“Perhaps he has left us an empty envelope.”
“No,” Minatova said, “he knows we’d know where to find him.”
Kostov slit the end of the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper. He read the
page, then smiled. “Dostoevsky. Of course.”
He looked at his two associates. “You are free to go.”
“We’ll leave in the morning,” Minatova said. “It was a pleasure working with you.
You’re a professional.”
“It was a pleasure for me, as well. The decline of Russia’s youth—about which we
hear and read so much these days—is much overstated.”
Kostov waited until Minatova and Flanetevsky had retired, then called Dratenko. “Who—”
“I regret calling at this hour, but—”
Dratenko yawned. “What time is it?”
“Late evening in Alabama. Almost time for you to rise.”
Dratenko yawned again.
“Thanks to you, I have the key.”
“Congratulations.”
“But, I need your help again.”
“Yes?”
“How did I get it?”
“How did you—ah. What have you told them?”
“Nothing.”
“So you need a myth?”
“I would like for them to have a satisfactory explanation.”
“Hmm. What is your address?”
“I am departing here tomorrow morning. I must be elsewhere for a few days. Part of
my cover story.”
“Where will you be in two days?”
Kostov gave him the address of the Breakaway Marina in Apalachicola, Florida.
May 10
Kostov was packed and ready to leave the next morning when the call came through.
The counterfeit static and fading was overdone, but perhaps he had become too
accustomed to the American telephone service.
“The Mannerling Trust.”
“Mr. Sweet, please. It is Ivan Kostov.”
“One moment, please.”
“Good morning, Mr. Kostov. You sound as if you’re far way.”
“Moscow.”
“You’ve found the key?”
“I believe so.”
“Have you, indeed?” Sweet hesitated. “I congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
“And so you’re calling to—”
“To request another meeting.”
“Of course, of course. When did you have in mind.”
“I can be in Birmingham on Monday, the sixteenth. Are you free?” “Am or can be. What time would suit you?”
“Ten o’clock?”
“Norm and I are looking forward to seeing you again.”
Kostov hung up. Perhaps he would be lucky. Perhaps the fish would be biting in
Florida and neither Mr. Sweet nor Mr. Hazlett would join him.
Apalachicola, Florida, May 13
Kostov was overseeing the cleaning of his catch of Spanish mackerel when the desk
clerk delivered the DHL Worldwide Express envelope to his room.
May 16
Hazlett poured the last of the coffee.
Sweet cleared his throat. “A pleasant trip?”
“Still snow in the countryside. It is real pleasure to find myself here in what at home
would be described as high summer. I am a confirmed Muscovite, but —well, you know.”
“Indeed,” Sweet said, smiling. “And so you have Alexander II’s key?”
“I and the company of archaeologists, historians, and detectives I had with me believe so.”
“Where did you find it?” Hazlett said.
“At Tsarskoye Selo. An elaborate imperial retreat near St. Petersburg. Shall I describe my adventure? I believe you will find it an interesting story.”
“Please,” Sweet said.
“I began in Moscow, at Moscow State University. Professor Dusibek, head of the history department, suggested that I look in the Peter and Paul Cathedral for records from the time of Alexander II.”
“Where is the cathedral?” Hazlett said.
“Inside the Peter and Paul Fortress at St. Petersburg. We found nothing of use in the cathedral, but a caretaker asked if we had tried Tsarskoye Selo. The chief archaeologist began complaining that the historians should have thought of it. I calmed them and we traveled to the old retreat.
“The tsars had added to the place again and again through the years, so that it was a real warren. We found nothing in the main buildings. I was about to report failure to Minister Kudrin, when one of the archaeologists suggested that we explore the classical gymnasium, Alexander II’s only construction. There we found a wall a great deal thicker than the others. The archaeologists explained that such a wall in old Russian buildings often enclosed a hidden space. We broke through an outer wall and into a narrow storage room, perhaps a meter and a half in width. It was lined with shelves, with many boxes on the shelves. We searched them, but there was nothing for me until one of the archaeologists noticed a sort of stone cabinet built at the far end of the space. There was no apparent means of access. After I was again able to convince the scientists that my mission was more important than any thoughts of preservation, we removed the slab of stone that served as the front. There was a single packet inside, the tanned hide of some animal covered in wax.”
Sweet and Hazlett were both leaning far forward.
“After beating back my associates, I cut into the packet.” Kostov paused. “It was a piece of parchment, in perfect condition.”
“Do you have it with you?” Hazlett said.
“The academics were not to be overridden in that matter. I have a handwritten copy.” He smiled. “But I think it is all I need. You will doubtless be able to see the original when next you visit the Hermitage.”
“An interesting story, indeed,” Sweet said. “Now, how to proceed? Norm has our copy—translated, of course. Ready, Norm?”
Hazlett nodded.
“I believe that I am to speak first.”
Sweet nodded. “Yes.”
Kostov took a small piece of paper from his suit coat pocket, looked at it for a moment, cleared his throat, then looked at Hazlett and then at Sweet. “Mr. Golyadkin spent the whole evening madly bustling about.”
