Dialing his cousin back in Memphis, TN, he leaned against the counter and waited.
The phone picked up. “Is it done?” Anatoly asked, sitting across from his father at a small dinner table in a private room of their restaurant.
“No,” Gabriel said, exhaling. Anatoly was so impatient until it was irritating. “Everything else checks out. The money is there. The transactions are ready but now they want a private escort.”
Anatoly frowned and put down his fork. “A what?”
“A private escort,” Gabriel repeated, even though he knew the request was ridiculous. “They are afraid that the cargo will be hijacked by the Neo-Nazis or the Russians, if it’s not brought into the country by our men.”
“Not our problem,” Anatoly said, looking at his father.
Dmitry listened on quietly but continued to nibble at his dinner and watch television.
“What do you think we should do?” Gabriel asked. After all, Dmitry had made it abundantly clear that they were both liable for this deal. If they didn’t close it, then they had to find someone else to replace the account, which would not be easy.
“I think we should tell them to fuck off,” Anatoly said, pushing away from the table. He could not think with Dmitry eyeballing him. He stepped out of the room and into the hallway. His voice lowered. “But then we’d owe the old man $2,000,000 a quarter until we find someone to replace the account. We won’t be able to do that this quarter.”
It felt like the weight of the world rested on his broad shoulders. Gabriel rolled his aching neck and smacked his lips. “I think they are being paranoid. Maybe even lazy. If they can’t protect their own shipments, then they can’t expect to win this fucking war in the first place.” Not that it mattered to him one way or another.
That was enough confirmation for Anatoly. “Then tell them they are responsible for the shipment, not us. It’s our job to deliver it to them in the place that we agreed upon a month ago. Besides, they need us, more than we need them. Where are they going to get that kind of product on such short notice? They’ll buy from us anyway, escort or not. Just call them on their bluff and get back on the plane. This shit is taking too long. You’ve been there for hours, and we have other things to handle before we head to Prague tomorrow night.”
Gabriel could not agree more. “Consider it done.” Hanging up the phone, he stuffed it in his suit pocket and headed back out to the living room.
***
While just as exhausted, Allan perked up on the chair as the doors to the bedroom opened. He was praying for good news. He needed it now more than ever.
Gabriel stepped out and took a seat on the sofa. He pushed up to the edge and crossed his fingers together. “The most we will do is deliver to the Slovakian/Ukrainian border as we agreed upon when we first started making these deals. We can have it there the day after tomorrow in the agreed upon place.” He could instantly see the disappointment in Allan’s eyes, so he made the offer just a bit sweeter despite himself. “But I will double the detail on the shipment. More men will mean more protection. That’s the best I can do.” He knew that was a lie. They could do so much better, but for what?
Allan conceded. He was getting more than he had originally bargained for which was a simple drop off by the Medlov’s courier men. At least having more men would provide some insurance. He nodded and offered his hand, despite the fact that he felt like he was getting a lot less than a Medlov-caliber deal, which others in the community had raved about. “Thank you, sir, for trying.”
Gabriel reached across the table and shook his hand. “My pleasure.” Pushing back on the sofa, he dreamt of a chilled bottle of vodka. “Make the final transfer and we’re in business.”
“Done,” Allan said, pushing SEND on his computer.
Two minutes later as they sat looking at each other, Gabriel’s money guy called him from their bank in Geneva. “It’s deposited,” the man said quickly.
Gabriel hung up the phone, eyes still on Allan. “The men will see you out.”
Allan stood and packed away his things then was escorted out of the room by Boris, their lead security man, along with a barrage of other lowly security.
When the living room was finally empty, Gabriel rested his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He just needed a minute to think – to have absolute silence.
“Boss,” one of the men said, sticking his head in the patio door.
“What?” Gabriel said, not bothering to open his eyes.
“You missed the doctor’s appointment. Do you still want to get back to Memphis tonight or make arrangements for first thing in the morning?” he asked, hearing the irritation in Gabriel’s voice. However, he had instructed him to keep tabs on things. They were supposed to be here for a couple of hours, then jump back on a private jet and get back to Memphis for Briggy and the baby’s doctor’s appointment, but the negotiations had gone on longer than he had intended.
“Did she make it to the appointment anyway?” Gabriel asked, feeling his chest tighten.
“Da, she was taken by the men.”
“And?” Gabriel asked, eyes flashing open.
“Everything is fine with the baby,” the guard answered.
Gabriel twisted his lips and threaded his long fingers together on his chest. That was a bit of good news. “Then we can leave in the morning. Order something for dinner and have a bottle of wine brought up. Later, make sure the masseuse is here to give me a rub down.”
“Sure thing, boss,” the guard said, getting on his ear piece immediately.
Hearing the door close quietly, Gabriel closed his eyes again and rested.
***
After stepping out to talk to Gabriel, Anatoly came back in the room, sat back down in his seat and picked up his fork, ready to finally tear into his meal, but his father’s glare was burning through his concentration.
“What now?” Anatoly asked, putting the fork down again. It clinked on the plate as he looked over at him.
