Yuri shook his head sadly. "I knew something was bothering him the last time he came home. He just shrugged it off when I asked if he had a problem."
"I don't know how much that entered into the investigation of the explosion, but I can imagine if it was re-opened, your brother's name could get blackened in the process."
Later that day, Yuri was summoned to the prosecutor's office. Large and airy, it was a stark contrast to that of a mere chief investigator. Sergei Perchik's office commanded a panoramic view of the city. The beige carpet was so thick it gave Yuri the feeling of walking on air. Everything looked solid and substantial, from the ornate picture frames to the sturdy wood furniture. The reason was simple. The Minsk prosecutor was a powerful man. He controlled investigations, arrests and prosecutions and had the final say on sentencing. He supervised paroles and release of prisoners and exercised oversight of governmental bodies. The prosecutor's power had been only slightly curtailed since the Communist Party was removed as his primary patron.
A small, heavy-set man with a fringe of gray hair, Perchik sat in a large chair behind a walnut desk. Except for the absence of a crown, he reminded Yuri of the little king in a book he had read as a child. Perchik was a skilled attorney, but he had won this job through being a skilled politician. Like thousands of other citizens of Belarus, he was an ethnic Russian, born in Moscow. He had been sent to Minsk as part of a team of investigators for the Party Central Committee in the early years of the Brezhnev era. With the demise of communism, he had changed his stripes. Yuri had heard that Perchik might even be a candidate for Chairman in the future.
As Chief Investigator Shumakov approached, Perchik donned a contrived smile and said, "Come in, Yuri Danilovich. Have a seat. How are the boys, Petr and Aleksei?"
Like all skilled prosecutors, Perchik was something of a psychological chameleon. He could change moods in an instant. But Yuri was caught off guard by this sudden improvement in the prosecutor's attitude toward him. "Petr is almost ready for university," he replied guardedly, "but he dreams mostly of being a star center forward, like his uncle Grigori."
Perchik nodded. "And what of Aleksei? Does he dream perhaps of becoming a lawyer, a public prosecutor?"
Yuri was tempted to laugh. Instead, he merely smiled. "I don't think so. He's still too busy just being a boy."
Aleksei was a collector of stray dogs and cats. If anything, he would be a public defender. He would have been absolutely appalled at the city prosecutor's courtroom demeanor, where he could become the Devil's own brother, spearing his victims with questions delivered like barbed pitchforks.
"I have a special assignment for you," said Perchik with a sobering look. "It will require you to turn over any really pressing cases to other investigators. Those of lesser importance can be put on hold temporarily."
What kind of assignment could he have in mind, Yuri wondered? Was it really some sort of scheme to ease him out? "I have a few cases that need to be pursued immediately. How long will this assignment last?"
"A month," said Perchik. "I had a call this morning from the Chairman of the Supreme Soviet."
Yuri raised an eyebrow. "Chairman Latishev?" Belarus did not operate under a presidential system. The top official was the Chairman of the Supreme Soviet, the position Gorbachev had held in the old USSR.
The prosecutor wasn't quite able to eliminate the note of surliness in his voice as he replied, "Yes. Your investigation of the Kah-Geh-Beysh-nik general left you rather famous, as you know. He wishes to borrow your services."
"The Chairman...borrow me? Why in the world—"
"A matter of considerable urgency, he assured me. I'll let his people give you the details. Latishev made it clear this would be a highly confidential assignment. He suggested that you pretend to be working on a complex case for me, personally, as a liaison with the Belarus KGB."
"The KGB?"
In the aftermath of the Soviet break-up, many of the former republics had done radical surgery on their portions of the old Committee for State Security, the KGB. Russia had renamed its trimmed down organization the Ministry for Security, then abruptly replaced it with another agency following the 1993 elections. But the KGB in Belarus had kept its head down during the coup of August 1991 and managed to survive relatively intact. Its primary responsibility had changed, however, from spying on the citizenry to combatting economic crime. That had resulted in overlapping of effort with Yuri Shumakov's work, causing a bit of a rivalry to develop. But the Belarus KGB was still interested in maintaining a low profile, and its leaders had worked to contain the rivalry within manageable bounds.
