SNAP: New Talent (The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles)

by Michele Drier

  “We did. We called the number in the email and were told that it was correct. That someone in your French office had approved it.”

  “Well, this is all fake. No one approved pool coverage. And the head of our Paris office is here right now, working with our photographers to finalize shooting sites.”

  Victor almost swallowed his tongue with his coffee. “Oh, you can’t do that! I’ve, I mean, we’ve put out notices that SNAP won’t be shooting. Oh, they’ll ruin us!”

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “I don’t know who they are. They’re the ones who sent us the email and made the phone call!”

  I just sat there, staring at him. Not only was it clear he was lying, he was beginning to figure out that we knew he was lying. Finally, one of the demons, Hermann, I think, leaned over and handed me my briefcase. I opened it, pulled out a sheaf of papers and began leafing through them.

  Visibly shaken, Victor began stammering in earnest. “They told us you wouldn’t find out. They said you’d just assume there was miscommunication between your offices. They said that they’d make sure you got copies of the pool pictures.”

  “And again, who is this ‘they’?”

  “I really don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure. The phone call did come from Paris, caller ID showed the right city code. I never got a call from SNAP before, so how was I to know it wasn’t from you?”

  “Did you ask for any verification?”

  “No! They, the man, said he was calling for Maxie Gwenoch. I didn’t question. And then...” his voice trailed off.

  “And, then...?”

  “I got another call. This time the voice had an accent, not a French accent, an Eastern accent, maybe Slavic.”

  “And the voice said?”

  Victor shook his head, his skin gray. Clearly this was a conversation he didn’t want to remember.

  “The voice said if I wanted our design studio to continue, we had to do what they said. We had to cancel your press passes and make sure you were only given pool pictures. You, SNAP, weren’t to be allowed to cover the show in any way. No runway seats, no backstage passes, no model or designer interviews. And by keeping you away from the runway, you wouldn’t even be able to know who was there and who ordered.”

  This was interesting. Not only were the fashion pictures taken away, a big pain, but we’d have no idea who was there. Our vaunted celeb coverage would be out the window.

  And this could be from a wide range of interests. What leapt to mind first was the Huszars trying to move in on our cash cows, part of the skeleton of our success. Next, were the oligarchs, who wanted their privacy kept private. Then, and this was scary to think about, a pact between them. Or even the Chechens, thinking they could sell their muscle to either or both groups, and doing it on spec. They didn’t need to have a contract, they could peddle the results to the highest bidder.

  We seemed to have stirred up every baddie in Europe and they all wanted a piece of us. The price of success!

  I watched Victor. He was quivering. “What are you going to do?”

  “I think the question is ‘What are YOU going to do?’ We’re going to cover your Spring Show.”

  Victor closed his eyes. I thought he was going to vomit. He managed to take a few deep breaths.

  “We’re done, then. I just wanted to start a fashion house. Do some great designs, carve out a place for us in the new Eastern economy. I thought this would help Poland gain stature and respect in the West.” I could almost hear him moan.

  “What are you talking about? Why do you think you’re done?”

  “They’ll kill us. Or they’ll take us over. They’ll send in thugs to make sure our orders never get shipped. They’ll scare off our suppliers...”

  Victor was listing a tale of mayhem that made even me nervous. “We’re going to be your partner. SNAP will provide some guards,” I waved my hand toward the demons, “to watch your shipments, if need be. We’ll put the word out that, in the interests of U.S. and European harmony, we’re going to bat for struggling businesses in the former Eastern Bloc. You can say that you have a contract for SNAP to cover your shows for the next three years.

  “That alone will ensure that all the fashion and gossip outlets will cover you and should make your shows sell-outs. If the fashionistas think they’ll be on the pages of SNAP, they’ll turn out.”

  I couldn’t have made Victor any happier if he’d been on the Titanic and I’d thrown him the last life preserver.