There was a tremor in Hazlett’s voice. “I think you have made an error, sir.”
“I apologize.” Kostov’s voice was as unsteady as Hazlett’s. “I should have said, Mr. Golyadkin spent the entire morning madly bustling about.”
Sweet glanced at Hazlett, who nodded.
He clapped his hands. “Well done, Mr. Kostov, well done!”
Hazlett shook Kostov’s hand. “Well done—although it occurred to me as I was cheering you on that I was at cross purposes. Your victory is our loss.”
“I do not think that you should consider it a loss, Mr. Hazlett. Is it not fulfilling Alexander’s wishes—a settling of accounts?”
“Yes,” Hazlett said, “yes, of course.”
“As an aside, Mr. Kostov,” Sweet said, “may we know what had been excerpted?”
“It was from a short novel by Dostoevsky entitled The Double.”
“Thank you. Our researchers couldn’t find it.”
“A somewhat obscure work, which may be why it was selected.”
“If you would like to continue our last conversation, Mr. Kostov?” Sweet said.
“Please.”
“First, we acknowledge the right of the Russian Federation to a three-quarters portion of the assets of The Mannerling Trust.”
Kostov frowned. “We were discussing this division when we last spoke. If you could explain the circumstances?”
Sweet was about to describe Alexander’s arrangement, but stopped. “Rather than my explaining, Mr. Kostov, perhaps you would like to read a document describing the circumstances?”
“Very well.”
“Norm, please ask Bev to take a copy of
the diary to an unoccupied office.”
Half an hour later, Kostov asked Beverly Perkins to inform Mr. Sweet or Mr. Hazlett that he had completed reading the document.
Sweet and Hazlett met Kostov for lunch in the trustees’ dining room.
“What did you think of the diary?”
“My English vocabulary fails me. One wishes to have lived in those times.”
“And to have had those talents,” Hazlett said.
Kostov nodded.
“So you understand about the division of the assets?”
“Yes. I shall engage a firm of American attorneys to represent the Federation in this matter. Can you recommend one? Perhaps here in Birmingham?”
“Norm will give you a list of our recommendations.”
Kostov nodded. “Minister Kudrin will have the last word, of course.”
Sweet nodded. “As to the transfer, I foresee no problems. We have all of the documentation generated since the establishment of the Trust. Norm will provide you with the December thirtyfirst statements.” He paused. “And we’re agreeing to the distribution. It’s not as if we were going to be antagonists.”
“I appreciate your attitude.”
“What’s your next step, Mr. Kostov?” Hazlett said.
“I must confer with the Finance Minister.”
Kostov stood and shook hands with his hosts. He opened the dining room door, then looked back at Sweet and Hazlett. “I shall telephone you from Moscow at my earliest opportunity.”
Sweet and Hazlett remained at the table.
“Any ideas?” Sweet said.
“As I see it, we have two choices. We can reduce our distributions by seventy-five percent across the board.” Hazlett paused. “Or we can reduce the list of recipients to those that are the most needy.”
“Not much room to maneuver.”
Hazlett smiled. “There is one thing we can do to soften the blow.”
“And that is?”
“Larson. We can give him a lot more to work with—strip money from some of the lesser performers.”
“Some old friends will be hurt.”
“Our loyalty has to be to our clients.”
“Of course.” Sweet paused. “Let’s ask Sam how much he can take.”
New York, May 17
“It is Ivan, you dolt! Wake up.”
Kostov’s call to Mashcherov’s office had been redirected to his home. “Not office hours, Ivan Arkadyevich.”
“Shall I inform the Finance Minister of your complaint?”
“That will not be necessary. Where are you?”
“Kennedy Airport. Terminal three.”
“Coming home?”
“Leaving at eightthirty, local time.”
“Good. See you soon—”
“Wait! Do not hang up. I—”
“Ah, I knew there was some reason for you to call me in the middle of the night.
What is it?”
“Tell Aleksey Leonidevich I have succeeded.”
“You have the money?”
“Not yet, but the Americans have agreed.”
“Incredible! How much?”
“Seven and a half billion. Only three quarters of what we thought, but—” “Only? My friend, if these were the old days, they would pin a Hero of the Soviet
Union on your chest as you deplane at Sheremetyevo!”
“Fortunately for us, these are not the old days.”
“True. Seven and a half billion dollars!”
“And change.”
“How much change?”
“Six million and yet more change.”
“Shall you and I take the change?”
“An appealing idea, but I think not. Call Aleksey Leonidevich to request an
appointment for me. Soonest.”
“As soon as the sun rises, Ivan Arkadyevich.” He hesitated. “And congratulations.” Larson arrived at the Iron Tower early the following morning.
Hazlett was all smiles. “Sit down, please, Sam. We have a story for you.” Sweet chaired the presentation.
“One for the history books,” Larson said. “But to me one of the more interesting
aspects was your apparent attitude. It sounds like the two of you were cheering for some guy who was trying to take away threequarters of your money.”
“You had to have been there,” Hazlett said.
