The Russian Endgame

by Allan Topol

  In search of a better venue for his meeting, Orlov visited her ostentatious but classy hotel which reminded him of the expression, “everything to excess.” He could hang out in the new baroque lobby with its gold decorated walls, huge mirrors, and chandeliers, and make contact with her there. She thought he was Vladimir Drozny, a professional colleague, so he was confident he could convince her to leave Palmer and go off with him to discuss an aerospace matter. He could make their encounter seem like a chance meeting. If he played it right, she wouldn’t be suspicious. It wasn’t ideal because the hotel lobby was a very public place and someone might see them together. Also where to take her to talk? His hotel was probably best. It all seemed so awkward. There had to be a better way, but he couldn’t think of it.

  Out on the street, he walked to the back of the Hotel de Paris, past Gucci, Valentino, and other luxury shops, then down the hill to the port area. All the while, he was thinking about how he could arrange his meeting with Jill and take her off to talk. He kept coming up empty.

  As Orlov walked along the Quai Albert 1er, he gazed at the yachts

  in the harbor, some of them huge. His eyes focused on a sleek

  two-hundred-foot luxury yacht custom built by the Dutch company Feadship. On top, it had a helipad with a helicopter. The name oligarch was printed in large black letters on the side.

  Orlov knew that yacht belonged to Yuri Rosnov, one of the wealthiest men in Russia, who controlled a huge industrial empire. Orlov had met Yuri a couple of times. Even more significant for Orlov was that Yuri’s chief assistant, performing the role Orlov had for Sukolov, was Boris Verely. A close friend of Orlov’s from their KGB days. Maybe Orlov could enlist Boris’s help.

  As Orlov walked down an incline path that led to the Oligarch, he thought about Kuznov’s warning: don’t involve Russians in this operation with Zhou. Well, that was easy enough to for Kuznov to say, seated in his plush office in the Kremlin. But Orlov was out in the field. He had to get the job done. There was no other way.

  Orlov walked up the ramp to the deck and asked one of the crew in Russian if Boris was on board. The crewman asked Orlov’s name and used his cellphone. Minutes later, he led Orlov down to a richly wood-paneled office. Boris stood up. He was a tall, elegant man, dressed smartly in a white polo shirt, trimmed in blue, with Boris monogrammed on the pocket, and tight fitting khaki slacks. The last time Orlov had seen Boris he was almost bald. Now he was sporting a toupee that looked very much like his own hair. For money, you can get anything.

  “You’re living well, my friend,” Orlov said.

  “Who would have ever thought you and I would have ended up the way we are now when the Soviet Union collapsed and the Communists lost control?”

  “One door closes. Another opens.”

  “Exactly. Something to drink?”

  “Why not? A small vodka.”

  Boris fixed two vodkas over ice and handed one to Orlov.

  “To the continuation of good times.” Boris said.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  After they each took a large gulp, Boris said, “I heard you split with Sukalov. What brings you to Monte Carlo my friend?”

  “I’m freelancing. And I could use a little help.”

  “You’ve hit me at the right time. Yuri is off in Brazil for a business deal. I’m on my own for another week or so. I’d like doing something with you.”

  Orlov’s mind was now clicking on all cylinders. “Do you have many friends in Monte Carlo?”

  “Lots. There’s a large Russian émigré population here as well as in the south of France. They come with suitcases filled with cash. And I don’t mean rubles. Dollars or euros.”

  “How would you like to have a party on this yacht, Saturday evening?”

  Boris was smiling. “You have a babe you’d like to impress?”

  “You guessed it. And I’d also like to separate her from her boyfriend. I want to spend a little private time with her.”

  Boris winked. “Same old Orlov. Always chasing pussy.”

  “That’s not it. Believe it or not.”

  “I don’t, but regardless, I’d be happy to help out. I have to tell you, though, that parties like that are expensive here. And Yuri has a finance guy who’s always checking on what I spend. He’s a real pain in the ass.”

  “How about if I delivered a hundred thousand euros to you in an hour. Would that cover the costs?”

  “As I said, Monte Carlo is an expensive place.”