"Curious, isn't it?" said Perchik. "I told him I could spare you for one month. You're to report to General Borovsky at KGB Headquarters on Komsomolskaya Ulitsa. I will expect you to keep me posted on your progress."
12
From his looks and manner, General Borovsky might have passed for one of the new breed of aggressive business executives. He was dressed neatly in a dark gray suit accented by a fashionable blue and yellow tie. He had an expressive face topped by an abundance of wavy red hair. Happily single at present, he had two main passions in life, his job and the local soccer team. There was an undercurrent of restlessness about him, as though he had fifteen tasks to accomplish and time for only ten. Welcoming Shumakov with a firm handshake, he quickly closed the door.
"I'm familiar with your work, of course," he said, taking a seat behind an unimposing wooden desk. Flanking the framed photograph of Chairman Latishev on the wall at his back was a pair of blue-and-white Minsk Dynamo banners. Several photographs of soccer players also appeared on the wall.
"The local militia officers speak very highly of you," said Borovsky. "I'm pleased, but a little surprised, that Perchik agreed to let you help us."
"I'll be happy to do what I can, General. But I have no idea what this is all about."
Borovsky replied with a question. "In your investigation of the general who headed the old KGB here, you turned up evidence of money funneled into a Swiss bank account. Were you able to determine what was planned for those funds?"
Yuri shrugged. "Nothing specific. You might call it rainy day money."
"And for him, the rain poured." Borovsky grinned. "I wonder if he had some specific rainy day in mind? Take a look at this."
He handed Yuri a rust-colored folder with several sheets of paper inside. The investigator's frown darkened as he read. It was a confidential report compiled by a special section of the Russian internal security agency, one intensely loyal to the president. Agents following anonymous leads had uncovered evidence of Swiss bank accounts that had been established by former high level KGB officers. Since there was no proof of any illegality, Swiss banking laws prohibited disclosure of details such as amounts or names associated with the accounts. Over the past six months, some of the money appeared to have made its way back into the Commonwealth of Independent States. Russia, Belarus and Ukraine were specifically mentioned. Couriers were believed to have brought in substantial funds, but where they had wound up and for what purpose was anyone's guess. The trail had ended abruptly. Two former Soviet KGB officers were strongly suspected of complicity in the affair. Both had been sacked following the abortive coup attempt in 1991. In recent months, the men were known to have been systematically visiting capitals of the former Soviet republics. Identified as General Valeri Zakharov and Major Nikolai Romashchuk, they had now faded from view.
The report said the ex-KGB men had close ties to the faction that attempted to oust Gorbachev. There was insufficient evidence to link them to the current noisy nationalists or reorganized communists. It suggested maintaining a careful watch for signs of additional clandestine funds or a reappearance of Zakharov or Romashchuk.
"What do you make of it?" Shumakov asked, his brow deeply furrowed.
"You can be damned certain they're up to no good. Chairman Latishev is afraid they might cause us some problems during the CIS meeting here next month."
"In
what way? Demonstrations? Disruptions?"
"Anything is possible, including some kind of plot to undermine governments of the CIS."
"Really?"
"I wouldn't rule it out." Borovsky ran his fingers through the curly red hair. "As you know, I was brought in from the outside. When I took over, there were still portraits of Lenin and busts of Dzerzhinsky around the building. I've tried to weed out the worst of the old crowd. But there are still too many I'm not sure of. That's why I wanted you. I have been assured that you are non-political. In addition, you probably know as much as anybody about how the old boys worked."
Borovsky had always enjoyed a challenge, but he had never faced one quite like this. He suspected disloyalty among some in the government, but had no proof. He was gambling a lot of faith and hope on the abilities of young Yuri Shumakov.
