The Paper Factory (Michael Berg Book 1)

by Norrie Sinclair

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  The surreal glow of twilight was absorbed into the darkness of the night. Tatianna lifted her wrist and, squinting, made out the luminous hands on her timeworn Casio. She had been sitting in her dugout for over three hours, barely moving, listening to the high-pitched screeches of foxes and other creatures, some of whom, oblivious to her presence, were so close in passing that she could have reached out and touched them.

  Tatianna stretched out her arms, and prepared to get moving now that the forest was dark. The clear sky and half moon meant that she would not have as much cover as she would have liked. There was little she could do about it. Despite two layers of clothing and winter police issue jacket, she was feeling cold and needed to warm herself.

  She began pushing the assortment of branches and leaves away from the hideout’s opening when she froze. A car approaching along the main road. She waited, didn’t move a muscle. She heard the car slow, the noise died and then picked up again as the vehicle turned down the forest track towards her. She estimated that she was at least a kilometer down the track into the forest. A light appeared and less than a minute later the car flew past. A black Volga, one of the headlamps out, the chrome bumper perched at a strange angle. She decided to wait it out.

  Not long afterwards another vehicle, this time making its way along the main road from the opposite direction, turned down the forest track. The vehicle stopped. Silence for a few minutes. Shots rang out, followed a few moments later by a revving engine. Tires spinning on the dirt surface. She pulled the Grach from its holster and undid the safety. Although the magazine held seventeen rounds, she subconsciously tapped the pouch on the inside of her fleece-lined coat, satisfying herself that two additional magazines were securely in place.

  Two sets of headlights raced down the track towards her, sharp points of light flickering through the trees. Another car tore along the track from the opposite direction, engine screaming as it crashed through the gears.

  The two cars collided head-on. Despite having witnessed the aftermath of many road accidents, she’d never seen one happen. The occupants of the Volga crashed through the windscreen as it shattered into moonlit fragments. The driver was left hanging across the bonnet of the car, legs trapped by the steering wheel, neck possibly broken. The passenger flailed through the air, as if performing a complicated swimming stroke, his scream abruptly silenced as his head bounced heavily and noisily off the windscreen of the other car.

  A figure dashed out of the undergrowth and ran clumsily towards Tatianna. He’d jumped. The running man moved away from the fallen tree that she lay under and headed out into the thick of the forest. Stunned, perhaps injured, from the crash, he stumbled through leaves and fallen branches. Two other men, both in dark clothing, sprang through the bushes that lined the dirt road and sprinted after the first.

  Tatianna gave them ten seconds, pushed the remaining branches out of her way and went after them. The light of the moon, although partially blocked out by trees, was enough to avoid any obstacles in her path and to make out the silhouettes of the men ahead of her. Given the noise they were making and the remoteness of the location, she doubted that they would sense her presence.

  She stopped. One more step and she would have been instantly visible. A wide, brightly lit clearing stood before her. The first man was on the ground. She heard him cry out as one of his two pursuers kicked something out of his hand and then stood on his arm, a gun pointing directly at his face.

  Tatianna noticed that only one of the two attackers held a gun. Naturally they assumed that they had the upper hand. She had a decision to make, a quick one. She could walk away or she could intervene and risk putting her own life in jeopardy. Some of these mafia scum were alcoholic, womanizing fools who could barely make it up a flight of stairs without reaching for a cigarette. Many though, were ex-KGB and special forces, making a good living for themselves in the private sector.

  Tatianna made her decision, took aim and pumped three bullets into the torso of the man holding the gun. His legs gave way beneath him. Before he’d even fallen, before his partner had a chance to work out what was going on, she unleashed three additional rounds into the second killer’s back.

  Until yesterday, she’d been forced to kill only once before and it had shaken her badly. Tatianna had taken a month’s paid leave and poured out her soul to a clinical psychologist, courtesy of the police department. This time she had no qualms. No hesitation. She told herself it was the adrenalin flowing through her system. But she was lying to herself. She knew it. Dmitri’s killing had changed her for good. Killing these men was just a task she had to perform in order to find the man responsible for Natasha’s death. She hoped that Konstantin Rykov was not one of the men she’d seen die in the last few minutes. She wanted to look into his eyes as he realized that his life was over, and that it was she who had taken it.

  Chapter 71

  Michael was face deep in the dirt. Eyes closed, waiting. The explosive sound of the three shots was magnified by the stillness of the night. He tensed as he felt a tremendous weight crush his chest. His first thought was that the adrenalin pumping through his system combined with the shock of being shot had neutralized the pain of the bullets piercing his body.

  Michael knew he wasn’t going to die when the sound from the second three shots crashed into his ears. A body thumped into the ground alongside him. The dying man’s eyes stared limply into Michael’s as the life was wrenched out of him.

  He tried to turn onto his back, to roll or push the thug off of him. He couldn’t move. Completely pinned down. Footsteps came towards him. The weight on top of him shifted.

  “You move, you die.” A woman’s voice, English heavily accented. She was Russian.

  The woman rolled the deadweight off him. With relief, Michael rolled onto his back. He opened his mouth to thank her. She already had her back to him, sprinting across the clearing. A few seconds later, her moonlit form had vanished into the trees.