  Same old Boris, Orlov thought. Always trying to skim from any operation.

  “How about a hundred and fifty thousand euros?”

  “That would cover a nice party.”

  “Good. Now I have something else I’d like you to do with me Saturday in addition to the party. I’ll pay you well for your time.”

  “I’m listening,” Boris said.

  Orlov laid out his plan for snaring Jill Morgan. At the end, he said, “If I pull this off, I’ll become the second most powerful person in Russia. And I’ll find a place at the top for you. You’ll be your own master. Not somebody’s gopher.”

  Boris raised his glass to that.

  At four on Friday afternoon, Elizabeth left the suite in the Hotel de Paris and went with Palmer for a walk in the area around the hotel. Playing the tourist, she gazed into shop windows, then wandered into a Louis Vuitton boutique, then Valentino and Gucci.

  All the while she was thinking: I hope Orlov is here and approaches me. If not, this is all a wasted effort. Even worse, it will be a terrible blow for Craig for not grabbing Orlov in Las Vegas.

  No sign of Orlov around the shops.

  “Let’s go down to the port,” Palmer said.

  They turned and headed in that direction. After they had walked fifteen more minutes and were passing the Mandarin Restaurant in the Hotel Port Palace overlooking the water, she heard a voice from behind calling, “Jill.”

  She whirled around to see Orlov looking at her. He said, “It is you, Jill Morgan? I thought so.”

  “Vladimir. What a coincidence.”

  She made the introductions. “Jimmy, this is Vladimir Drozny, a famous Russian aerospace engineer. He heard my speech in Las Vegas last week.”

  “And it was a very good speech.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Palmer said.

  “Vladimir, this is Jimmy Palmer, a friend of mine from home.”

  “How long will you be in Monte Carlo?” Orlov asked.

  “A few days,” Palmer responded. “Our plans are fluid.”

  “Good. Then listen, Jill,” Orlov said. “Tomorrow evening, Boris, one of my Russian friends, is having a party on his yacht which is docked here. Why don’t you and your friend Jimmy Palmer come?”

  Don’t seem too eager, Elizabeth cautioned herself, while concealing the excitement she was feeling. Finally they had gotten what they wanted. She looked at Orlov warily. “I don’t know. I was planning to spend my time in the casino. Besides, I don’t like going to

  parties with strangers. I’m just an engineer. Not very social and Jimmy isn’t either.”

  Orlov smiled. “You Americans are so uptight. It’s a party. You’ll have a good time. Meet some new people. Live a little. Boris is incredibly rich. He has great parties. Afterwards, you can go to the casino.”

  She looked at Palmer. “What do you think, Jimmy?”

  “Sounds like fun. I made a dinner reservation Saturday at Ducasse, but I’m sure I can change it to Sunday.”

  “We’ll have plenty of food,” Orlov said.

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” Jill said.

  Palmer took the cue. “That’s okay, honey. We’ll go shopping.”

  She wrinkled up her nose.

  “Oh, go for it,” Orlov coaxed.

  “Okay,” Jill said. “We’ll come. What time?”

  “It’s called for nine. Come at ten. The boat is the Oligarch.”

  Orlov provided directions to the dock. “You won’t be sorry.

>   I promise you.”

  “You agreed to do what?” Craig said. They were in the hotel suite which was registered to Jimmy Palmer. It connected with a single room registered to Jill Morgan. The arrangement was for Palmer to have the single room. Craig and Elizabeth had the suite bedroom for sleeping and the living room as an operation center. Craig planned to remain in the suite, out of sight from Orlov.

  Elizabeth and Palmer had finished describing their meeting with Orlov and the party on the Oligarch.

  “You agreed to do what?” Craig repeated.

  “It’s very simple,” Elizabeth replied. “We’re going to a party on the yacht of Orlov’s friend, Boris. All of which is perfect. He wants to talk to me. He’s taken the bait. Reached for the dangle. That’s what you’ve been hoping for. You should be pleased. Instead, you look like you just bit into a lemon.”

