by Tim Heath
Mark was joined by Sergej Volkov, the second of three men who currently formed the Leadership. They greeted each other like the old friends they were, even if in their real lives, Mark had spent more time with Svetlana due to his involvement in the Games, than he had done with Sergej.
“It’s good to see you again,” Mark said, as they walked into the main room. Security patrolled the perimeter regularly, since both billionaires took their personal safety very seriously, and especially so in this context. They would be left alone while inside. The teams of men roaming the grounds were meant to be a real, but unnoticed presence. Both oligarchs were due to be joined by Kaminski later.
Mark looked as distinctive as ever, his grey hair now fitting a man of his years though his hair had changed when he was much younger. Within the Machine context, he’d always been just the Eagle.
Standing at the window, with a glass in hand, Sergej was every bit the Wolf he’d always been nicknamed. He’d reformed his character considerably––his reputation had been firmly established by the time he went to prison––and his marriage to Svetlana, the famous actress, worked as a natural opportunity to change his public image. Those in the shadows, however, knew better than to cross Sergej and think that they could get away with it.
It was less than an hour before Lev Kaminski arrived––the Lion man––and all three men embraced like brothers might. The Eagle, the Wolf and the Lion back together once more.
“Did you have any trouble getting away?” Mark asked Lev.
“No, not at all. Isabella has the grandkids to look after, and I have a competent team running the business when I’m not around. You know how it is.”
They all did. The next few days were to be spent planning, talking and working on their next move. A statement needed to be made. Results required correcting, and potential problems required putting right before they might otherwise get out of hand. Most pressing of all was next month's elections in Russia, as well as the centennial celebrations––both in Estonia and within their close-knit gathering––and both of these events needed marking in some unique way.
In 2017 Estonia had marked ninety-nine years since first Independence––despite the fact they had then been occupied again for the majority of the time since, meaning the nation also celebrated a second Independence Day later in the year. Then, it seemed, the entirety––which wasn’t massive, given the nation’s size––of Estonia’s military strength paraded through iconic Freedom Square, right past the World War I memorial, and on past the column that counted those years of independence. The nation had celebrated as the jets flew overhead and the Estonian President made her speech before going off to prepare for that evening’s ball, which was a particular highlight of the day. It was an invitation-only event, and her first one since being President, having been elected only the previous year.
Mark had watched the scenes from Tallinn for the previous couple of years. In the background noise of the months leading up to that year’s celebration, there had been much rhetoric flying around between what Putin had supposedly said regarding invading Estonia, and the NATO response. What had not helped had been the suggestion by US President-elect, as he had been, Donald Trump, who suggested that NATO shouldn’t stand by a small member state like Estonia, if it were invaded.
Gathering as they now were in headquarters, one of the things the Machine had to do was make a final decision regarding Putin. Had their current President already served their nation enough? Or was he still the best man for the job?
As always, with any new election race, there were others who wanted to go for the top job. Most were apparently undesirable and would be removed from the running one way or the other. Yet, still, there remained a choice to be made by the Leadership.
Did they leave Putin in place? He had grown stronger during his third term––there was a risk he would become too powerful even for them––and his current position hovered dangerously close to the aura created by the infamous Soviet dictators. If he ushered in another period of Cold War with the West, the Machine might be cut out of things altogether. Losing control of Russia was what the three gathered oligarchs most feared.
Matvey Filipov had initially given them some food for thought. For Mark, who had worked closest with Matvey, the more he saw and understood of the man, the more Mark grew uncomfortable. Filipov was a nonconformist, as extreme and dangerous a character for Russia as Trump had proved to the Americans––maybe potentially more so in Matvey’s case. They feared their country going the same route. Mark had also been able to see behind the man––his planning, his long thought through scheming. Matvey was, therefore, a man to be feared. He couldn’t be allowed to challenge Putin, the Machine couldn’t allow him to become their next President.
Then there was Dmitry Kaminski. With his uncle Lev in the Machine Leadership, he made an interesting choice––clearly, however, Dmitry’s close connection to the UK Security Service was something of which they couldn’t approve. That situation had somewhat calmed down since the death of Thomas Price––a killing they hadn’t been behind––but something that had indeed served their purpose.
They were at a loss as to who had ordered the kill on Price. The Leadership felt confident that responsibility lay with either Putin, who they believed had just met with Price, or Filipov, who might have used it to take out Kaminski’s link, as well as implicate Putin in the assassination. Yet, Matvey had not apparently used the Price assassination to drive home his advantage if he had, in fact, been behind the hit. It remained, for the time being, a mystery.