  “Do you mean that? Will SNAP really do that?” Sweat was beading his forehead. “Why would you do that after I pulled your press passes?”

  “Because you acted in what you thought was the best way to protect your business. You were threatened by very bad forces and you didn’t see any way out but to obey them. This was not of your doing.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Gwenoch. I couldn’t see beyond the threats and didn’t know what else to do.”

  I stood up, more to stretch out my ankle then to walk out. “The next time you get what looks like an email or fax or letter or phone call from SNAP, you call either Francois or me. I will send you our cell phone numbers on a secure line. Do not EVER give those numbers out. And only use them to verify that we’ve been in touch with you. Keep all conversations to less than a minute.”

  “Will you attend our party after the show tonight?”

  “Yes, Francois and I will be there. I hope everything goes well.”

  Hermann, Ludwig and I walked out of the office and back into pandemonium, which seemed to have increased in volume and tone.

  Once back in the limo, I asked them to give me a better tour of the city, so for a couple of hours we crossed and re-crossed the Vistula River while watching tourists, locals and some of the more than 100,000 students who attended the universities of this city.

  We did not go to Auschwitz . The Poles hadn’t built that death pit and it wasn’t a part of their history I wanted to see.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Well done, Maxie!” Jean-Louis’ voice was buoyant. “That should send a strong message we’re not backing down. Are you all right?”

  I was all right. I was more than all right. For the first time in months I felt powerful and that I was actively guiding my actions. Until now, I hadn’t acknowledged that being a victim, or being seen as one at least, had sapped me. I hadn’t fought back, except with Jean-Louis, and that was such a mixture of personal and professional concern that I felt paralyzed much of the time.

  “I’m fine. And even my ankle’s fine. It really gave Victor heart to hear that we considered him a partner. When I saw the ‘email’ from SNAP I knew we’d been hacked. It looked like our logo and had our L.A. address. I suppose if you’d never done business with us, you might not know we never use pool coverage. I couldn’t totally fault Ludvoc designs.”

  “Who do you think sent it?”

  Wow, Jean-Louis was asking my advice? Naw, he was just checking to see if my assumptions were the same as his.

  “I’m not sure. The list of folks we’ve riled up is the size of the Krakow phone book. Could be the Huszars, wanting to discredit us. Could be the Chechens, wanting themselves to look good. Could be some combination.”

  “That’s where I’m going, too, although I’m detecting the hand of the Huszars, Matthais, ultimately behind this. Are you going to the runway show?”

  “I am. Victor has reserved front row seats for us. I’m taking Hermann and Francois will meet us later at the party. That’ll put the wind up Matthais’ nose, to see our coverage and me right in his face!”

  We shared a laugh, but his voice got wary. “Please don’t take any chances. And keep Hermann and Ludwig close. Know that I love you.”

  All of my work trying to explain how I felt when he “took care of” me hadn’t fallen on deaf ears. We were now partners in this deathly war.

  I pulled myself together with a Chanel business suit for the runway show. I’d come back later, change into the gown and pick up F
rancois for the party. Hermann and I headed out. I didn’t think I needed both demons. This was a big event, all invited guests, Ludvoc Designs would have their own security and we’d be deep in the crowd in the first row off the runway.

  The design studio did itself proud. The dresses and casual clothes for spring were floaty, gauzy pastels, very romantic. Prints looked like Impressionist watercolors, soft-lined and indistinct, just waiting for an invitation for a picnic on the river. Of course, any woman who’d wear one of these creations for a picnic was either crazy or incredibly wealthy. The simple dresses would be running close to $5,000 at the studio.

  If the mass market followed Ludvoc Designs though, knockoff versions would be available at big department stores for around $150 right after Christmas.

  We were just standing up after the last of the bows and applause when a commotion broke out where guests were streaming out the exit. I couldn’t see with all the people crowding around, plus Hermann was keeping himself between me and anything interesting, and the shouts were in yet another language I didn’t know—probably Polish.

