‘Oleg, I am so sorry about Gennady.’ Baroyev shook his hand vigorously, put his other hand on Oleg’s shoulder and escorted him into the mansion. The table in front of them was adequately supplied with tea and coffee and a selection of savouries. Oleg declined, apart from some tea with no milk.
‘He was a good man,’ Oleg said.
‘Gennady spoke about a deal last time he was here,’ said Yusup. ‘Has his death affected our arrangement, or should I go looking for another business partner?’
‘Nothing has changed. It is just an unfortunate aspect of the Russian mafia that occasionally people die before their time.’
‘It happens here, my friend.’ Oleg found Baroyev’s overfriendly manner disconcerting. He did not succumb to it for one moment.
The discussion went well. Oleg offered Yusup full control of the transportation through Tajikistan and for him to facilitate the movement up through Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. The contacts in those two countries were to be the same as before when Oleg had been working for Yusup. Yusup, for his part, promised to not look for any further deals with any Russians. Besides, he had no one reliable after the death of Feliks Kalinin.
The transportation of the goods through Tajikistan had become a nuisance, a profitable nuisance. A Russian aiming to deal with the intricacies, the bribing and the issues that invariably come from bribing, were difficult even in Russia. In Tajikistan, they were more so, and Oleg was hopeful he could pass it over to Baroyev.
He had failed to mention the percentages, but he thought that Grigory would be the best person to deal with that. He could see himself being stuck indefinitely in Tajikistan and he was still anxious to get back to Russia and Natasha, whom he was now supporting again. She was enrolled at a local business college. He assumed she was no longer prostituting herself.
***
It was later that day when Oleg received his regular daily phone call from Andre Malenkov, his former nemesis, now his protector.
‘Oleg, what’s the latest?’
‘I met with Baroyev.’ Oleg did not want to talk to him as he still did not trust him, but he had no option. Andre Malenkov was his passport back to Russia.
‘I know that. What did he have to say?’
‘Normal discussions regarding business, nothing more.’
‘Don’t hide facts from me,’ said Malenkov. ‘I am only interested when it affects the stability of the state. The assassinations occurring in Russia and here are potentially destabilising.’
‘You heard about Gennady Denikin?’ Oleg determined that not revealing the truth on any matter would only hamper his relationship with Malenkov and he still needed written proof from him that he would be free to move back to St. Petersburg.
‘Not only Denikin, but there’s also Boris Sobchak and Viktor Gryzlov,’ replied Malenkov, ‘and they worry the department more than the assassination of a gangster here. Are they related?’
Oleg decided to tell all the facts as he knew them. ‘Boris Sobchak was aiming to take over the current operation. Viktor Gryzlov was his assassin, although how he came to be killed is still unclear. Gennady Denikin, I would assume, was payback.’
‘Payback by whom?’ Malenkov asked.
‘I don’t know all the details.’
‘It was Grigory Stolypin who had Sobchak killed, wasn’t it?’
‘Officially, I’ve not been told,’ Oleg said. ‘Unofficially, it seems likely.’
‘Coming back to Boris Sobchak,’ said Andre Malenkov. ‘He wasn’t the smartest man. He couldn’t have set up a takeover on this scale. Who was backing him?’
‘I don’t know,’ Oleg said.
‘Ivan Merestkov, have you heard of him?’ Malenkov asked.
‘No,’ replied Oleg.
‘Boris Sobchak and Ivan Merestkov are, or were, closely associated. If anyone was behind Sobchak, it would be Merestkov, and he is certainly smart enough to set up such a deal.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Yusup Baroyev, what’s the situation with him?’
‘He says he is willing to work with the Russian mafia and take a percentage for his efforts.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘I have no reason to believe him for one minute,’ Oleg said.
‘Why is that?’
‘If he can pretend to me that I am his long-lost friend, then he is certainly capable of saying anything to anyone as necessary while setting up another deal.’
‘That friendly?’
‘That friendly,’ Oleg replied.
‘So he is setting up another deal?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he is up to something with someone else.’
***
Ali Mowllah and Ahmad Ghori remained in residence at the guest house, apart from a trip back to Afghanistan for both of them.
Ahmad had been driven down, Ali had flown, as Kabul was more distant and he needed to get down to Sarobi. Poppy production was slipping, and it needed him to make it clear that production was not to falter. If they couldn’t make the quota, the farmers would need to allocate more land. They had complained, stated that their families would starve.
Ali had been unmoved by their complaints and informed them that either they made the quota, or he would bring in someone else who would. They understood what he meant. He was not a difficult man, but the farmers were either lazy or stupid and, in many cases, both.
If they couldn’t afford to feed their children, why were they so keen on breeding them? Ali Mowllah thought.
‘Allah commands us,’ they would always say.
He was a good Muslim, always prayed as required and committed himself to the Haj, the pilgrimage to Mecca as required by all devout adherents to the faith, but he was a pragmatist as well. He saw that the Koran, the holy book, was there to guide, and those who bred mouths they could not feed were not following it correctly. But then, most could neither read nor write and they only followed the dictates of others who could.
