High Stakes

by John F. Dobbyn

  “She. Professor Sakim. She’s in the Linguistics Department of Koc University. It’s in Istanbul. I can make a call.”

  “Good. Will you see if she’ll see me? I can be there in a day or two.”

  “Shall I go with you?”

  “Not this time. Maybe later. Let me do the ground work. Let’s see if it leads us anywhere. For now, I’d like to have you here to coordinate. I can always reach you by phone.”

  “Alright. Is there anything else I can do?”

  “There’s one loose end here. Let’s talk about it. I think I reached an understanding with the old Chinese man from the Hong Kong triad. He seems to have taken over control from the Boston tong leader, whoever that is. He actually agreed to call off the dogs. No more threats from the Chinese gang while I followed the leads to the treasure.”

  “In exchange for what?”

  “In exchange for my promise to let him in on whatever information I turn up, and to do it before I actually lay my hands on any of the treasure.”

  That brought a scowl. “I think you’ve given away the store.”

  “Not a bit of it. I chose the words very carefully. I had to go that far to get the Chinese threat off my back so I could focus on the search. It all fits into what I see as the end game. I’ll tell you about that in a minute.”

  The scowl softened, but did not disappear.

  “There’s another piece here, George. The real pains in the butt so far have been the Russians. It seems every time I turn around, I’m barely squeaking out of some new threat from them. That’s got to cease. If I go to Istanbul, right on the Black Sea, I’ll be practically in their backyard. I need a truce at a high level.”

  “How do you plan to pull that off?”

  “The old Chinese man. You and I have suspected that there’s some kind of working agreement between the Chinese and the Russians. The old man didn’t deny it. I think both gangs would slit the other’s throats for one gold coin. In fact, I’m counting on it. But for the moment, they’re allies. More or less.”

  “So how does that help?”

  “I asked the old Chinese man to use whatever leverage he had with the Russians to get them to make the same agreement. Just leave me alone. I told him he could pass along to them the same commitment I made to him.”

  “To tell them anything you discover?”

  “Yes. Before I touch the treasure myself.”

  “And knowing how you honor your word, that would mean telling them everything you find out. In detail. No false leads.”

  “Yes.”

  “Including, perhaps, the exact location of the treasure.”

  “Yes.”

  Now the scowl really deepened. “Michael …”

  “It’s alright. You have to trust me. When this thing ends, I want it over completely. No loose ends. No loose cannons. For either of us. Let me tell you how I hope this thing will finally play out.”

  We walked all the way to the end of the wharf. The only sound over the waves lapping the pylons, the occasional horn of a ferry or fishing trawler, and the angry screeching of seagulls competing for a shiner was my low voice spelling out for the first time in words what had been congealing in my mind as a plan. It was full of contingencies. There were parts where the question, “What could go wrong?” could only be answered, “Everything.” But I could see the scowl on George’s face slowly morph into a grin.

  “So? What do you think?”

  “I think it’s absolute insanity. I think we’d be ready for a padded room if we even consider it. It has more holes than a Swiss cheese.”

  “In other words, you’re ready to commit to it one hundred percent.”

  “Yes. Completely.” The grin now covered his face. “I once mentioned to you that we have very little fun in our business.”

  “Shall we have some fun?”

  “Let the games begin.”

  For the second time that afternoon, we shook hands.

  Before George and I parted company, I revisited what seemed to me the weakest link in my proposal.

  “One thing. I trust those Russians as far as I could throw this wharf. The old Chinese man seemed to have the same impression. The fact that the Russians were here looking for me today tells me that either the old man hadn’t gotten word to them, or that it made no difference. Before I start this trip to Istanbul, I’d like to be more comfortable on that score. I’d be totally exposed to another Russian attack over there.”

  “I agree. What can we do about it?”

  “I’d like to try something. Who is the head of the Russian gang in Boston? Do you know?”

  “Yes. He came over from Moscow to take over about five years ago. His name is Vasily Laskovitch.”

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “I do. But I wouldn’t go near there with less than a division of Marines.”

  “Any chance he’d meet me on neutral ground?”

  “There is no neutral ground. He could have his gunmen anywhere in the city.”

  “Then one place is as good as another. Actually, one place is better. Where’re his headquarters?”

  “This is not a good—”

  “Where is it? This is not as crazy as it sounds. If I meet him where he thinks I’d never dare to go, it might make my proposal more believable. It may be the only way it’d work. Where is it?”

  Concern was written all over his face. “I can’t provide you with protection there. This is totally enemy territory.”

  “I don’t expect protection. I have to do this alone to make it believable. I need to get their curiosity first. Then, if I can sell it, their belief in what I’m proposing. That’s the best protection I can hope for.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “You will when you think about it. Believe me, there’s no other way. So where is it?”

  George looked at me for a few seconds. Then he looked out to sea. “It’s a bar-café on Commonwealth Ave. in Brighton. The sign on the window is in Russian. Za Vashe Zdorovie. The words are a Russian drinking toast.”

  “If it’s just in Russian, how does the non-Russian public know it’s a café?”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re not looking for drop-in customers. That would include you.”