  Palmer laughed. Craig ignored him and looked at Elizabeth. “You should have told him you wanted to think about the invitation and then talked to me before accepting. You’re the one always giving me lectures about being a team player.”

  “I was afraid that would have compromised my cover. What the hell’s bugging you?”

  “I’m worried about your safety.”

  Palmer jumped in. “I’ll be there to protect her.”

  Craig brushed aside the comment with a wave of his hand. “A boat like this is the worst possible place for a meeting. The two of you will be completely at their mercy. Jacques has people on standby in a villa up in the hills,” Craig said pointing in that direction. “For a party on a yacht, I won’t be able to call for back up from Jacques’ people. And suppose while you’re having a merry time at this party, your new friends,” he said sarcastically, “decide to untie the boat and head out to sea. What do you do then? Call in the Marines…? Unless of course they have a bunch of goons on board who take your cellphones away.”

  “I can’t believe you’re being so negative,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.

  “And I can’t believe you’re being so naïve. You’re a babe in the woods in this business.” Craig paused, went over to his computer and did a search on the Oligarch. Two minutes later, he looked up, staring hard at Elizabeth, and said, “Just as I suspected. The Oligarch is owned by Yuri Rosnou. Boris Verely is his aide.”

  “So what?” she replied stubbornly.

  “Do you have any idea whom you’re dealing with? Yuri, the Russian gangster, who owns the Oligarch, and his stooge, Boris, are both former KGB people. The same as Orlov. They may know that Jill has a photographic memory. If they do, they could try to force you to divulge the information on the CDs. Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want you to end up like Walters and Angie?”

  “You know what I think?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea. I doubt that you’re thinking at all.”

  “This is all about ego. Yours! You have to call every shot.”

  That stopped Craig. “Tell you what. I’ll call Jacques. We’ll see what he says.”

  “Fine. But don’t lead the witness.”

  Craig got the Frenchman on the phone. After he explained the situation, Jacques said, “Let her go to the party.”

  Craig was flabbergasted. “How do we protect Elizabeth and Palmer?”

  “I’ll have unmarked boats near the marina exit. If the Oligarch makes a move to leave the slip, we’ll stop it and board the yacht.”

  “What about protecting them on the boat?”

  “We’d have the same problem in a locked hotel room. It’s Elizabeth’s and Palmer’s call. If they want to do it, you should let them.”

  This wasn’t the answer Craig was looking for. It had been his idea to call Jacques. He was stuck. He looked at Elizabeth. “You and Palmer are good to go.”

  “I won’t wear a wire. With high tech equipment, they’d pick it up the second I walked on the boat.”

  Craig didn’t argue with her. Elizabeth was one gutsy person. Mixed in with his love for her was his admiration. They’d come through a lot together. He didn’t want to lose her now.

  Elizabeth gave a long low whistle.

  “That’s some helluva boat,” she said to Palmer, as they turned from the Quay to the path leading to the Oligarch. The night was crystal clear. A full moon and a star-laden sky.

  “More precisely, it’s called a yacht,” Palmer said.

  “How much does something like that cost?”

  “In the neighborhood of a hundred million. If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

  She wouldn’t admit it to Palmer or to Craig when she left the suite, but she was more than a little nervous. Her knees were trembling. She reminded herself that she’d gone up against some pretty tough people in the past. Like the Taliban in Afghanistan, but no KGB agents. Craig had called her a babe in the woods. Damn you Craig, she wasn’t that. But she was still a newspaper reporter, not a spy.

  Approaching the Oligarch, Elizabeth saw that the party was underway on the deck. About thirty people were crowded together, milling around, drinks in hand. A small combo playing music. Tuxedo-clad waiters in white jackets were passing trays of food. The men were dressed in sport jackets and shirts open at the neck; the women mostly in short black cocktail dresses.

  “Showtime,” Palmer said. “You ready?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “By the way, you look great in that magenta Valentino number I bought you today.”

  “I think it broke Craig’s budget.”

  “Don’t worry about that. You have to look like my girlfriend. Now remember the plan. We stick together. If Orlov wants to take you off for a discussion or to meet with Boris, you try and bring me if you possibly can without blowing the meeting.”