“I didn’t say anything,” Dmitry said, blue prisms sparkling.
“What do you want to say?” Anatoly asked, knowing already that it was nothing he wanted to hear.
So casual and confident in his demeanor, Dmitry shrugged. “You made a bad decision,” he said, wiping his wide-set mouth with a red linen napkin. Unlike Anatoly, he had enjoyed and finished his meal while it was still hot.
“How so?” Anatoly asked, stomach growling loudly. They had been knee-deep in meeting with Royal all day about the new Magna Carta munitions plant on President’s Island and had just had a moment to pull away for dinner before they were off to deal with the not-so legal business with some possible new accounts popping up due to a conflict in West Africa. But those were his father’s deals with his father’s accounts.
“You should hand deliver the shipment to Ukraine as the client requested.” Dmitry raised a thick blond brow. “It’s not a very big ask with all things considered. These are not just buyers; these are patriots. They think differently, more passionately.”
“Why would we go into the Ukraine and run the risk of capture and all that other bullshit for these faceless patriots when we have paid Slovakia millions to be able to do business on their border without the liability?”
Dmitry smiled a pearly white million dollar smile. “Because the client does not need the product in Slovakia. They need it in the Ukraine. And if I recall correctly, certain Ukrainians are on our payroll as well. It’s not a stretch.”
“I don’t know if you’ve missed it in the news, but Donetsk is a war zone right now,” Anatoly rolled his eyes. “Why would we put our men at risk?” It wasn’t that he was afraid, but he didn’t believe in getting involved beyond the point of purchase and these fuckers had already purchased.
“You should put your men at risk, because it’s what we do.” Dmitry threw a long arm over the chair beside him. “It doesn’t matter if we sell munitions or diamonds or little plastic dolls, customer service plays a role in ensuring rep
eat customers. You’ve got to learn to put some charm on the client, make them feel special.”
Anatoly wasn’t exactly the customer-service type. “Good service for me is about doing what we say we are going to do when we say we are going to do it, not providing favors. If you give these people an inch, they will take a mile. Next thing you know they’ll want guns on credit.”
“I’ve done guns on credit before. I’ve done favors before. Eventually, they are repaid,” Dmitry said, biting his bottom lip. “It’s all about building relationships.”
“I don’t believe that.”
Dmitry picked up his glass and sipped it. “You’re going to regret this.”
Anatoly didn’t believe so. “No disrespect. Papa, things are done differently from 20 years ago, before you all had the Internet.”
Dmitry laughed outright. “This business is older than the United States or the Russian Federation. Munitions dealers have been in existence since the first wars on a patch of land in Africa before government was even a real thing. Now, I’m not saying that evolving is not important. It is. Plus, you boys do bring a world of innovation to the business with technology and such, things I could not have done myself. For that, I praise you. But it still does nothing for the argument of customer service and relationship building. In these things, you young men have no patience, and that is your downfall. But learning these skills are very important to growing the business and your reach in the world. Long after I’m gone you will need to know how to do this.”
Anatoly placed his elbows on the table and threaded his fingers together. He always found his father’s advice to be useful, but in this he felt right. So, he would not budge. However…
“I tell you what, if something happens, then Gabriel will not only deliver the product to the client in the Ukraine, he’ll take it to the war zone over in Donetsk and put it at their front door. And we’ll do it for free. We won’t recharge them for the product, and Gabriel and I will personally cover the losses and cut you a check on time.”
Dmitry licked his lips and gave a smug grin. There had to be a catch. “And if it does make it without problems? What then?”
“Then trust me to do business my way with my accounts. I’m not asking for you to change the way that you handle your people. I know that you all are old school or whatever, but with people under 40, please allow me to make the final decision. I understand them and the way that they think better.” He waited for his father’s response.
Dmitry didn’t make Anatoly wait long, just long enough to play out both sides of this life learning experience in his very calculated mind. He drugs a hand over his chin. “I don’t see how that’s unreasonable. Da, da. We have a deal,” Dmitry said as the server brought dessert into the small meeting room for the men.
Anatoly thought of something very quickly. This was after all Dmitry Medlov, a man known for playing the game six moves ahead. He stuck up a finger in protest. “But there will be no interference from you on this. I don’t want you to jack our load yourself to make a point.”
Dmitry winked at him. “Of course not. I wouldn’t think of such a thing.”
Anatoly knew that not to be true. His father would do just about anything to teach him a lesson before “the world did.”
***
Allan hated to be the one to break the bad news, but it was as much a part of his job as making the buys for his clients back in the Ukraine. However, these people who were depending on him were not just clients on a spreadsheet; they were family, some in blood - some in belief. His parents had come to the United States from Kiev back in the seventies before the fall of the USSR and made a reasonable life for themselves as a small family-owned investment firm - first with two employees and now fifty.
They had gone from nearly starving to death in the Ukraine, even with college degrees, to living the American dream with residences in Beverly Hills Flats, memberships to private country clubs and vacation homes in Aspen.
