inefficiencies were ridiculous. People who had no business holding a position of authority did so often, and their inability to make smart decisions doomed the communist experiment from the start. There was no motivation for the talented to rise to the top. In fact, it could be said that there was the opposite motivation. If you dared criticize the foolish systems put into place by some imbecile who held a post because he was the brother-in-law of an important official, you were more likely than not to get your meager pay cut. Everyone wallowed in that subaverage world except the lucky few.
Today things were dynamic. Money was to be made everywhere, and lots of it. Startup companies were popping up at an incredible rate and foreign investors were lining up to get into the game. The game, though, was a treacherous one. Remnants of the Soviet system were still in place, sucking off the system and causing a huge drain on the efficiency of the new economy. And then there were the corrupt courts, police, and security services. It was The Godfather, the Wild West, and 1920s gangster America all rolled into one.
These bankers and businessmen could either wallow in that inefficiency and red tape for months, costing them valuable time and money, or they could come to Ivanov and he could make their problems go away. Unlike the army of Jew lawyers who had descended on the city, who claimed they knew what they were doing, Ivanov could actually follow through on those claims and deliver real results to his new partners. And they were always partners. Depending on the deal, Ivanov would sometimes lower his fee, but never his percentage. The 10 percent ownership stake was non-negotiable.
He was not alone in this, and that was yet another parallel to the Academy Award-winning movie. There were others in Moscow and across the vast country who were doing the same thing, although, Ivanov would argue, not as well. Ivanov was not shy about touting the importance of his role in this brave new world, and defended it as a natural extension of his state security job. Someone needed to keep track of all these foreign investors and make sure they weren't stealing the Motherland's natural resources. After all, he was far more deserving of the profits than some twenty-five-year-old business-school graduate. At least that was what he told himself.
Shvets entered the office looking far too rested and handsome, which had the effect of worsening Ivanov's mood.
"Good morning, sir." Shvets remained standing. He knew better than to take a seat unless he was ordered.
"Get me some water," Ivanov grumbled.
While Shvets poured a glass he asked, "You look like you stayed out all night. Would you like some aspirin as well?"
"Yes." He snapped his long tanned fingers to spur his assistant to move faster. He could feel his headache passing from one temple to the other and then swinging back, as if he were being scanned by an irritating beam. He downed the three pills and the water. For a split second he thought of adding vodka. It would definitely help with the headache, but it was too early to surrender. Shvets and the new breed would take it as a sign of weakness.
"I heard you got them to agree in principle to the partnership."
"Yes," Ivanov moaned.
"Would you like me to have Maxim bring the contracts over?"
"Yes ... and so. I want to know when you are leaving for Beirut and who you're bringing with you."
"Tomorrow, and I'm bringing Alexei and Ivan."
Ivanov thought about that. Alexei and Ivan were two of his best. Former Spetsnaz, they'd fought with valor and distinction in Afghanistan but had gotten in trouble when their regiment's political officer had turned up with his throat cut one morning. They had more than likely done it. Political officers were notorious for being assholes, and in those final days of the USSR more than a few of them simply disappeared. Ivanov was always looking for men who were good with their hands, and these two were better than good. "Why Alexei and Ivan?"
"Because they're from Georgia and they look like they could be Lebanese."
That was true, but Ivanov didn't like having his two best gunmen leaving his side. In Moscow these days, the only thing you could count on was that sooner or later someone would try to take you out. It was just like the American mobsters. The vision of Sonny Corleone being mercilessly gunned down at the toll booth, betrayed by his own brother-in-law, the snake, sent chills down Ivanov's back. He shuddered and then decided he would keep Alexi and Ivanov close. They were his Luca Brasi times two. "Take Oleg and Yakov."
Shvets frowned.
"Why can't you just follow my orders?"
In a calm voice, Shvets said, "When have I once failed to follow your orders?"
