No. Frightening as it was, Nadia’s optimal course of action was to wait. She had her cell phone. Marko knew her number. Soon she would get a call, and her pursuers would reveal themselves and their motives. Both were tied to Bobby’s past, Ivan Valentin, and his son’s murder. They’d begun following her as soon as she started asking questions about Valentin. She was sure of it. In the meantime, she took small comfort in knowing that Marko could take care of himself.
Nadia paid a seamstress’s son five hundred hryvnia to drive her from Strilkivtsi to Lviv. It was the equivalent of sixty dollars. She listened to her voice mails during the trip. One was from Johnny. There had been a break in the case against Bobby. The witness had changed his story. The victim had been carrying a rifle and a hunting knife. The witness was broke. The rifle and the knife were worth money. The latter had an ivory handle. He’d taken them both for the money. The victim was also carrying a map of Hart Island. Johnny said it was a public cemetery. Nadia vaguely remembered reading an article about the burial of homeless people on an island. It was a place one needed a permit to enter.
They arrived at the Leopolis ten minutes past noon. New York was seven hours behind. That meant it was 5:12 a.m. Too early to call a friend, she thought. Unfortunately she had no choice. She called Paul Obon, bookman and source of knowledge on all things Ukrainian. She indentified herself and apologized for calling so early.
“Who is this?” he said.
“It’s Nadia, Mr. Obon. Nadia Tesla. Your favorite customer.”
He muttered her name under his breath as though making sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Nadia? What time is it?” His voice trailed off. A second later he sounded awake. “What’s wrong? Something must be wrong.”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. But I need your help. It’s urgent.”
“Nothing’s wrong. And yet you’re calling me at home at five fifteen in the morning. Should I be frightened for you?”
Nadia considered her words. “No. You should be frightened for the other guys.”
“Oh. Oh, dear.”
“I need you to put your glasses on and get a pen and paper.”
“If I didn’t have my glasses on, I wouldn’t know what time it was. Hold on.” The bed creaked. A drawer opened and closed. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Not with exasperation but anxiety. Like a man preparing to take on a crucial assignment. “One of the detriments of bachelorhood is the absence of family. Did I ever tell you that? Now, how can I help you?”
“I need you to find out everything you can about something called the Zaroff Seven. It might be a private club or society of some kind. Ivan Valentin was a member, so it’s Russian, for sure. That’s all I know.”
“I’m getting up now. I have some reference books in the store that might be helpful. And my computer is there. I’ll call you back as soon as I have an answer.”
Afterward, still dressed in overalls with open wounds on her hands, Nadia called Johnny. He answered on the first ring.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“Always. You got my message.”
“Incredible news. Why did the witness change his story? Did he give a reason?”
“His conscience, I guess.”
“That’s incredible news.”
“What about your end?”
Nadia told him what happened at the Priest’s Grotto.
“What can I do to help you from here?” Johnny said.
“Keep your phone on. What about Bobby?”
“He said he’d tell me everything. Which should happen today. But he wanted to see Iryna first.”
Nadia thought for a moment. “He said that? That he’d tell you the truth but he wanted to see Iryna first?”
“Our boy’s in love.”
“Yeah. But he sees her all the time. It makes you wonder. The witness recants. He’s going to tell you the truth. But he wants to see her first.”
“Why? What do you think he wanted to talk to her about?”
“What if I told you the locket did possess a formula,” Nadia said. She could hear her voice trembling. “What if I told you it wasn’t inside the main compartment. What if there’s another compartment, or it’s inscribed or something like that.”
“Where did that come from?”
Nadia told him what Karel said before he was killed. “What if Bobby figured it out at some point?”
“It’s possible.”
“I wonder if that’s what he was talking to Iryna about.”
“Why would he tell her and not you?”
“Because he’s in love. And he has trust issues. We weren’t exactly getting along perfectly. Me needing to build my business. Him needing to be a teenager. The notion he told her and not me pains me to no end. I’d rather not think about it. All I’m saying is we have two agendas now.”
Johnny didn’t answer right away. It was as though she’d lost him.
“Johnny? Two agendas?”
“What? Oh. Right. Two agendas. Yes. Bobby and the locket.”
“Call me as soon as he tells you the truth.”
Nadia took a hot shower and put bandages on the cuts on her hands. Afterward she called room service. She ordered Grandmother’s mushroom broth, Carpathian chicken kebob, and varenyky stuffed with poppy seeds for dessert. Guilt gnawed at her conscience after she placed the order—were they even feeding Marko?—but hunger and anxiety prevailed. She drank the broth, ate half the kebob, and polished the dessert plate clean.
An hour later her phone rang. Nadia couldn’t believe Obon had found her answer so quickly. When she glanced at the number calling, however, she didn’t recognize the number.
It was the woman from the Orel Group. The one who had met her with the chauffer at Boryspil Airport.
“Mr. Simeonovich would like to know if you’re available for dinner tonight,” the woman said.
