***
Now that I sorted out the debris of my political escapade, it was time to show everyone that I felt stronger than ever. And there was no better occasion for a show-off than my thirtieth birthday.
To pass a clear message to whoever thought that I was gone for good into English exile, I wanted to make Kiev the main arena for my grand return. Besides, Kiev was beautiful at the end of spring. All the chestnut trees blossomed, illustrating why this tree was chosen to be on Kiev’s emblem in Soviet times.
I didn’t have to be too creative with planning my birthday. I just let Boris make all the arrangements. He was a true champion of decadent-style partying. My three day rule was to be applied, as I considered it a perfect length to balance the desires of day and night. I wanted Yuri and our Israeli defence and real estate partners to come over this time. After all, he hadn’t been in his home town for twelve years. He had to see how it had changed in that time.
The main event was scheduled for the first evening in a famous Ukrainian restaurant at Pechersk Hills. Two hours before the late May sunset, the view was spectacular. The part of the city situated on the river’s left bank was entirely in view, separated from us by the mighty and broad Dnieper River. It was decorated by islands and sandy beaches, still crowded with the sunbathing community.
As I had many foreign guests, I wanted them to taste authentic Ukrainian cuisine and hospitality. Salo, pepper horilka or Ukrainian vodka, chicken kiev, borsch and other local delicacies were all on the menu. A Ukrainian live band, gipsies, and gorgeous hostesses, instructed to be receptive for courtship, made the atmosphere.
Later, so drunk that we could barely stand on our feet, we went out to the World War II museum - The National Museum of the History of the Great Patriotic War. It was a short walk from the restaurant. Boris had arranged for a private viewing of the museum so nobody bothered us. Its fleet of tanks, planes, rockets and artillery standing there in the open air were enough to form a complete army for any African country. Some guests, in particular those who didn’t speak Russian, could’ve received the impression that this stock of arms was mine. I was taking them proudly as a host for a walk among all those military machines and vehicles.
The hostesses from the restaurant followed us to the museum. After my guided tour some of the guests were combining love and war. Making love within the war machines. As some used condoms were on the premises, it seemed that we weren’t the first ones enjoying this pervert adventure.
***
The other two days of my birthday celebration were designed to be spent in the countryside at Koncha Zaspa, twenty five kilometres from Kiev, at Boris’s dacha. For a layman it looked like a summer palace of one of the Roman emperors.
While most of the guests were indulging in the dacha, I asked Arthur to organise a boar hunt. I wanted it especially for Yuri, who was keen on hunting and fishing but was unable to enjoy such pleasures in Israel. Unfortunately, fishing wasn’t as exciting as it was a decade ago. Fishing poachers had been using dynamite to kill fish by the ton and had depleted the fish populace, except for three-eyed mutated fish, affected by Chernobyl radiation. However, hunting was still an exciting activity.
Arthur’s men were supposed to corner and guide wild boars toward a specific place in the forest, where I, Yuri, and Yair, an Israeli, who couldn’t miss the adventure, were waiting. Everything went as planned and we were approaching the designated point, holding hunting rifles ready to shoot. Arthur’s men should’ve been ready just a few hundred metres ahead.
As we approached the spot, I signalled to Yuri and Yair to keep quiet, duck and get ready to shoot. Taking us by surprise, we heard shots from our left. Yuri, who was ducking next to me, fell down. My face was covered with blood and skin. I dropped down next to Yuri. Yair was hiding behind a tree. The blood was tricking from where Yuri’s ear used to be, torn off by a bullet, and I was covered by its remnants.
There were supposed to be no other hunters in the area. Being paranoid, as always, I didn’t believe that this was a friendly fire.
Yuri held the place where his ear used to be with his hand. Blood poured through his fingers and down his wrist. He grimaced and moaned with pain.
“Hold on, Yuri. I’ll get help,” I tried to reassure him.
