Fire & Wind

by Leo Gher

  In due course, Vladimir was seduced by the pleasures of pain. It started when he was eight, and it grew as he grew. Foremost in his neurotic hierarchy was the misery of others. When the squabbling mothers decided to separate the boys, Vanya remained upstairs, while Vlad moved to a little room next to the garden house on the first floor.

  Because of all the plants, flowers, and wiggly creatures nearby, he developed an interest in insects. He was especially fond of dragonflies, those that a cousin brought back from camping excursions in the Talysh hills, where creeks and ponds drained from the highlands into the Caspian Sea. Over the next few years, Vlad collected, preserved, and mounted more than 30 species. But the real reason for his being a collector of Anisoptera was odd. It wasn’t their carnivorous nature or the science of taxonomy itself, but a perverse fixation with afflicting agony on the poor creatures that he enjoyed.

  Vlad once asked the gardener, “Does it feel pain?”

  “They’re not human, Müserif,” the man said. “They can’t have feelings.” The gardener thought he was saving the boy from some heartfelt anguish. But Vlad had no remorse for such creatures; in fact, he relished in their suffering. Vlad began experimenting with a variety of cruelties. He pulled off a wing or two to see if the creatures could still fly. They could not; they just fluttered frantically in stillborn circles on his table. On the Internet, he learned that dragonflies had 24,000 eyes… they don’t, but Vlad decided to see if could pluck out an eye or two or 20, so to speak. In the end, Vladimir settled on pinning each captive dragonfly alive to his mounting board, and then watch it die. It was his first deep dive into sadism.

  At school, Vlad was a prankster. His shenanigans always involved biting and stinging creatures: wolf spiders, vampire bats, bees, wasps, and especially snakes. The pleasure he took from seeing a classmate recoil in fear was Vlad’s second dip into deviance. But it wasn’t just physical sadism that excited Vladimir Kos; emotional cruelty was equally stimulating, chiefly when his victims were girls.

  In his teen years, he grew expressly fond of two-timing girlfriends. He dated a series of enthusiastic ladies, and his callous and non-committal attitude was apparent even after a few short weeks. When he was tired of one, he didn’t fret over hurting his castoff. Vlad openly attacked the poor girl during the break-up, citing her looks or behavior or status as being unsuitable to the House of Kos. One of Vlad’s chief means of exerting authority over them was to select very young girls who were far beneath him on the social pecking order. He opted for girls he could dominate, control, and, punish.

  “You know, Leyla,” he would say, “your sister has asked me to take her out on my boat.”

  “She’s a bitch,” said the incensed Leyla. “She already has many boyfriends.”

  Vlad responded stingingly, “She is prettier than you, you know… and more mature.” He drew out the words as if they were an affront to his dignity, “Don’t you think I deserve the prettiest one in your family?”

  “I’ll fix her,” Leyla shouted as she stomped away. “You’ll see.”

  That night, Leyla brutalized her sister with a wooden meat mallet. Afterward, she took a picture of her sister’s face and brought it to school. “See, I told you,” as she threw the photo at Vladimir. “She’s not so pretty now!”

  To his surprise, the photo of the bloodied woman pleased Vlad – no, thrilled and aroused him. “Leyla, you did this for me?” Now he knew what was missing in his burgeoning sex life. He gave the little girl a hug, and while doing so, began working out a plan to bring his sexual cravings to a much-needed climax.

  “Anything for you, Vlad,” she pined, wholly unaware of the debauchery he was intending.

  Later that day, Vlad had some misgivings about the upcoming encounter – not about the things he would do to her, but about her willingness to obey. But he quickly settled the matter in his mind, if she does not agree, I will force her. Yes! That would be even more fun. She was only 14, but Vlad didn’t care. No one will care, he argued to himself. After all, she is servile, and I am elite.

  But the tryst didn’t go as he planned. Vlad had a problem – a problem of which he was not yet fully aware. His sexual proclivities did not readily spring forth with women. Oh, he had no problem battering women emotionally, but, as he would learn in the coming years, his sexual gratification would come only with men.