Satisfied that all was in order, and the quotas would be met, Mowllah returned to Dushanbe and the sexually charged life he was leading there. He did not know that their host was tired of supplying women and unless he and Ahmad Ghori came up with some solutions, he was going to send them back with their tails between their legs.
Ahmad Ghori had returned to Kunduz to deal with some issues for the provincial government. His appearance had changed in the weeks he had been away, and it raised comment. He was a cleaner-looking man with a trimmed beard, a moderating in the colouring of the shalwar kameez that he wore at the weekend and the sandals on his feet, new and clean. His almost live-in woman, Nilufar, had been gently altering his look and his approach to life.
He realised, after two days back in Kunduz, that the city and the people were too provincial, too staid and too dull for him to consider staying indefinitely. He could see himself moving to Dushanbe on a longer-term basis.
Noorzai, the Taliban commander down in Helmand Province, was enjoying a bumper crop of opium poppies; the previous rainy weather had moderated, and he was looking at how to ship more of the product. Iran was a possibility, but the money was better up through Kunduz. He didn’t like doing business with the Shia Iranians, as they were ideologically unsound and religiously heretical, but if Mowllah and Ghori couldn’t find a solution to the quantities he had, after Ghilzai had processed the raw opium into heroin, he would go with the Iranians.
Ashraf Ghilzai maintained production. He did not want to raise heroin production but would do so if the money was right.
***
Ali Mowllah and Ahmad Ghori felt the pressure keenly at their next meeting with Yusup Baroyev, who was not comfortable with the recent spate of assassinations amongst the Russians. Feliks Kalinin had been a possibility for another avenue of sales, but Stolypin had no doubt assassinated him, regardless of what Yezhov had said, and he was ready to accept a deal with the treacherous Russian.
Malika was refusing to come up to the mansion during the week, due to Oleg poss
ibly being there. She never came at the weekend. She knew about the parties and the women, but she had reasoned that her lover was a powerful man with a powerful ego and powerful friends, and that was what powerful men did. Yusup could not always get down to visit her during the week, and her lack of affection was starting to affect his mood. The two Afghans were to feel the brunt of his frustration.
‘How much longer before you come up with an offer?’ Yusup shouted. The two Afghans were startled by the change in his manner. He had always been cordial in the past. They did not know what to say.
‘We are suggesting a different route, where we will supply you only,’ Ahmad blustered. The pleasant time in Baroyev’s guest house had dimmed their attempts at a solution. The Russians were making them plenty of money, although they were concerned over the assassination of Gennady Denikin. His replacement, Oleg Yezhov, they did not see as up to the task.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’ Yusup was not appeased.
‘The options are limited,’ Ali said. ‘The current arrangements that we have with the Russians must look suspect. You would agree with that?’
‘If they continue to kill each other, then maybe it is,’ Yusup agreed.
‘We must assume that will be the case, which will not suit us well,’ Ahmad said.
Yusup Baroyev saw that his options were limited. His distribution channel, virtually useless after the death of Feliks Kalinin and the agreement that Oleg Yezhov had put forward, was conditional on Stolypin maintaining control.
He could see no advantage with the Afghans, and he knew they were not capable of dealing with such a complex operation.
He resolved to let the Afghans stay where they were. He decided to talk directly to Grigory Stolypin.
***
Ali Mowllah and Ahmad Ghori left soon after and returned to the guest house. They noticed that they had not received an invite to that weekend’s party. Oleg had, and he was delighted, but even he had grave misgivings as to how long this was all going to last.
Oleg continued running the business for Grigory Stolypin, who was remote and uncommunicative every time he spoke to him. Grigory was feeling less secure by the day.
Ivan Merestkov, disturbed as he was over the death of his colleague, Sobchak, and worried in case he was next on the list, had commenced a campaign to discredit Grigory and Dmitry Gubkin. It was, by all accounts, successful.
He had clearly shown to the senior figures in the mafia – even the godfather – that, firstly, Stolypin was the leader of the group and that he and Sobchak had delegated all managerial decisions to him, including informing the senior executive. It was a lie, but, proven or unproven, it had the desired effect and the meeting, where both sides put their case, had been brought forward.
Secondly, that Stolypin had brought in an outsider, namely Dmitry Gubkin, when it was clear they should have been consulted. Thirdly, the funds had found their way into Stolypin and Gubkin’s accounts – falsified bank statements provided. Fourthly, the death of Boris Sobchak by one of Stolypin’s men was a clear indication of guilt on Stolypin’s part.
Ivan Merestkov felt he had sewn up the deal and that he would be able to take over the operation unchallenged, with the full blessing of his superiors. This time, he would keep them informed and give them their percentage, which they didn’t deserve. He had the advantage of not having to share his cut with Sobchak, Stolypin or Gubkin.
He felt the need to talk to Yusup Baroyev. He had realised that the transportation of the goods was a job best left to locals and Baroyev would be better placed to deal with such issues.
***
Yusup was pleased with the call when it was received. It was the first time that he and Merestkov had spoken.
‘I’m offering you a percentage, as long as you deal with the transportation,’ Ivan Merestkov said over the phone.
‘Stolypin has offered me that already.’