While continuing to lie down with my rifle ready to shoot, looking around for any attackers, I called Arthur’s mobile phone. However, he arrived before he had a chance to answer. He had heard the premature shots from the unexpected direction and hurried to our position accompanied by two of his men, to find out who was shooting.
“Stay here and stay low,” Arthur ordered.
His two companions stayed with us, kneeling on one knee, assault rifles in hand. Their rifles were meant for killing people, not for hunting animals like our hunting guns. Yair came out of hiding and we attended to Yuri’s ear with a bandage that one of Arthur’s men gave him. Arthur disappeared.
“Don’t worry, Yuri,” I was trying to use some sense of humour to cheer him up. “They do fantastic prosthetic ears. You can choose to look like Mr Spock or an elf.”
Yuri just looked at me. He didn’t smile and didn’t say anything.
Soon, Arthur called me and reported back.
“We encountered a group of five hunters. They claim they saw a deer where you were. I didn’t find anything suspicious about them. I verified each of their identities through Kiev’s police chief.”
Even if it was carelessness, they deserved to be punished, so I said to Arthur, “Beat them up proper. Try to see if they have more to tell. Anyway, they will learn for the next time they go hunting.”
“No problem boss,” Arthur replied.
I was sure that Arthur diligently performed the task.
They nearly killed my childhood friend, who luckily lost just his ear. After such incidents I didn’t really need to wonder why I was developing paranoia. Even John wasn’t around on that occasion, which shattered the theory that I’d started to develop that his bad luck was attracting violent mishaps like a magnet.
After properly treating Yuri’s ear, we did hunt the boar the next day. But it wasn’t that exciting as Arthur delegated ten people to guard us closely in the forest. As everybody was shooting at the poor animal it wasn’t clear who could claim the honour of downing the boar. Yuri got its head as a souvenir.
***
A few days later when I was back in Kiev, I was given an unexpected birthday present. Arthur and I ate lunch close to the office, and as we walked out of the restaurant I saw a familiar face with a distinctively lazy eye. Nazar. I never forget a face.
“That guy...” I said, pointing him out to Arthur, “get him quietly; I would like a private word with him.”
Arthur nodded and slipped quietly away, walked up behind the unsuspecting Nazar and stuck a gun in his back. He whispered something in Nazar’s ear. Nazar froze. I walked over to them and stood in front of Nazar, smiling broadly.
“Remember me, Nazar? Come, my friend; let’s go for a ride in my car.”
There was a look of bemusement on Nazar’s face as he wracked his brain for some recognition of me. Arthur forced Nazar into our car and we drove to a quiet cul-de-sac nearby.
“I remember you,” Nazar finally spoke. “I hardly recognise you; it has been so many years. I hope there aren’t hard feelings between us.”
I didn’t say a word. When we arrived at the street I told Arthur, “Get him out.”
We stood outside, with Arthur restraining Nazar, I faced my old foe.
“There are no hard feelings, of course. I haven’t had any feelings for many years now.”
Nazar seemed to relax slightly as I spoke.
“But because of you, I fled Kiev. Do you remember Gigo? Because of you, Gigo lost his finger. You know, Nazar, that in our business, feelings aside, there always has to be retribution. An eye for an eye, or more precisely in our case, a finger for a finger.”
I paused to let him get my drift. Nazar stiffened as it dawned
on him that there was more to it than just a chat.
“Arthur...chop off his finger,” I ordered.
In the blink of an eye, Arthur punched Nazar on the chin. He fell, and Arthur, sleek as a cat, ended up holding his arm in some martial arts manoeuvre so that Nazar couldn’t move without breaking his own arm. The knife was already in Arthur’s other hand and in a quick, smooth slice, Nazar’s index finger was off. Blood started gushing out everywhere. Nazar started yelling with pain.
“Arthur! I didn’t mean that one. Cut off the middle finger,” I said.
Slice. Another finger was off, and this time it was the right one. I stood over the weeping figure of Nazar.