If they could get Kaminski onside––and Lev felt that he personally could––they would have direct access to a President, something that had not happened before in the history of the Machine. Yet Kaminski was far weaker than he had been months back. His influence and financial security had been weakened––this was mostly down to losses suffered during his own Hunt events, as well as the collapse of his Banking Union. That destruction had been a direct result of Matvey Filipov’s influence––something Mark had been slow to understand initially––yet even Mark had grown wealthier as a direct result. Lev and Mark had let the matter lie for the time being. Lev had enough guilt of his own regarding his nephew without getting too concerned about the actions of others.
11
1970s––London, England
Lev Kaminski had been watching––albeit from afar––his brother dither over his response to the advances he’d received from those representing the Machine. They were due to get in touch with Pavel again the following day––his week was up.
Lev had grown more desperate the more the week progressed. While his brother seemed free of such concerns, they ate away at young Lev. Was this really an opportunity they should be turning their back on? Did anything connected to their roots, the land their parents had come from, only mean danger? Was Pavel’s decision governed merely by fear?
If so, it was not a fear Lev shared. He had a stronger sense of connection to his past than his brother obviously had. Lev had been younger, of course, and was too young to remember much. Still a teenager when his parents died, he’d been shielded from most of it by an older brother already engrained in the family business, so Lev had been saved the full shock of the loss.
Yet he wasn’t a young boy anymore.
He had ambitions of his own, dreams of making a name for himself, his own name, with no connection to his brother. Yes, the Kaminski brand had some clout, but Lev shared the surname too. Surely there should be more for him, surely he should have been entitled to half of the business his parents left them? There was no will at the time their father died, just spoken agreements between him and the older son, yet Lev had had very little. A small income after an initial payout which had set him up for life. Still, so much more fell onto his brother’s plate, than it ever had on his.
Lev had felt an internal cry––a yearning for something more, something beyond––rising in him all week. He couldn’t let the chance go. Throu
gh his own connections, relationships that his brother had initially formed but Lev had taken on, Lev was finally able to track down the Russians he was searching for based on what Pavel had mentioned about them. These were men who apparently didn’t want to be found.
When he’d first put out the call, nothing had come back. His contacts had no leads, no names to put before him. Whoever the Russians had been who had arrived in town last week to corner his brother in Hyde Park, they weren’t known within the small, tight-lipped Russian community. That actually made them even more appealing to Lev––men who could move around London, manage to track down his brother Pavel yet not need any of the existing Russian Mafia networks or criminal gangs to do so. That, alone, was impressive. What they’d then said to Pavel––and Lev only had it secondhand, as once more he’d been out of the picture––only made these visitors more intriguing.
Lev had only managed to locate the men through a hotel chain with which he had some connections. In the age before the Internet or even computers, word of mouth––when coupled with the ability to pay a reasonable bribe, even in London––always managed to find answers. A group of Russians had arrived, and on further research, no one knew who they were. Lev had almost certainly located the men he’d been searching for.
Finally plucking up the courage to speak with them, Lev did that the evening before they were due to reconnect with Pavel. They were in the cocktail lounge in the hotel they’d been staying in, and Lev had been watching them for an hour, while enjoying some of the drinks on offer, for courage.
“He’s not going to accept your offer,” Lev said in Russian, standing alongside them both as they stood at the far end of the bar, left to themselves for the time being.
“Who isn’t going to accept?” the man nearest to Lev responded in Russian, a little confusion showing on his face, mixed with an initial concern. That soon eased as they looked the man over, both Russians turning to glance at Lev, who didn’t come across as particularly impressive––his early years' image was anything but dominant, or wealthy. How he would be transformed over the decades to come, however.
“Pavel,” he said, adding the surname a few seconds later for effect, “Kaminski.” The name registered, as the two men processed what the implications were. The other man spoke next.
“And you are?”
“Lev Kaminski, his brother.” Both men relaxed noticeably. Things had just got interesting.
“How did you find us?” They’d been under the radar, they knew what they were doing, so he’d apparently had to look hard. He’d just gone up in their estimation.
“Does it matter? I’m here, and he’s not.” There, he’d said it. It was evident that he was there without his brother’s knowledge.
“So what have you come to tell us? It can’t be his decision as we are due to find that out tomorrow when we go and see him.”
“I think he––we,” Lev started, correcting himself, though the two men standing in front of him knew it wasn’t Lev who was making the business decisions for the family empire, “should take you up on your offer.” There’d been no offer, as such, just the suggestion they work together.
“And if your brother is going to refuse, as you have said, where does that leave us?”
The barman came back to them at that point, breaking the conversation, and once it was clear no one wanted anything more, he left them to it.
“Where does it leave us?” Lev repeated their question aloud. “That’s a good question. You tell me.”
Both Russians glanced at each other briefly, before turning back to Lev.
“Lev, is it?” Lev nodded. They both stretched out their hands, formal greetings made. “If your brother is to decline our advances tomorrow, that would be a regrettable set back––and a disappointing missed opportunity for your business, we can assure you.”