"That KGB investigation was one I thoroughly enjoyed," Yuri admitted.
"Do you think there could be any connection between the people you helped prosecute and this Russian report?"
"I would tend to doubt it. I think their problem was plain old greed. They didn't appear to be concerned with anything beyond their own billfolds."
"When you were wrapping up the case, didn't you work with investigators in Kiev and Moscow?"
"Right."
"Do you still have contacts in Kiev?"
Yuri smiled. "An excellent one."
"Good. Let me caution you to be very careful. This report was shared with us because of Chairman Latishev's close relationship with the Russian president. If anything about it should leak out, it could cause major complications."
"With people like Ivan the Terrible?" Yuri inquired.
"Him in particular. But there are a lot of other politicians, both here and in Russia, who question the need for the commonwealth. I don't worry so much about the loudmouths. It's people who work behind the scenes that scare the hell out of me."
Yuri looked thoughtful. "Sergei Perchik expects me to keep him informed."
General Borovsky shook his head vigorously, his hair dancing like flames. "You discuss this only with me, Shumakov. That's straight from the Chairman. He specifically ruled out Perchik."
"He's sure to ask what I'm doing."
"Tell him where you're traveling, if it's necessary. But any details about the investigation are a secret we don't share with anybody. That includes spouses."
It sounded like a call for professional suicide, but Yuri knew there was a little of the kamikaze in him anyway. "Any suggestions on where I should start?"
"I've put out some feelers around here. I suggest you visit your Ukrainian friend and see what you can turn up there. Are you available immediately?"
"I have a few loose ends to tie up, cases that have to be turned over to others. I can leave for Ukraine the first of the week."
Kiev , Ukraine
13
The drive past the croplands southeast of Minsk, down through the area of lakes, woodlands and swamps known as the Polesye, then paralleling the mighty Dnieper River through the northern edge of Ukraine to Kiev, gave Shumakov ample time to ponder the mission he had been handed. As General Borovsky had indicated, at this point it was all theory. The Swiss bank accounts, the money flow into the commonwealth and the pair traveling among the capitals could have any number of meanings. It could involve setting up a legitimate new business venture. More likely, he speculated, they could be bankrolling some shady enterprise. That might be of interest to the prosecutors, but it would certainly have no bearing on the future of the government, the topic that had stirred the concern of Chairman Latishev and General Borovsky. Yuri's task was to check out the ominous possibilities and attempt to find who the money was going to, and for what purpose.
It was mid-afternoon when he arrived in the Ukrainian capital, a bustling metropolis of two and a half million people, after Moscow and St. Petersburg the largest city in the commonwealth. Happily the small black Zhiguli had made the trip with no problems, despite a constant vibration that sounded like the engine might be anxious to part company with the frame. Yuri and Larisa had been looking hopefully to the day they could afford a new car. Maybe an import, certainly something better than this aging Russian rattletrap.
At a squarish structure with tall, gaping windows perched high above the valley occupied by Kreschatik, Kiev's central boulevard, Shumakov headed for the office of Chief Investigator Oleg Kovalenko, his counterpart in the Ukrainian capital. Kovalenko was a large man with a double chin and black hair brushed straight back from a receding hairline. His easygoing manner and quick, broad smile gave him the appearance of a pliable teddy bear. Shumakov knew better. Though Kovalenko usually got what he wanted with a little flattery and a dash of charm, if that didn't work, he could become an unyielding block of granite.
"Yuri Danilovich," Kovalenko called from the doorway of his office. He rushed out to greet his friend with a crushing bear hug. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would have invited some colleagues for an evening of camaraderie."
Shumakov smiled. "That's why I didn't call ahead, Oleg. I prefer to keep a low profile this trip." He also preferred a leisurely evening of good food and small talk to Kovalenko's "camaraderie," a raucous night awash with vodka and tall tales.
Kovalenko rolled his eyes suggestively. "Traveling in secret? What are you, a Chekist now? Come on in and tell me why Sergei Perchik has you traveling around the commonwealth."