  “Can you get a message to him?”

  “We’re not pen pals, but I think I could get word to him. What would you want me to say?”

  “He should know my name by now. He’s tried to kill me often enough. Tell him I want to see him. Face-to-face. I’ll come there. Alone. Unarmed. As soon as possible. Maybe this evening. I want to make him the offer about Dracula’s treasure personally. That should get his attention.”

  “This is insanity. And we were just becoming friends. I’ll miss you so much.”

  “Don’t pick out a suit for the funeral just yet. I wouldn’t try this if I didn’t think I could pull it off. Let me know what he says.”

  * * *

  I spent the afternoon keeping to public places and touching the essential bases. I dropped by the office to bring Mr. Devlin up to speed. I could see in his eyes how strongly he was against my continuing on a course that could deprive him of a junior partner—and more to the point, an unofficially adopted son. He would have ended my involvement in a heartbeat, even if he had to take my place to do it. But he understood and honored my commitment—even to the point of personally covering the trial of any of my cases that couldn’t be postponed.

  I also checked in with my secretary, Julie. This time I had to be honest with her, even at the risk of taxing her motherly concern. She had taken in our Sheltie, Piper, without question. It was time to let her know why it was necessary, leaving out some of the more worrisome details. Like Mr. D., she reluctantly accepted the uncertain future to give me the freedom to do what I had to do.

  * * *

  I stole the major portion of the evening from everything else to spend it with Terry. I had a different rental car delivered to the alley behind my office building. I took minor
streets that my father had shown me as a kid to hit Route 1 above Danvers for a straight shot to the Governor’s Inn in Rochester, New Hampshire. The time Terry and I would have together might be only hours. Given what I could see ahead, not one of those hours was to be missed.

  We were in our own world, halfway into the bourbon pecan salmon in the Spaulding Steak and Ale Restaurant of the Inn when my phone buzzed. My first impulse was to drop my cell phone into the tall glass of Brother Thelonius brew I was sipping. I followed my second impulse and answered it.

  I could hear the hesitation in George’s voice. “One last time. There must be a better way.”

  “There isn’t. Tell me.”

  “I got your message to him. He actually got back to me. He will share a bottle of his best vodka with you tomorrow at noon.”

  “That sounds inviting.”

  “Very inviting. Like the spider to the fly. For better or worse, you have an entrée. Do you want my advice?”

  “No. I already have it. I’ll follow it next time. This time it has to be my show. I assume he speaks English.”

  “He speaks Russian, English, and violence. And not in that order.”

  I was glad we were not on speaker-phone for what was left of Terry’s peace of mind.

  “Thank you, George. I’ll give him your regards. What’s the address?”

  * * *

  I left Rochester early enough to find the café on Commonwealth Avenue a little before noon. I figured that to be on time shows a collected mind, focused on business. To be early would signal the weakness of overanxiousness. To be late, disrespect. I arrived on the button of noon.

  I sucked up every ounce of false courage I could pretend. I put it all into an ice-cold, emotionless projection of attitude for my entrance. My dark blue suit, white shirt, and conservative red striped tie said, “Don’t mess with me. I’m here on business.” I hoped.

  Once in the door, I took a deliberately unhurried stride between the line of well-bulked, Eastern European looking loungers at the long bar and those strewn among the scattered tables. If the eyes I passed could burn holes, I’d have been a walking Swiss cheese.

  When I passed by, I caught a side view of a couple of the bar-loungers starting to rise with a purpose. Others next to them, who apparently had been alerted to my “invitation,” reached for their shoulders or elbows to settle them back down.

  There wasn’t a man in that room who didn’t know that I was responsible, one way or another, for the deaths of some of their fellow thugs. The trick was to keep walking, unflustered, through an atmosphere of barely restrained violence you could slice with a cleaver. Focus was the key. Prayer and focus.

  My legs carried me on a direct, deliberate path to the bartender halfway down the bar. Two thugs with at least fifty pounds of muscle and one scarcely concealed weapon more than I had under my dark blue suit stood between me and the bar.

  I made no eye contact. I looked straight between them. I could only hope they understood the words, because I had no second opening line. I kept it in the mid-baritone range. “A word with the bartender.”

  They indulged in several more seconds of glaring hostility before slowly separating. I was now facing the bartender, who was closer to my proportions. He was the only one in the room I could address without looking up.

  His attitude could hardly be confused with hospitality, but at least he nodded. I took it as a cue to speak. “Mr. Laskovitch is expecting me.”

  I put the name out front in case anyone in the house thought I’d dropped in for a bowl of borscht. No words passed his lips, but the bartender picked up a phone from under the bar.

  Whatever he said in Russian produced, a few seconds later, the sound of a door opening at the far end of the room. In the dim back-lighting, I saw a figure that could have been a cutout of Nikita Khrushchev.

  He took a few steps closer into the light. I caught a better look at his slightly grinning face. My first thought was that he could have had wolf blood in his ancestry.

  A man of the same cut as those surrounding me came from behind him. He walked up to me and signaled an arms-up order for a hand-frisk. I expected it, so I raised my arms and opened my legs without debate.