“No,” Nadia said. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m not in Kyiv. I’m in Lviv.”
“Lviv is a short helicopter ride for Mr. Simeonovich. He is twenty minutes away. He would be pleased to pick you up at your hotel at eight p.m. If that is convenient.”
“I’m afraid it’s not—”
“Mr. Simeonovich would like to present you with a check for your services. He also said something about a bonus. Would eight p.m. be convenient?”
The thought of enjoying a gourmet meal while Marko was being held captive didn’t whet her appetite. Still, Nadia thought, if her pursuers called she could excuse herself and leave right away. In the meantime, a client should be shown the proper respect and a girl had to eat.
“Yes,” she said. “Eight p.m. would be fine.”
CHAPTER 46
NADIA’S CALL SHATTERED what little inner peace Johnny had managed to find since allowing Victor Bodnar to discover the witness’s identity. There was no doubt about Victor’s motives now. He wanted the locket. That didn’t mean he knew for certain it contained a real formula. Something might have caused him to suspect this was the case. Career criminals had instincts that way. Especially thieves.
Bobby had the locket. Bobby was in prison. The locket was in prison. To get the locket, Victor had to get Bobby out of prison. Thus the offer to help the witness remember what happened the night of the murder. Just as Johnny suspected, the old man was playing him the entire time. Help those who helped him. What a load of crap. He knew it when he heard it.
And yet he still went along with it. For obvious reasons. He wanted Bobby out, too. And as long as the witness was telling the truth—which he seemed to be—Johnny had convinced himself he was within his moral boundaries. Maybe the witness had stretched the truth a bit at Victor’s request and suggested Valentine had drawn his knife first, but that’s probably what happened. Johnny was still an ethical warrior. The underdog defending the underdog.
What a pack of lies. Once a man compromised his e
thics and let a thief into his life, the criminal’s most likely course of action was to burrow deeper inside. Victor Bodnar would do anything to get that locket. And if he was motivated by leaving his daughter and grandchild some wealth before he died, he was twice as determined. He seemed like a wise old man who never resorted to violence but that too was a lie. He’d killed his cousin. He’d kill again. If it was in his best interest and there was no alternative, Victor Bodnar wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.
Not two agendas. Three agendas. Bobby, the locket, and Victor Bodnar. In that order. Persuasion, protection, negotiation. These were his forte. He had to persuade Bobby to tell the truth and the DA to release him, protect the locket, and negotiate a settlement with Victor. He had no choice but to succeed at all three objectives.
He was the one Nadia trusted the most.
CHAPTER 47
THE RESTAURANT AT the Leopolis Hotel in Lviv was called Lev, which was the Ukrainian word for lion. But the predator was sitting opposite her at the table, Nadia thought. Simeon Simeonovich wore a black pinstripe suit cut in a European style to hug his athletic frame. He sat with such perfect posture Nadia found herself arching her back to make sure she didn’t slouch.
Regardless of the circumstances, a current of electricity surrounded her whenever Nadia was in his presence. Even now, with her mind on Marko. She had yet to figure out if that was a function of Simeonovich’s wealth, power, or his understated personality. But it was an interesting question, and she would have liked to explore it further. Under different circumstances.
“My girlfriend likes to order for me,” he said, as they perused the menu. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s your girlfriend for a reason.”
“For starters?”
“For starters, she’s obviously gorgeous and socially skillful. That was clear when we met on your yacht. But perhaps the real allure is that you like the company of a strong woman. One who can make the proper choices for you.”
He looked up from the menu. “No. I meant, for starters. As in appetizers. What looks good?”
“Oh.” Nadia buried her head in the menu. “They have caviar.” As soon as she blurted the words she saw the price per person. It was a thousand hryvnia. More than a hundred dollars per person. Even worse, it was the most expensive item on the menu. Not that he couldn’t afford it, but a polite guest wouldn’t have suggested it.
“Perfect,” Simeonovich said. “What about the main dish?”
“Meat or fish?”
“You don’t know?”
Nadia studied him. He showed no emotion. “Your girlfriend would order the T-bone. It’s the best cut of beef on the menu. Standard oligarch fare. But I recommend the sea bass filet.”
“Why? Less cholesterol?”
“No. More nostalgia. For a man with roots in Siberia. Fishing capital of Russia.”
His eyes twinkled. He called the waiter over and ordered their dinner, a bottle of ice cold vodka to go with the caviar, and a white Burgundy wine for the entrees.
“Where is your brother?” Simeonovich said. “I meant it when I said he was welcome to join us.”
“Thank you. He’s out with a friend.”
“He has friends in Lviv?”
“Marko makes friends wherever he goes.”
“You’re very close, yes?”
“We were very close. Growing up. He was my big brother. Then we drifted apart. I went to college. He went…wherever. When we got back in touch we realized we don’t have that much in common.”
“Except that you’re family. What more can two people have in common?”