“One finger for Gigo. A second finger for messing with Mikhail Vorotavich,” I spat.
“Anything else? Maybe his testicles?” Arthur asked.
“I think he understood my message. Come; let’s go,” I answered.
On the way back to the office Arthur knitted his brows.
“What’s up, Arthur? What have I done wrong this time?”
“You should’ve killed him. Revenge should go all the way. Now you have a mortal enemy that we could’ve terminated. I think it’s a mistake.”
23 Arthur
Tel Aviv, 2013
Arthur Slotski had been working for Misha Vorotavich since 1997. Arthur was a simple man in a sense. He was a man of black and white; no middle-ground grey. Once Arthur identified to whom he was loyal, he just did as he was told. No philosophical bullshit about right or wrong. No conscience. No second thoughts. No looking left or right, just straight ahead like a horse with blinkers. That was the reason that Arthur was an excellent soldier. He followed orders without asking any questions.
When Misha was attacked outside the Georgian restaurant, Arthur didn’t think twice. He instinctively jumped on Misha, willing to take a bullet to protect his boss’ life. This was his job. No hesitating. No blinking. Just do your job.
Arthur had served in the special forces of the Soviet military, the Spetsnaz GRU - Special operations unit of the Military Intelligence. He joined the military when he was eighteen, and after serving in the paratroopers, he joined the Special Forces. He fought in the war in Afghanistan, the civil war in Tajikistan, the East Prigorodny conflict, and several other military operations that were kept secret from the general public.
Out of all the conflicts in which Arthur participated and out of all the adversaries that he fought, he thought that the Chechen rebels were the toughest and the cruellest. If there was one group of people with which you didn’t want to mess, it was the Chechens.
If he had a conscience, he wouldn’t have been proud of some of the things that he had to do. He had executed defenceless civilians, tortured prisoners to extract information and inflicted horrible physical harm. Under his capable hands everyone eventually gave up everything they knew. Only someone with Arthur’s personality could’ve done all these atrocities and still slept like a baby at night.
Arthur now stood guard at a hospital in Tel Aviv. He was protecting his boss, Misha, who was the cousin of Tolik, who was like Arthur’s brother when they served together in the paratroopers. The Chechens killed Tolik in 1996 when Islamist insurgents ambushed Tolik’s convoy in a mountainous region. All the vehicles were blown to pieces so that no bodies were ever found. Arthur was devastated when he heard the news and regretted so much that their career paths parted after the paratroopers. If they were together, it would’ve been much more difficult to wipe them out.
Arthur rarely left Misha with other bodyguards for more than a few hours, so he wondered why Misha had sent him to Kremenchuk two days before the assassination attempt. He had been charged with training some bodyguards for one of Misha’s friends, Denis Filatov, and Arthur had argued that there were qualified subordinates who were more than capable of carrying out the exercise. But Misha had insisted, saying that the friend deserved the very best help, and had personally asked for Arthur to oversee the training. Was the attempt on Misha’s life coincidental? Arthur didn’t believe in such things.
Arthur took the assassination as his personal failure. It was his job to keep Misha safe. He simply failed. There are successes and there are stories. This was a story. A sad story. There was no middle-ground as far as Arthur was concerned. Misha was lying with a bullet in his head and the people who did it must pay. Arthur felt that it was his fault that he lost Tolik. He didn’t want to lose Misha as well.
***
Arthur’s mobile phone rang. It was Andrei Topolski on a scrambled line.
“Yes,” Arthur said.
“Arthur? It’s Andrei. Is this a good time to talk? We have several leads on the investigation and I wanted to report to you.”
“Go ahead, Andrei,” Arthur said.
“First, there’s this Nazar guy, you know the one? You and Misha cut his fingers off ten years ago. Our people discovered that he’s been asking around about Misha lately. He’s a violent man and undoubtedly could try to kill the boss. Nazar is now associated with an influential organised crime leader from Odessa.”