  The grinning wolf in the doorway barked out an order, in English for my benefit. “No. No. No. This man is our guest. We treat him with dignity.”

  He slowly walked in my direction. He waved off the goon who was about to give me the frisking of a lifetime. He addressed the goon. “Alexei, would you walk into the den of our enemies alone, unarmed? I don’t think so. Yet here he is. This man has the soul of a Cossack. We respect such courage.”

  He waved two men off of the chairs at a table in the center of the room. The grin persisted. “You are Michael Knight, undoubtedly.”

  I completed the introductions. “And you could only be Vasily Laskovitch.”

  The grin broadened. “You’ve heard my name. Good. I’ll say this, Mr. Knight. This place where you are is like being on Russian soil. We are not barbarians. We know how to treat a guest. Please.”

  I followed his gesture and sat in one of the two seats. My host took the other chair. He called to the bartender. “Ivan. Vodka.”

  The bartender took a bottle from the shelf. My host barked, “Nyet. Not that. My very best.”

  The bartender replaced the bottle and took one from under the bar. He brought the bottle with two large shot glasses to the table. My host took the bottle out of his hands. He filled the two glasses to the brim.

  “We have traditions. We never take vodka without a toast. Will you join me?”

  The only answer that occurred to me was “Yes.”

  “There are three traditional toasts. First, we drink to the one who provides us with the vodka.”

  He raised his glass. I followed suit. He downed his glass in one swallow. I could do no less. I expected to feel fire from my lips to my stomach. I was stunned. No burn. Just velvet smoothness.

  By the time I put my glass back on the table, he had refilled his own. He tilted the bottle toward mine.

  “And now we toast the good fortune of the one who receives this gift of vodka.”

  Another full glass down in one gulp. Again, I could do no less. This time it was even smoother. My glass no sooner touched the table, but again my host was refilling it to the brim.

  “And we drink the third toast to the hope that this acquaintance will ripen into a friendship. Yes?”

  “Yes.” As I raised the third glass, I could begin to feel the first two taking a grip on my mental state. There was, however, no safe way to stop. In for a penny was in for a pound. We downed the third full glass in synchronized motion.

  He settled back in the chair. I thought, “Thank God there is no fourth toast. I have to find the door on the way out.”

  “So you have a message for me, Mr. Knight. Is that not what brings you here?”

  This was it—the second most desperate closing argument of my life. This was where I could win the freedom to walk back out onto Commonwealth Avenue with all of my parts attached and functioning.

  Or not.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I HAD EVERY eye and ear in the house. Even those at the bar who spoke only Russian had eyes focused on the alien in the blue suit. I kept saying to myself what the Christians in Rome must have said—ignore the lions on the periphery—deal with the one in front of you. In my case, it was Vasily Laskovitch.

  The grin had faded. The toasts had ended. It was finally showtime. We sat at the table directly across from each other. His eyes were narrowed and searching mine for any hint of trickery. There was no question of how to open. Nothing short of blatant truth would get his attention.

  “Cards on the table, Mr. Laskovitch. You want Dracula’s treasure. I have the violin with the code to where it’s hidden. I’m ready to go after it. I have every reason to believe I can find it.”

  That caught his interest. His silence said he was waiting for more.

  “You want to
know what good that will do you. Then hear this. I’ll give you my word. When I break the code, when I learn where the treasure is, I’ll promise you that I’ll give you all the information I have, including the exact location of the treasure. And I’ll do it before I ever put my own hands on the treasure. That will be my promise.”

  He began to smile—until I added, “Perhaps.”

  The smile was gone. There was a brief flash of temper. “Do you come here to play games?”

  “No. No games. Hear me out. We get to have this conversation just once. I’ll say it clearly so there’ll be no misunderstanding. I’m being smothered by your gunmen waiting to attack me around every corner. If I’m going to follow this thing through to the treasure, I need to be free to do it without looking over my shoulder. It’s the only way I can bring it off. And when I do, I’ll tell you everything I learn. All of it.”

  The temper was gone, but the intensity of eye contact multiplied. “And why would you suddenly become so generous?”

  I returned the intensity of eye contact. I knew this was the hardest point to sell.

  “Because there are things in this world I value more than money. If I can buy them back for the price of that treasure, no matter how much it is, it’ll be a small price to pay.”

  I could see doubt in his eyes. “And just what are these things you say are so valuable?”

  “The safety of my wife. Being with her without fear. The life we had before this insanity began. No, that’s wrong. The life we will have. For a year I’ve let work take too much of my life away from her. Never again. Thank God this insanity has taught me something.”

  He was still listening without comment. I dropped my voice for his ears only. “Can you understand that, Mr. Laskovitch? Isn’t there anything in your life that you wouldn’t give up even for that treasure?”

  He stood up. He seemed to need to look down on me. “We make choices in this life, Mr. Knight. Some of those choices can’t be unmade. Does that answer your question?”

  I looked up at him. However he might take it, I said it from the heart. “If you mean what I think, I’m sorry for you.”