“Yes,” Sweet said. “And so we’re ready to ship the liquid portion—a bit more than five billion. Waiting for word from Kostov.”
“Bet there’ll be some eyebrows raised at the Fed,” Larson said
“We’ve prepared them,” Sweet said.
“May I ask how I’m affected?”
“Norm and I are still working on the plan to reduce distributions, but whatever it is, it’ll be bloody. To counter that, we’ve decided to improve our cash generation as much as possible.”
A wide smile appeared on Larson’s face.
“Way ahead of me, I see,” Sweet said.
“Just hoping.”
Hazlett grinned. “Sure you are.”
“But you’re right,” Sweet said. “How much can you take?”
“Including growth, I have one hundred sixty-three.” He paused. “I hadn’t told you, but I’m investing in both the OEX and the SPX.”
“Limitations on OEX volume?” Hazlett said.
“Yes.”
“No adverse effects on performance?”
“No.”
“So how much can you take?”
“I’d like to start with another hundred. Let me get that settled in and then we’ll see.”
Sweet nodded. “We’ll begin pulling money in this afternoon.”
Larson stood. “I appreciate the opportunity, gentlemen—and the confidence.”
“I do have one request,” Sweet said.
“I owe you where I am today.”
“Not so fast. You may not like it.”
“Unlikely. What is it?”
“How’s your marketing coming along?”
“I’m not doing any. I’ve had some interest, but you’re my sole client.”
“What I’d like is an exclusive. You can see why.”
“My pleasure. Do you have some paperwork for me to sign?”
“No, your word’s good.”
Moscow, May 18
Kudrin gestured at a chair opposite his desk.
Kostov sat.
“I regret I had to put you off. The President’s agenda comes before my own.” “I understand, sir.”
“So they have agreed?”
“They would have already commenced transferring had I not felt I should report in
person beforehand.”
“Mashcherov’s message was that we were getting only three quarter’s of the assets—
seven and a half billion?”
“Yes. I have seen Alexander’s documents. The remaining quarter remains with the
Americans.”
“Should we contest?”
Kostov described what he had read in the Mannerling diary.
Kudrin chuckled. “Perhaps they are in fact due a little something. What is the next
step?”
Kostov shrugged. “I assume you will brief the President.”
“I know my job, Ivan Arkadyevich. I mean your next step.”
“Am I to continue working on this project?”
“You will remember that at the time I selected you for this mission, I asked you if you
found my selection to be odd?”
“Yes.”
“I told you I would explain my reasoning another day.”
“I remember, sir.”
“Today is the day. I felt that if one of the Yasenevo spies—with many foreign
contacts—was in charge, there was a possibility that assets would be diverted on the way
to our treasury. I felt that that would not be the case with you.”
“Diverted, sir?”
“To others—perhaps to the
mafya.”
Kostov nodded.
“I am honored, sir.”
“It is I who should be honored for having made such a brilliant selection.” “Sir, I—”
“Never mind that, Ivan Arkadyevich, tell me how you did it.
Kostov told his tale.
Fifteen minutes later, Kudrin shook Kostov’s hand. “I look forward to briefing the President. He did not always have an office job, you know.”
Kostov nodded.
“Go back to America and oversee the transfer of the money to us.” He chuckled. “To us, you understand?”
Kostov smiled and nodded.
Chapter 17
Larson met with Rubenstein and Cooper that same evening. “We’ll be managing two hundred sixtythree as soon as the transfer is complete. And I’ve agreed to an exclusive.”
“Bullshit, Larson! That ain’t the deal. You’re supposed to sell the hell out of our little black box, not help some guys with a problem. An exclusive means we’re topped out. I don’t—”
Larson raised two fingers in front of Cooper’s nose. “Two points, Cooper. One, The Mannerling Trust has many millions more in assets. We can have as much as we can handle.”
Cooper looked away.
“And, two, there is an absolute limit to how much we can invest on a daily basis in OEX and SPX. If the CBOE or the SEC ever decides we’re a controlling factor, we’ll be out of business the same day.”
“Maybe,” Cooper said, “but what’s keeping Aaron from finding something else to predict? That way—”
Rubenstein raised his hand. “Tom, let’s end this. I am satisfied with Sam’s handling of this matter and how much money he’s earning for us.”
“Goddamn! You two are as happy as lovebirds and I’m outside the cage looking in! I want more money, goddamn it! I want the goddamn agreement redone.”
Larson leaned across the table. “The agreement stands! How much money do you think you’ve earned by remembering my name?”
“We’ll see about that goddamned contract, Larson, and I wish to hell I’d never even known your goddamned name!”
Larson was still watching Cooper’s departure when Rubenstein touched his arm.
“I must tell you I’m beginning to dislike these encounters intensely.”
“Me, too. Irrational greed. I wonder sometimes why you don’t get rid of him.”
“Get rid of him?”
“Sure. Pay him off. He talks a lot about big money, but I’ll bet you could buy him out for not very much.”
“I couldn’t do that, Sam. A deal’s a deal.”
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