  Leyla had come to the Kos mansion that night, prepared for heavy petting. She had borrowed her older sister’s high heels, one of her fashionably short, tight-fitting skirts, and a frilly blouse. The young woman had even discarded her bra, and her nipples were excitedly visible. After just a few minutes, Vlad realized that Leyla did not arouse him as he thought she should. He was confused, and soon infuriated, and then he summarily rejected her. “Get out of my house,” he shouted. But as Leyla left his room, he added, “Tell your sister I want a real woman, and will be coming for her next.” It was pretense, but Leyla felt relieved.

  After a few years, Vladimir moved out of his father’s house and into an apartment at the Baku Sporting Club. It was caused by an argument with Vanya, which erupted into violence and an injury. By the time he was 20, Vlad had outgrown his brother and had a working knowledge of Jamuwanti, the fighting techniques taught to him by Master Girish. The robust younger man had convinced his brother to tussle for a bit; he would show Vanya a few wrestling tricks. But when Vlad applied the arm-trap half nelson, he dislocated Vanya’s shoulder. He claimed it was unintentional, but neither Vanya nor Viktor was convinced.

  Dina was unhappy that Vladimir should be kicked out of the house, but there was scarcely anything she could do to stop it. Viktor, Vanya, and Aydan demanded the move, and her son did not object. So, after a few months of renovations at the Club, Vlad moved away. He was happy there. Vlad could gather his boys together, and they could practice their lifestyle without further family interferences.

  24

  Ghost on The Hill

  Spring was still two weeks away, and the winter winds had suddenly returned to Azerbaijan. There was a storm howling across Baku Bay. Mira Nadirov stared out the car window, “Khazri will not give up; hope it doesn’t ruin Novruz.” She was sitting next to Conor in the back of the Zümrә limo, which was stopped at a light on the access road to Heydar Aliyev Airport. She watched intently as the cavalcade of flags was blowing straight out against the overcast skies.

  Conor replied, “Very intense… more than the usual spring squall.” Each was thinking of Tali, who had just boarded Flight 233, bound for Istanbul. They were concerned about the gale-force turbulence the plane might encounter overhead.

  The limo driver said, “She will be all right once the plane gets above the clouds.” It was David, Rufet’s long-time chauffeur. Ever since Qurb had gone missing, he’d been reassigned to drive the Kedar Bey. In any case, Conor wished that Tali had taken the Zümrә jet. It was nimble and able to avoid dangerous cumulonimbus clouds. But in his subconscious, he knew that the massive Boeing 757 was the safer plane.

  David was driving southward on Neftcilar Boulevard, taking Mira and Conor back to the Zümrә Estates when Conor said, “After we drop off Mira, you can take me to the residence. I will be staying there tonight.” The chauffeur acknowledged his boss’s request.

  Currently, everyone associated with House Kedar was on edge. Throughout the winter months, a restless people, economic instability, and rumors of war had alarmed the Azerbaijani population, especially the ruling elite. Undercover agents were everywhere, watching. Any clan meeting in Baku was now out of the question, so Conor had decided to move the Kedar strategy session to Gobustan. Tonight’s plan was simple enough: Rayna would drive Mira to the Nadirov home in Gobustan, and she would wait for Conor and other allies to join her there.

  Conor was checking his iPhone when he came across an old text. “I forgot to tell you. Sam sent a reply.”

  “What did he say?” asked Mira.

  �
�That they would be on the road to Kars in a day or two. Iza’s mother is going with them.”

  “Old Chira?” Mira was puzzled. “What can she do besides tell fortunes?”

  “She lived in Kars Province as a kid. It’s hostile territory now, as it was then, and they thought she might be helpful in the search for Rufet.”

  Mira glanced upward at the roof of the limo, then turned to look at Conor face-to-face. “Rufet is dead, Conor, probably lost in the mountains or fallen into a gorge. You cannot put off finding a second-in-command any longer.”