  Hermann swiveled his head around, almost yelling Hungarian into his communicator, while looking for another exit. He spotted a path around the runway and through the backstage into the dressing area, grabbed me around the waist and half-carried me out of the audience. Once in the dressing area, Victor rushed over.

  “Please don’t be alarmed. This was just a student protest. There are many students, Poles and others, who think what we do is frivolous and not worthy of interest. There are so many other issues we’re facing. The economy, membership in the European Union, the loss of our heritage, and loss of the zloty.”

  I knew there was an undercurrent of angst in many of the EU countries over the euro becoming the currency and Britain refusing to give up the pound. These were old and proud nations who’d fought bitterly with one another for centuries and now were yoked together, so flashes of discontent were bound to erupt now and again.

  “Thank you. I am a little on edge. I’m going to the hotel to change and meet Francois, who’s going over some images that we’ll use tonight. We’ll be back for the party.”

  Hermann moved the crowd aside and as we headed back to the limo the security forces had pushed back a group of young people holding placards and shouting some slogan. I raised my eyebrows and in rusty English, Hermann said, “My Polish is not so good, but I think they say ‘Keep zloty’.”

  How wonderful to find a ruckus that had nothing to do with the Huszars!

  At the hotel, I managed to get myself into the long Chanel gown, put my hair up and redo my makeup without Elise, but I didn’t like it. I was getting way used to the luxe life.

  The party was a rush of noise, sweaty bodies, happiness, Champagne and over-amped club music. Hermann and Ludwig stuck to me like glue, leaving Francois to manage on his own. I felt too old for this young, hip group and I flagged down Francois to tell him I was leaving.

  “OK, Maxie. I’m going to stay and see what I can find.” His eyes roved the crowded dance floor and his shoulders arm-danced. “See you later,” and he slithered toward the bar.

  Once outside in the clear, cold air, I remembered again that smoking was still a staple in this part of the world. Suddenly, Hermann opened the limo door, shoved me into the back, hopped in after me and rattled off instructions into his communicator. The demon driving knew Krakow, because he took off and floored it while maneuvering through the narrow, twisty streets of the old town.

  Both Hermann and Ludwig were talking top speed into communicators while checking their Sig Sauers for ammo magazines. I twisted around and saw headlights behind us, getting closer, but couldn’t tell what kind of vehicle it was.

  “Who is it?” It was useless for me to ask. English wasn’t a viable language for these demons, so hanging on and hoping was the best alternative I had. The chase only lasted a few minutes. The driver headed for a gated door into an underground garage and, at the last second, the door rolled up, we were through and the door slammed down again.

  We circled down a floor, parked next to an elevator, Hermann practically shoved me out and into the elevator and punched a button. That’s when I realized we were in the hotel, in an elevator that only went to the penthouse suite. And me, thinking we’d checked into a hotel just like normal people. Life with the vampires was never dull.

  Once in the suite, the demons called Sandor to report in. That, of course, alerted Jean-Louis, who called my cell, frantic.

  “What happened? The last report I got was only a student protest over zlotys! Who was it?”

  I couldn’t tell him because I didn’t know. “I only saw headlights through the rear window. Hermann and Ludwig were on their communicators, but they weren’t speaking English, or even Hungarian. I don’t know the demon who was driving, but he knew what he was doing.”

  “I’m getting reports from Sandor. Some of the demons stationed in Poland are tracking the car now. I’ll call you again when I have more information. By the way, where’s Francois?”

  Francois? I hadn’t a clue. “I’m not sure. I’ll find him and get back to you.”

  Beyond calling Francois’ cell, I didn’t even know how to look for him. I got his voicemail. I called Victor also, with the excuse of checking with Francois on some of the images. He hadn’t seen Francois. I could have used a little vampire mind-reading right about now.

  Finally, Hermann got off the call to Sandor and I asked him how I could find Francois. “He is with other demons, chasing the car. They will call when catched.”