Yuri grinned. Chekist was a term that had been used for the KGB. It held a derogatory connotation for most people. The Cheka was the first Soviet secret police organization, founded in 1917 by Feliks Dzerzhinsky, a grim-faced Belarussian. What would Kovalenko think if he knew the truth, Yuri wondered, that he was, in fact, working temporarily for the head of the Belarus KGB?
He followed Kovalenko into the office, which was furnished considerably better than his own. The desk was larger, the chairs newer. Yuri was impressed that his friend even had his own copying machine. An investigator with several more years of experience, Kovalenko also possessed the clout of a man who knew what skeletons hung in which closets among the Ukrainian high and mighty.
"How is that old bastard Perchik?" Kovalenko asked as he settled into his chair like a plump brood hen covering her nest.
"He is his usual charming self. I'm just following-up on my old investigation. Remember how our KGB general had all that cash stashed in a Swiss bank account?"
Kovalenko nodded.
"Heard of anything like that going on lately?"
Kovalenko looked thoughtful. "Not exactly like that. But there was an odd case just last week of a former KGB man picked up at the Hungarian border. He was bringing in a large amount of Western currency. Claimed he won it gambling at a casino in Budapest."
"Did he have the money hidden?"
"Under the rear seat of his car. Said he was afraid he might get robbed. The man was no dummy. That's a damned good possibility these days."
Shumakov nodded. "He would certainly do well to hide it if he got around the parking lots of our big hotels in Minsk."
"You have a problem, too?"
"It's a zoo. Those lots are overrun with prostitutes, money changers, kids competing to wash your car or peddle junk." No one seemed to have the resolve to clean it up, he reflected. "How did the border guards happen to find the money?"
"Pure bare-assed luck. They had a tip about a Chechen drug smuggler. This fellow happened along at the wrong time. His car was similar to one they were looking for. They found the smuggler later. But when they searched this unlucky bastard's car, they turned up bundles of dollars and marks."
"Was he Ukranian?"
"Yes. But he had worked in Moscow. We found him listed in your crime computer. That's how we knew he was former KGB. He had been under investigation, but there were no outstanding warrants. The militia officer who questioned him was inclined to believe his story. Said if he'd been up to something illegal, he surely wouldn't have used his real name."
Probabl
y not involved with the group General Borovsky was interested in, Shumakov thought. He was aware of a few Belarussians who had made a killing at the gaming tables in Budapest. Still, there was one other possibility. "Do you know if he had visited any countries other than Hungary?"
"I don't recall. It wasn't our case, of course. I only got into it because somebody here let him out of jail without authorization."
"Why was he in jail if they believed the gambling story?"
Kovalenko walked over to a filing cabinet and began rummaging through a drawer. "We decided to hold him until we checked with Moscow. Be sure they had nothing on him. Of course, we would have needed a warrant to hold him more than three days. The Russians sent back a request that they be allowed to question him, but by that time, the fellow was long gone."
"Why did they let him go?"
Oleg Kovalenko pulled a folder from the drawer and returned to his desk. "A man posing as a militia officer got custody of him, supposedly for questioning. Let's see. You wanted to know where else he had been?"
"Right."
Kovalenko thumbed through the papers. "I think there was something in here...yes, here it is. Passport. Besides Hungary, there are stamps for Austria. Two. He must have gone through Austria and come back in again."
"Hmm...but no other countries?"
"No. Odd, isn't it?"
"Not if he entered Switzerland. The Swiss don't stamp passports."
Kovalenko leaned back, locking his large fingers behind his head. "Are you thinking the money might have come from there?"
"It's a possibility." Yuri shrugged. "What was his name?"
"His passport identifies him as one Nikolai Nikolaevich Romashchuk. Formerly a major, Second Chief Directorate."
Overture to Disaster (Post Cold War Political Thriller Trilogy Book 3) Page 9