  “You’ve told me that a thousand times. You’re starting to sound like Craig. I’m not an idiot.”

  As soon as they were on the Oligarch, Orlov came rushing over. “Hello, Jill,” he said. “So good to see you.”

  “Happy to be here.”

  Palmer spoke up. “Some yacht your friend Boris has.”

  “You’ll meet him later.”

  A waiter approached with a tray containing six champagne glasses. He first held it out to Jill, who took the one closest to her, to be polite. She had no intention of tasting a drop. She wanted all of her reflexes to be as sharp as possible. Behind her, she heard people talking Russian and French.

  The tray was offered to Palmer, who said to the waiter, “Is it possible to get a Perrier?”

  “But of course, monsieur,” he answered. Then he offered champagne to Orlov, who took one. The waiter headed off to the bar for the Perrier.

  “I’ve always wanted to be on a yacht like this,” Palmer said. “I’m in the electronics business myself. I can imagine how sophisticated the electronics are.”

  “Well, please feel free to look around. Do you manufacture?”

  “Actually, I sell televisions and toys like that.”

  Once the waiter handed Palmer his Perrier, Orlov raised his glass. “To making new friends,” he said as he took a long drink. Palmer did the same. Elizabeth just wet her lips.

  “Let’s talk about betting on craps,” Orlov said to Elizabeth. “For an engineer who’s an expert at math and computers, you didn’t give yourself the best possible odds in Las Vegas.”

  “Tell me what I should have done.”

  A waiter passed caviar on blinis. Elizabeth took one. Palmer and Orlov as well.

  While Orlov was rattling on about probabilities at the craps table, Elizabeth glanced at Palmer. He looked bleary-eyed. She was about to ask him if he was okay when a Chinese man walked over accompanied by a statuesque blonde six inches taller than he was and wearing a low-cut white dress, showing half her breasts the size of those luscious green melons that grow in France. Amazing what a skillful plastic surgeon could do. The man positioned himself between Palmer and Elizabeth, who was listening to Orlov.

  “Jack Wilson,” she heard the Chinese man say to Palmer. “I nev
er thought I’d see you again.”

  “Sorry, you’re mistaken,” Palmer replied. “I’m not Jack Wilson.”

  “But you’re kidding. I know you’re Jack Wilson.”

  “Personally,” Orlov was telling Elizabeth, “although I made an exception for you in Vegas, I prefer to bet against the roller, putting my money on the “don’t come” line. Do you know why?”

  “Because you think you get better odds.”

  “No. Because I’m Russian. We’re always contrarians. As a people, we always fly in the face of history.”

  “You’re putting me on, Vladimir. Right?”

  He laughed. “You’re very smart, Jill. Now I want you to meet my friend, Boris. He’ll make you a rich woman, as well as a beautiful and smart one.”

  “That, I’d like. I sure didn’t accomplish it in the casino in Vegas. And I doubt if I’ll do it here.”

  “That’s probably true. Now follow me.”

  He led the way to a staircase with a polished brass railing that went below the deck. Before taking a step down the stairs, she whirled around to look for Palmer. You were so anxious to join me for this meeting, she said to herself. Where the hell are you?

  What she saw totally astounded her. Palmer was seated on a deck chair in the back of the Oligarch. Leaning over him, practically on his lap, was the blonde who had been with the Chinese man. A wild fury gripped Elizabeth.

  Is this your idea of protecting me, she thought. Well to hell with you. I can handle this on my own. Great job of finding someone to protect me, Craig.

  With a glass of champagne in one hand and her purse in the other, she walked behind Orlov down the stairs, then along a corridor covered with oriental carpets to a closed wooden door. Orlov knocked twice. From inside the cabin, she heard a man call out, “Entrée.”

  Following Orlov inside, she saw a handsome man in his fifties seated behind a desk with hair so thick and brown, she wondered if it was his own. He was dressed in a double-breasted navy blazer from Brioni as the gold buttons embellished with a B attested, a powder blue shirt, and white slacks. As they entered, he had been making notes on a document. He shoved it into the center desk drawer and stood up.