With capitalization of over $500 million, their firm had become not only recognized not only as a viable source for immigrants who wanted to invest over the decades but also for well-funded Americans who wanted to develop a strong portfolio in multinational markets. They had built a name for themselves in the business community and the civic community, donating hundreds of thousands of dollars over the years to socially conscience non-profits and working tirelessly to become non-threatening, assimilated American citizens.
Still, their first love was their beloved Ukraine and the families they had left behind in the pursuit of happiness, safety and an overall better way of life. When it mattered, they sent money back to their mother country to back politicians who believed in their cause, to pay for college tuition for bright but poor students and to fund projects designed to make their country better like schools, hospitals and playgrounds. And when that didn’t help, they bought munitions and helped back paramilitary patriots.
His father had taught Allan well, urging him to get the best American education possible and to dedicate himself to family and his country. He had done all of that. He had even married a girl from Ukraine instead of conforming and marrying one of the thousands of blonde beach girls from Orange County that dangled themselves like low-hanging fruit.
But still he felt absolutely helpless in this war against Russia and the Nazi separatists. He felt betrayed by some of their government’s countrymen who had sided not only with the Russians but refused to become a viable part of the European Union, even against their counsel. And now he felt helpless with the Medlov’s because of their unwillingness to help them ensure the arrival of their munitions through heavily guarded centuries who would surely be on the lookout for illegal imports, especially weapons.
Just past dusk, he punched in his code at the security gate and pulled into the drive of his Georgian-style mansion on North Alta Drive. It was lit up inside, which meant his wife had picked up their three kids and was probably preparing dinner and giving baths. Anxious, he pulled his white Volvo XC90 into his garage and darted to his office, hoping to avoid them and the bad news he had to share with his wife.
Pulling out his untraceable cell, he dialed impatiently.
“Brother, please tell me you have good news,” Alexei Nenya said, sitting around his men.
Allan rubbed his forehead. “They won’t give us an escort.”
“I don’t understand this. Why not?” Alexei asked, raising up. “Did you not make clear our situation?”
“Of course, I did. They seem to think it’s not their responsibility. They have agreed to deliver it to the Slovakian border, no further. However, they will give us more men on the detail to try to ensure that it won’t be ambushed.” Allan knew before he explained that it wouldn’t be good enough. Intel inside of the country pinpointed Alexei as a target and a threat to the country. If he were ever located, he would be imprisoned immediately and surely put to death.
Alexei looked over at his teenage brother, who was busy counting bullets, and felt a chill run up his spine. His voice lowered. “Can you not reason with them again? There are many innocent lives on the line. Half of my militia is teenage boys and girls.”
“I tried.”
Alexei’s disappointment was evident; still he refused to give up. “What about Dmitry Medlov. In the past, your father said that he was one of the most professional and reasonable men he had ever worked with? Maybe if he were to call him…”
“It’s not my father’s show anymore. When I made the deal, I made it with Anatoly and Gabriel Medlov – not Dmitry. So, we have to deal with them. Dmitry doesn’t intercede over his men once they’ve made a decision. It’s just the way that he is.” Allan pulled at his tie and pushed back in his leather chair. His father had told him to work only with Dmitry, but he hadn’t listened. He felt that Anatoly and Gabriel would be more pliable considering that they were so young. He had been dead wrong. “I’m sorry, brother. I did everything…” He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a b
ottle of scotch. Placing it on the table, he felt his heart constrict. “I fucked up.”
Alexei cut him off. “You of all people don’t have to apologize. We would not even be alive if it weren’t for the money that your family has put behind this.”
Allan appreciated Alexei’s graciousness, but he didn’t feel worthy of the compliments. After all, he was safe at home in his mansion in Beverly Hills while his comrades were halfway across the globe hiding out in abandoned buildings, planning attacks and seeking shelter from mortars.
“We have a whole family of Romanyuk men, women and children that you fight every day to protect over there.” Allan ran a hand through his hair. “People we couldn’t get over here to America where it was safe.” He thought of his father’s sister was killed the year before in a blast that ripped through her third floor apartment and countless others who had died in the square in 2014 during the big protest.
“Well you can’t export the entire country of Ukraine to California. Some people had to be left behind.” Alexei looked over at two young Romanyuk men in the corner working on a plan to get food to families behind enemy lines, remembering how many men in Allan’s family had been lost to this civil war. He took a deep breath and sucked up his melancholy. People were counting on him dammit. “I’ll meet the Medlov’s on the border myself.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Allan protested. “You are a wanted man. If the Russians, the Nazis or even some of the Ukrainian turncoats get you, you’ll be executed. And it’s not like you don’t stick out, brother. They will recognize you immediately.”
Alexei could think of a lot worse than him dying. His baby brother. His baby sister. No. He had to ensure this was done right or die trying. “I could get caught right here any day of the week. No, we’ve put all of our money into this. People are selling the clothes off their backs to raise funds for the militia. I have to personally go to the exchange point and pick it up.”
Gabriel's Regret: Book 1 (The Medlov Men Series 2) Page 3