  Mira Nadirov had no formal standing in House Kedar, but she was Conor’s personal confidant and life-long surrogate mother. There was an urgency to her message. Political alliances had shifted. The Kedar-Kazimov faction had lost much of its power, and Viktor Kos had just recently been named Azeri Vice President.

  It wasn’t the first time that his cherished aunt had badgered Conor about her husband, Seyfulla. “Mira, I am not going to name him First Deputy.” There was a curtness to his tone as he continued, “Seyfulla is a good man, but he has no interest in business or political machinations.”

  “True, but he is someone you can trust.”

  “He better serves us as the head of the Nadirov family in the Outlands.”

  Mira knew when to quit badgering, so she changed the subject. “What is the name of this conference that Tali’s attending?”

  “It’s called Inshallah… like Davos, only for Islamic Asia and the Middle East.”

  “’If God wills it.’ That is a good name.” Tali was not only representing the Zümrә companies but also would assist the Foreign Secretary. She had wanted to do this on her own and decided to go unaided on commercial air. “Who else is going to be there?”

  “Secretary Kazimov, of course, and several others,” said Conor. “Most troubling is Vladimir, the nastiest of the Kos.”

  “Can you explain the new position he’s been given?”

  “National Security Councilor,” Conor harrumphed. “Rolan says the crisis with Armenia required someone to coordinate all security agencies. But it’s obviously a reward to Viktor for voting with Guliyev against the latest no-confidence initiative.”

  “Sounds fishy to me.”

  After passing through the electronic access gate, the limo headed for the closest building, which was where the business offices were located. David pulled into the cul-de-sac, where he found Rayna waiting with Mira’s car. David jumped out, opened the passenger door, then fetched Mira’s bags from the trunk and handed them over to her bodyguard. But before Mira could switch cars, Conor called her back. “I may be slightly delayed… getting to Gobustan, I mean.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m going to visit with an old friend, Mo Chinske.”

  Mira nodded, “A good friend to have these days. Give him my regards.”

  “If all goes as planned, I’ll bring Mo to the strategy meeting in Gobustan.”

  She gave the Kedar Bey a thumbs-up, and said, “When we’re finished with the business of the retreat, I want to show you my ghost on the hill.”

  Conor crooked his head and chuckled. “You ridicule Chira Beggs for being a faith healer and fortune teller, and now you’re telling me you have a ghost to show me?”

  “Yes. A ghost dear to my heart and yours.”

  Conor loved his aunt profoundly but did not understand so many of her ways. She waved goodbye and rushed off to the other car.

  What all employees called the residence at the Zümrә Estates was actually a multipurpose building complex between the business center and the boat dock. It housed a storage facility, a large garage, and four apartments. Two were occupied by maintenance and housekeeping staff, a third was used for Kedar guests, and then there was Conor’s garden apartment, which had a beautiful southern view of Baku Bay and the Caspian Sea. That’s where Conor and Tali lived most of the year.

  The next morning, Conor sat in the sunroom adjacent to the kitchen, having tea. He was watching last night’s clouds clearing on the eastern horizon when he received a text from Mira: “Tali landed safe; now at Four Seasons registering for conference.”

  “Good news… waiting for the storm to end.”

  “Wish I had sent Rayna with her. I worry when Tali’s by herself.”

  Conor’s return words were somewhat snarky: “She’s 25… a woman thoroughly competent to take care of herself. You are such a worrywart!”

  Mira replied sharply: “I’m her mother, remember? Don’t tell me when I can or cannot worry.”

  Sometime around 11 am, the foul weather had subsided, and the winds had calmed, so Conor decided he could make the sea voyage to meet Mo Chinske. He dressed warmly and then walked down to the boathouse, where the Zarifa was stored for the winter. He exchanged batteries and gassed up the Fairlane 62-footer. After letting the engine idle for 10 minutes, he engaged the power doors and headed out to sea – alone. Once he passed the breakers, he dialed in the coordinates, and the cabin cruiser’s navigation system took over. He sent a secured message to Captain Azat on the Hazar-Denizi that he was on the way, and estimated his arrival at 12:30 pm.