  Well, with a vampire and a few demons after them, whoever was following us was probably sorry now.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Francois showed up about 3 a.m.

  “Well, Maxie, an interesting night,” was what he said by way of greeting.

  “So, interesting can cover a multitude of sins, and a lot of meanings. What the hell happened? When I left, you were trolling the bar for a hot one.”

  He gave a quick grin and nodded. “I was. And I’d found one. Not a donor, well not yet, but possibilities. And then my cell rang and that was the end of that. Hermann had called in support, a car was waiting and we were less than five minutes behind you.”

  Damn the vampire, he was cagey enough that I still didn’t know whether his intended prey was male or female.

  “So who was it?”

  “Who was what? Oh, you mean following you? It was a low-ranking Huszar with two Chechens. We caught up with them when they slowed to try and figure out how to breach the security gate. Took ‘em off to a little place down by the river. Had a little chat.” Francois was relishing the 1930s movie gangster-speak.

  “Are they dead?”

  “The two Chechens are. I thought that was a good message to go back to their pals. Sure, the Huszars may pay well, but the thugs are losing soldiers, too. We sent the Huszar back with a serious case of silver poisoning. A little pay-back for Nikoly.”

  That was our answer then. Huszars and Chechens hacked our computers and sent fake emails out. And they were working together. It was time to discuss this with Jean-Louis.

  We called him, gave him the bare bones. He’d get the IT guys going on tracing the email path, close down the hacked sites and set up new ones. He’d call another meeting with Karoly and some of his followers, he’d get Chaz and Carola in L.A. started on a disinformation campaign and we’d have a giant strategy meeting tomorrow night at the castle.

  With that, I went to bed. For Francois, it was mid-afternoon, but I’d been up since 7 a.m., first getting ready for the meeting with Victor, then the tour of Krakow, the runway show, the party and the chase scene. I was wiped.

  I ordered the plane for 10 a.m., figuring that I’d get back to the castle in time for a nap before the big meeting, but got hit with a ton of calls and emails. Jazz was concerned because L.A. was planning to use images from the Krakow show, but was still under the impression that they may have been shot by a pool photographer. And
while I had her on Skype, Chaz joined the conversation, which meant that I had to go over the talk with Victor, and the resolution, with both of them.

  “And Chaz, we need to draw up some sort of contract language that we’ll cover Ludvoc Designs’ show for the next three years. But keep any language out of it about using the images. If what I saw last night is any indication, they’re a talented group and will do well. If for some reason they don’t hit the big time, we don’t want to get stuck running pictures of nobodies at sparsely attended shows in Poland. Promoting good will with our allies isn’t the purpose of SNAP.”

  Then there was time spent with Taras. He, too, had heard about the chase and wanted to find out if any of the Chechens were from Kiev. I couldn’t answer that and turned him over to Sandor, who may have been able to track down the dead. Taras’ fear was that if the dead guys were part of the Ukraine branch, they may set up retaliation and he could get caught in a cross-fire that wasn’t of his making.

  After he talked with Sandor, he called back to say that they’d tracked the dead Chechens to Georgia. “I can bet the head guys aren’t happy with dead soldiers, but at least we’re not the shooters in Ukraine. Things are heating up, so please take care of yourself.”

  Great, was someone I hardly knew treating me like a victim now? Then I did a mental head-slap. That was just a polite thing to say. Now that I was feeling in control again, I didn’t need to sabotage myself with fears and doubts.

  Then there was a call to Francois. He wasn’t back in the office yet, but they expected him late that night. So I called his cell and left a voicemail.

  By this time, I only had an hour to get ready for dinner and the meeting. It was enough time that I let Elise pamper me by running a bath instead of a quick shower, but it left me so relaxed I asked her to make me an espresso as well.

  I went for dressy business, with a silk suit, but stuck with flats again. Just as I was finishing my make-up, Francois called. “Allo, Maxie, are you rested after our fun last night?”