“That’s what I’m worried about. Who are you, exactly? No one has heard of you around town.”
“For good reason. We only make ourselves known to people we choose. That list included your brother, whose time expires tomorrow. If he turns his back on us, we are gone, a phantom in the wind. He’ll never hear from us again. It’ll be as if we never showed up in the first place, I can assure you of that.” The realisation Lev had been asking around the community about them was a good one. The fact he’d still managed to track them down showed an admirable quality in a man whom they might have otherwise overlooked.
“If I’m going to forge something more concrete with you, I need to know who you are. I need to know you aren’t with…” but Lev couldn’t finish that. If they were KGB or were in any way linked to the regime, even in London, speaking out against the Soviet Union’s iron-fisted leader was not something you did twice.
“We aren’t anything to do with the Communists, no. We do have sleepers in the KGB. We’ve been around longer than both, however. Our roots go back to before the collapse and control we now see in the Motherland. We are here to see a restoration of our core values, our core existence. Things won’t always be like this, Lev. We are working for a better Russia.”
“Then tell me who you are. If I’m going to work with you, I need to know!” It had been the thing most troubling Lev all week. His need to know who they were and what they offered had driven him to find them, as he had now managed. He’d not slept for two nights as he thought over and over about these mysterious strangers.
“If you prove yourself, we’ll tell you everything.” The thought of knowing all apparently sat well with Lev, though that spark of life quickly flashed from his eyes as he pondered what they’d just said.
“Prove myself? How?”
“It’s quite simple.” Their approach had become far more respectful––Lev was demanding their attention, it seemed––and their manner became more open towards Lev the more they spoke. “If Pavel is about to reject us, and you’ve been quite clear that is so––we have no reason to expect anything else now. If that is the case, Lev, then you’ll have a decision to make. You see, all we care about is a Kaminski leading the group––it doesn’t matter which one.”
Lev looked them both in the eye, though no one spoke. Their suggestion was clear.
“What are you going to do?” Lev said after a few seconds of silence.
“We aren’t going to do anything,” the man nearest to him said, taking the lead and being the only one to speak to Lev for the rest of their conversation. “Did you know that in Africa, when you have a pack of lions, it’s the lionesses who most often hunt for food, but it’s the alpha male that rules the pack. If a challenger comes along, it’s the alpha he has to take out.” There was a further silence before the man added; “Of course, if that happens, the new male usually kills all the cubs. Starts afresh and takes over all the lionesses and raises its own cubs.”
Lev got the connotation but remained silent. The Russian in front of him added again: “Lev. The lion. I think you know what you need to do.”
Lev looked around him, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable as if the walls were listening in.
“Can’t you do something instead?” he said at last.
“We could, but that wouldn’t be any good for you. If you want in––and this would show us you’re serious, it would catch our attention––it has to be you. If, as you say, your brother is about to reject our proposal, you now know what it’ll take for you to ever see us again. That is your ticket into our world. Take it or leave it.”
They finished their drinks as if about to leave.
“Hold on. How will I find you again?”
“We’ll find you. Besides, you know we’ll be coming to see Pavel tomorrow. After that, we’ll be gone. So either get your brother to change his mind, do what we’ve just said, or do nothing and we disappear. That’ll mean you carrying on as you have been doing so far, trying to play catch up with the big brother.”
They both moved away from the bar, dropped some notes onto the counter, apparently paying for whatever they’d just finished.
Lev let them leave––he knew they were staying there, after all, though most certainly this was their last night. He had some thinking to do. Clearly, having Pavel onboard would make running the business more accessible, though Pavel had been clear to Lev that he wanted nothing to do with the outsiders. And the truth was, despite being his brother, despite both having the same parents, Lev felt as much an outsider as the Russians who’d just left him. Lev had a choice to make.
He ordered a stiff drink from the bar and followed that with a couple more before the night was over.
It was the following afternoon. Pavel sat in his office––the same desk his father had built with his own hands––as Lev watched from across the street. At four, two men walked in through the main doors to the building and could be seen climbing the stairway. They were the same two Lev had met with the night before.
Lev had no way of listening in on the meeting––which was short, and animated––but he didn’t need to, as he knew by his brother’s fast pacing around the room, his arms aloft, that his mind had not been changed. He waved them out, slamming the door behind them. Whatever had been said in passing, apparently wasn’t friendly in nature.
As the two exited the building, Lev was standing outside.
“Well?”
“I take it he didn’t play ball, gentlemen,” Lev responded. “How long do I have?”
“We’ll give you twenty-four hours, and believe me if nothing has changed by tomorrow, we are out of here.” They’d done their own research overnight, pulling in the team that had been following Lev that week, learning about the affair he was having with Pavel’s wife. “For a lion with one foot in the pride already, I wouldn’t imagine it would be too hard for you to finish this all off now, would it Lev?”