  Somewhere in the middle of the Caspian, the Hazar-Denizi had been moored throughout the night at Exxon Oil Platform-5CS. The captain and crew were also waiting out the storm. A minute or two after Azat received Conor’s message, he dialed Chinske’s room. “The Kedar Bey is on the move,” the Captain reported.

  “How far?” Mo asked.

  “He says a little more than an hour. We can be underway in 30 minutes; then, depending on the seas, it’s 50 to 75 minutes to the meeting place.” The Hazar-Denizi was a commuter tug that shuttled workers to and from oil platforms in the middle of the Caspian. Exxon-5CS was a regular stopover, so no one paid attention to the lone passenger on the Hazar-Denizi. More importantly, no one cared even if he was the chief field agent of CIA-Central Asia.

  “Tell him we’ll be there at one, or 1:30 pm at the latest.”

  At the Gobustan cottage two days later, Mo Chinske began his briefing to the Kedar Bey and his ever-diminishing band of allies. He had their undivided attention.

  “As you well know, for decades – centuries, really – the battle between the Shiites and Sunnis for the heart of Islam has been fierce, fraught with disaster, and always conducted under the table, so to speak. We refer to them as proxy wars: the Bader Gang versus the Khorasani Brigade, Peshmerga versus ISIS, Al-Qaeda affiliates clashing in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East, just to name a few. The clandestine services of many nations have tried intervention in many forms, but none has ever been successful. In fact, we now accept as truth that sectarian fighting is the very thing that has prevented the battle from exploding into total warfare.”

  Seeking to bring a bit of levity to the room, one of the Nadirov cousins interjected, “In Azerbaijan, it is Kedar versus Kos.” Mira frowned at the boy.

  Chinske took a sip of coffee, paying no attention to the comment, and then brought up a PowerPoint slide. “But things have changed. Both the Saudis and Iranians now have nukes. Small tactical weapons: dirty bombs, SAMs with lightweight nuclear warheads, nuclear artillery shells, and land mines… stuff like that.”

  Mira asked, “Are they building these weapons?”

  “Or just smuggling them into the region?” Rayna probed.

  “Buying them, mostly from China, North Korea, any rogue regime that’s in the business,” Mo replied. “But they are both developing the infrastructure for a munitions industry.”

  Secretary Kazimov’s son followed up, “Just how does Azerbaijan fit into the picture, Mr. Chinske?” Paul Kazimov was a serious student of international politics and had a profound concern for his native land.

  “Good question. Most analysts see the Caucasus as the hottest spot, the most dangerous place on the planet.”

  Conor asked, “Why is that, Mo?”

>   “We think...” Mo hesitated, remembering Conor’s father and his struggles, “Tom Moynihan always thought the battle between Shiite and Sunni must be settled,” he said, “but the Azerbaijan-Armenia struggle is critically different; it’s between Christians and Muslims, the West versus the East, the clash of civilization that Tom sought to avoid all of his life.”

  “If you Americans had kept your word…”

  Another shouted, “Crusaders invade, Muslims react!”

  “True enough,” Chinske said. “But that doesn’t alleviate the immediate problem.”

  Conor said, “Guliyev is ready for war right now.”

  Chinske added, “We know, and so are the Armenians.”

  “So, what can we do?” asked Mira.

  “Stop Guliyev Bey,” Mo said. “And Viktor Kos too. We think he’s planning to assassinate Rolan and assume the Presidency.”

  “How do you know this?” Rayna demanded.

  “We’ve been monitoring the activities of each member of the Triad for some time now.”

  By late morning the next day, they had worked out a strategy, and everyone had been given an assignment. After that, the retreat ended and everyone scattered. Mo Chinske headed for Baku to speak with David. Mira and Conor remained in Gobustan – there was a ghost to see.

  After dinner that evening, Mira began explaining about her first encounter with the ghost. “I told Rayna I was going for a walk. She objected, of course, but I insisted… I was just going to find some youthful memories, I told her. Rayna stipulated that I should take a walkie-talkie and a flashlight. It was October, and the daylight was fleeting.”