“That’s interesting,” Arthur mused. “I’ll look into this character. What else?”
“What may be a hotter lead is Colonel Ivanenko. He lost his job at the SBU and blamed Misha for it. Our contacts report that he has been saying that he’ll someday have his revenge on Misha. He still has ties with the SBU and these guys can easily pull together an operation with a sniper.”
“That sounds more likely. Do you have anything that might link him with the shooting?”
“One thing that especially aroused my suspicions was that I’ve received two different mobile phone tracking reports. The first from the SBU deputy chief and the second from a former subordinate of Colonel Ivanenko who now heads a department in the Ministry of Communication. The two reports are synchronised with the time and place of the assassination attempt. Both reports refer to the same cellular antennas, but the second report misses out about twenty mobile phone numbers. I’ve started to think that the discrepancy isn’t accidental.”
“So the friend of our friend is withholding numbers. Very interesting.”
“By the way,” Andrei continued, “there is one other thing that bothers me. While most of our group’s numbers on the tracking report have logical explanations, as they belong to Misha, his driver, David, and the bodyguards, there is one number that belongs to our network that I don’t recognise. Maybe you know? It’s 037-31077712.”
“Hmm. Yes, I know the number,” Arthur said.
“Are you going to tell me?” Andrei asked after a long pause on Arthur’s end. Arthur obviously analysed what he just heard.
“It’s Boris’ spare number, which he gave to his girlfriend, Natalia. Listen. Sever any contact with anyone in Kiev’s authorities. We cannot verify their allegiances. Put surveillance on Natalia and Colonel Ivanenko. Don’t tell Boris or anyone anything yet. Find out what this Nazar is up to, although I doubt whether this operation is in his league.”
“Sure, Arthur. Will do,” Andrei replied. “Do you think that Boris might be involved?”
“No,” Arthur countered. “I’m certain he isn’t. I know all his movements for the last few years better than he does. But, if he finds out that his girlfriend’s name came up, he might spook her unintentionally.”
“As you wish. Also, I’ve located the apartment from where the shot must’ve been taken. It’s overlooking Parus Business Centre’s entrance and was rented for a short period a few days before the attack. But we’re still working on trying to identify who rented it. The tracks are well covered and we couldn’t find any leads yet. I have an entire team working on it.”
“Fine,” Arthur said. “Keep me up to date with any developments regarding the apartment. If we work backwards from there, and also find a possible starting point, then maybe the investigations will meet in the middle.”
“Yes, of course. The third lead, as you suspected, Arthur, points to the Russians. Our people in Moscow said that Mis
ha has a few enemies there because of his business ventures. And generally, there’s something going on against Ukraine as it rejects joining a Russian-led custom union and stubbornly insists on signing an association agreement with the European Union. We need more time to investigate this, as well as the other two leads. Overall, there are a number of parties with a motive to kill Misha and the means to do so.”
“Okay, Andrei. Continue with investigation on all leads. All sound like potential culprits. Also put an eye on Denis Filatov, our former employee and Misha’s friend. Tap his lines. I want to know why he needed my services to train his security personnel in Kremenchuk precisely when I was needed in Kiev. It smells bad.”
“Done.”
“One more thing, Andrei,” Arthur continued. “Investigate whether our Chechen partners have anything to do with it. We upset them when Misha took over that joint venture with the Ukrainians. Chechens never forget and they are capable of anything.”
Arthur hung up. He didn’t feel any more informed after the report from Andrei. They still didn’t know shit.
24 The Invasion of Russia
The Chechen Republic is a federal subject of Russia, located in the North Caucasus, bordering Georgia. Chechnya, striving for independence, has had two wars with Russia, the first war between 1994 and 1996 and the second between 1999 and 2000, following which the country was in shambles.
Since the second war’s end there had been a large-scale reconstruction and rebuilding process in place that required substantial quantities of metals and other raw materials.
Rise of an Oligarch: The Way It Is: Book One Page 21