‘You’re assuming he is in a position to uphold such an offer.’
‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Yusup knew that Stolypin’s position was precarious and, if Merestkov took over, it would make no difference to him. Stolypin had killed Feliks Kalinin. Maybe Merestkov was better? he thought.
‘He may not last,’ said Merestkov.
‘It concerns me little. If he survives, I deal with him. If he doesn’t, then I deal with you. It seems an ideal solution to me.’ Yusup also reasoned, although he didn’t say it, that if Stolypin was out of the picture, Oleg Yezhov was no longer under his protection. And he could uphold his agreement with Malika, who had seen Oleg driving around town and was upset enough to phone him at the mansion. The Merestkov option seemed the better choice.
‘Personally, which would you prefer?’ Merestkov asked.
‘From my knowledge, Stolypin has played fair. But with you? Who are you? Can I trust you?’
‘Agreed, we know little of each other. Maybe it would be wise for me to come down and meet with you.’
‘Please do. Remember, Saturday is not business, and you are invited.’
‘I will be there.’ Merestkov was pleased with the phone conversation.
Grigory Stolypin was not as pleased when he became aware of Baroyev’s conversation with Merestkov. He was increasingly worried that his control was likely to be taken away from him, possibly his life as well.
Dmitry was stuck for a solution. However, as he said, he wasn’t sure if there was a defence. Grigory had told him there must be a solution, and he had to find it. Dmitry saw that Grigory was becoming irrational, nerves frayed.
***
Now isolated from the polite society of Moscow, Dmitry saw that he had nothing to lose by making his intent to take a more visible role known to the senior executive of the mafia, if necessary. He realised he did not have a comprehensive understanding of how the drug smuggling operation worked and how it related to the mafia. He needed to know more if he was to make a representation to them.
The answers were not in Moscow but in the capital of Tajikistan. He would go there for a few days at least. Grigory would object so he wouldn’t tell him. He knew of only one person in Dushanbe, Yusup Baroyev. He would contact him. His phone number had been on a list that Grigory had inadvertently left at a previous meeting.
He called the number. Baroyev had answered. A brief conversation followed, along with an invite to meet on Friday and to attend the party the day after.
Yusup Baroyev could see that the action was coming to him. The Afghans were in the city. Ivan Merestkov was on his way, as was Dmitry Gubkin. Oleg Yezhov was already there, and Grigory Stolypin was back in Moscow.
It seemed the ideal time to sort out all of the remaining issues. He could see how the plan should evolve. The only weakness in the plan was Grigory Stolypin and Oleg Yezhov. If they were out of the equation, so much the better. He would sound out Ivan Merestkov, see if he could trust him and spend time with Dmitry Gubkin – a lot of time, probably, as his reputation preceded him. He would ensure some new women for the Saturday. He could see it was going to be a boisterous day.
Yusup had phoned Malika soon after the phone call from Dmitry Gubkin and told her he had a possible solution. She was delighted and told him to make sure he came over that night, or she would come to the mansion to show her appreciation.
Oleg had made contact with her. She told Yusup that she had been polite and agreeable, but she wasn’t as good at pretending as he was and she was unsure how she would react the next time.
***
Ivan Merestkov had been the first to arrive in Dushanbe. Yusup had sent the Green Bentley, which Ali Mowllah had so admired, to pick him up. The two Afghans were now driving around in a late model BMW, as the Bentley was Malika’s favourite.
Merestkov was booked into a five-star hotel. Yusup offered him a woman. He declined and said he would wait until the Saturday. Dmitry Gubkin arrived a little later and was offered a similar routine: the green Bentley, the five-star hotel and the offer of a woman. He accepted.
Yusup wan
ted to meet with Dmitry Gubkin first and, after freshening up, the Bentley took him out to the mansion. To Yusup, it was the melding of two minds. There was an instant camaraderie between the two men.
‘What do you reckon to either of them?’ Yusup asked.
‘Grigory Stolypin or Ivan Merestkov?’ replied Dmitry. ‘That’s a difficult question to answer. Let me say, that the current conflict between the two and the precarious situation of Stolypin and, by default, myself, is all due to his inability to listen to me for advice.
‘Killing Feliks Kalinin was a foolish move,’ said Yusup. ‘It was bound to raise suspicion, and then we have Merestkov killing one of Stolypin’s men. I wouldn’t go for either of them, but Merestkov is the smarter of the two, probably the most willing to listen to advice.’
‘Can we agree on Ivan Merestkov?’ Dmitry asked. It was hard to believe that two men were calmly sitting discussing the distribution of an evil that made those involved in the trade billions of dollars a year, yet subjected countless others to abject despair and misery.
‘Let’s meet him first,’ said Yusup. ‘If you are agreed, we can meet him jointly.’ It was the first time in his career that Yusup had counselled advice from anyone. However, after a short meeting, he was willing to listen to Dmitry Gubkin.
***
Ivan Merestkov, duly summoned, arrived sixty minutes later. He was surprised to see Dmitry there. They had met once in the past when Stolypin introduced him to his partners. Reticent to speak in front of Stolypin’s man, he spoke carefully.
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