“He saved my life once.”
“This is interesting. Tell me more.”
“We were both part of PLAST, the national Ukrainian scouting organization. It’s big in America. It was especially big when Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union. Our parents wanted to keep the Ukrainian language and customs alive. PLAST was a way to cultivate a Ukrainian-American community. There were weekly meetings but summer camps were the focal point.”
“Did you enjoy them?”
“No. I hated them. And the closer to eighteen you got, the more brutal they became. It was a strange mix of socialization, cultural brainwashing, and survival training. We had Vietnam veterans teaching us hand-to-hand combat in a green field with the priest and the babushkas from the kitchen watching. Then the counselors would set trip wires all over the hills and wake us up for maneuvers in the middle of the night. Trip the wire, you stood guard the next night.”
“I’m not sure you should complain. Look at you now. There’s a strength and resilience about you. When I visit America, I don’t see it so much. Your society has become too rich. Your children are spoiled.”
“I don’t have any children.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t disagree. The most coveted merit badge was the survival badge. It had to be earned. It was reserved for older scouts, kids fourteen and up. But my father, in his infinite wisdom, decided that his daughter had to be the youngest girl in America to pass the test.”
“What was the test?”
“Three nights alone on a wilderness range called the Appalachian Trail.”
“Alone? At age twelve?”
“You have to understand these were Ukrainian immigrants. Many of the older people had suffered the Nazis. Everyone had lived under Soviet oppression. They knew a different way of life. In their minds, only the strongest survived and proper training had to begin at an early age. Plus, unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t alone.”
“Of course. Your brother was guarding you the entire time.”
“Which didn’t help when my fire went out and some animal ran over my sleeping bag. Or when rain poured through my lean-to and I caught a fever. Or when a hiker broke his ankle and his brother came looking for help.”
“What did you do?”
“I made a splint out of two sticks, a stretcher out of two tree limbs, my poncho, and what rope I had left, and pointed them in the direction of the nearest town with my compass. Cell phones were luxuries back then.”
“When did your brother help you?”
“A pair of hikers kidnapped me. A man and a woman. Turned out they had a history of doing unpleasant things to children. Marko stalked us. Circled around and got ahead of us on the trail. Jumped out of a hollowed-out tree and took them out with a club he’d carved out of wood. Carried me on his back six miles to safety.”
Simeonovich studied Nadia. She felt her cheeks burning, her heart pulsating against her chest. She couldn’t tell if he was regarding her with respect, compassion, or dare she think, something more. Whatever it was, though, it felt like a positive vibe.
“I take it back,” he said.
“What? That all American children are spoiled?”
“No. That there’s no greater bond than family.”
Nadia’s phone buzzed. She checked the number. Obon.
“Would you excuse me?”
She stepped out into the foyer and returned Obon’s call. He picked up on the first ring.
“I have your answer,” he said. “A group of senior Russian Chekists—administrators at the highest rung of Soviet authority who reported directly to the Politburo—formed a cabal in 1992. They formed this club to pool their resources so they could profit from the fire sale of Soviet companies. The larger the underlying entity, the more power it had to accumulate vouchers or bid for shares. It was a common tactic among apparatchiks. There were seven of them. They had special rings made. Gold with an onyx inlay. But it’s not the number three that you saw in the middle. It is the Cyrillic letter Z. They’re similar, as you know. In this case, the jeweler took the hard edges off the Z for stylistic purposes. In the process he made it look like a three.”
“What’s the significance of the ‘Z’?”
“The origin of the club’s name was based on something else the men had in common. They were passionate hunters. Have you ever heard of a short story called ‘The Hounds of Zaroff’?”
Nadia searched her memory. “No.”
“It’s the story of a big game hunter who gets shipwrecked on an island owned by a Russian Cossack. It was published under a different name in America.”
“What was that?”
“ ‘The Most Dangerous Game.’ In the story, the big game hunter becomes the hunted. He must kill the Cossack to stay alive. The Cossack’s name was Zaroff. The ‘Z’ is for Zaroff. They called themselves the Zaroff Seven.”
“How did you learn all this?”
“I found them in a book about Russian hunting societies circa 1999. Posing in the Yakutia Republic beside a Siberian bear. Six men and one woman. Vanity trumped prudence. They couldn’t resist seeing themselves in print.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting.”
“I placed a call to a friend who was a secretary for a man in Yeltsin’s cabinet. She said they had a reputation for ruthlessness. They sent enough dissidents and enemies to the gulags in Siberia to pave the Road of Bones themselves.”
“If I give you my e-mail address, can you scan the picture and send it to me?”
“I’m afraid all this technology is beyond me. But Boris, the university student who works part time for me, can probably do that.”
“Do you think you can get names to match the faces?”
“I’ll try.”
Nadia thanked him.
When she returned to the table, the caviar and wine had arrived.
“Everything all right?” Simeonovich said.
The Boy Who Stole From the Dead Page 24