  While shaken and astounded to be alive, Michael knew that this wouldn’t be the case for long unless he got out of there. It may be difficult for one man, or even a group of men, to find another in the forest at night. It would be an easy job with dogs. He knelt, stood, then scanned the ground for a moment, before finding what he was looking for. The gun and the money were still in the backpack. He took out the gun and held it. Safety off. He knew he needed to get away from the track. And the dead men. Fast. He sprinted in the direction of the lake. Rivello was at the lake. Michael had come too far to back down now. He would finish it.

  Chapter 72

  In that moment when she recognized him, Tereza felt a hollow and elusive piece of her life fall into place. The key to her past.

  She lunged through the air, clutching at his neck with her hands, digging her strong fingers, sharp nails into the skin of his throat, thumbs trying to push his windpipe through to the other side of his neck.

  “Bastard. You killed Papa and Mama,” she screamed in Hungarian, using her full weight to try to pull him to the ground.

  The doors swung open, the giant moved swiftly towards them. Before he was halfway across the floor, Tereza felt a searing pain in her stomach as Rivello smashed his fist into her solar plexus. Her hands let go of his neck and as they did so she felt the flat of his hand slam into her face, forcing her backwards, down onto the floor.

  “Your father, Tereza, not mine. You try that again, I’ll kill you myself. Slowly. There’s a reason you’ve made it this far. But I have my limits. Get up and sit over there.” Rivello gestured towards some chairs gathered round a low table in the middle of the room.

  He turned toward Rykov.

  “Wait outside. I’ll call for you when we’re finished.”

  Tereza, stunned from the blow to her stomach, struggled to get up. Her brother did not help, but watched as she rose to her knees then, stooped like an old woman, painfully make her way to one of the chairs.

  Tereza remained doubled over and, althou
gh now seated, was still trying to recover her breathing. As she tried to unscramble her thoughts, one thing remained clear in her mind. The image of Rivello lying dead at her feet. Something flickered in the corner of her memory. The image of an amber handled paperknife lying on the desk behind her.

  “Don’t mind if I take a seat, do you?” he said, a sarcastic grin hanging beneath unblinking blue eyes.

  Tereza could barely bring herself to speak to the man before her. Yet she had so many questions that she couldn’t hold back. She pulled herself upright, determined not to show weakness.

  “You said, my father. I don’t understand. He was your father too. You killed him. The fake suicide fooled a few lazy policemen. I know you killed him. No amount of money can wash the truth from your soul.”

  “Everything in life is obvious, until it’s not, Tereza. You’re missing the point. I’m not denying I killed Attila Vass. He was a pig. But he wasn’t my father.”

  He turned towards the hidden door.

  “It’s time. Come,” Rivello said.

  Her body went numb. She averted her eyes, but the sound of his voice rendered the reflex useless.

  “Tereza, I’m so sorry if recent events have proved distressing.”

  István crossed the room and stood over Rivello with one hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Despite his sixty-five years, he sat down briskly, an impish excitement in his eye.

  “We don’t want to harm you. I feel for you as any man would feel for his own daughter.”

  “You bastard. Do you think that means anything to me now? He was your best friend. You helped this monster kill him.” Her eyes shifted to her stepbrother.

  “Tereza, you don’t understand. He was my friend. At one time. We came to Hungary together, from Transylvania. You know this. Then he ruined it. A few years after we set up Vass Holdings, I ran into serious financial trouble. Attila bought my share of the company. He took advantage of me. I was left with nothing. He needed me, though. I ran the factory in Szeged while he spent his time travelling, setting up distribution deals all over the world. I barely ever saw him. Your mother and I grew close. I think your father knew, but turned a blind eye, more interested in empire building than raising a family. I always loved your mother deeply. That’s why I never married. When Gustav was born, your father didn’t even attend the birth. Too busy doing deals.”

  Tereza’s eyes narrowed in anger.

  “You seduced my mother, your friend’s wife. You got her pregnant and you want me to try and understand. You’re deluded.” Tereza jumped up with the intention of bolting from the door. She had to get away from these people.

  Rivello grabbed her wrist, twisting it, forcing her back down into the chair.

  “Gusztav, Gusztav, not so rough,” István chided his son.

  “Tereza, when you were born, your father changed. He slowed down, spent more time at home. Gustav had no idea I was his father, although Attila may well have guessed. Everything continued as before, although I saw your mother less frequently. It was difficult. Then there was the accident.” At this, Tereza saw István’s gaze flit to Rivello, and back again.

  “There was no car crash, was there? He did something to the girl.” She glared at Rivello, her face contorting into a picture of disgust.

  “Please, Tereza, let me finish. Let me explain. Gustav had an accident.”

  “Jay, Father,” jaw clenched, “how many times do I have to tell you. My name is Jay.”

  “Jay had an accident. He was fourteen. She was a friend from school. The girl, Dora I think her name was, she made advances to Jay. He responded and she threatened to tell her parents that he raped her. In a fit of panic and anxiety, he killed her. Your father had the money and means to cover it up. The police claimed that both teenagers were killed by a drunk driver. Your father asked me to make Jay disappear. He never wanted to see him again. Attila gave me money and ordered me to take Gusztav, sorry, Jay, to Romania and have a gypsy family take him in. Knowing Jay was my son, there was, of course, no way I would or could do it. But he had to disappear. I arranged for him to live with the family of an old friend in Tarasadeorigine. I visited mostly at weekends. After Jay left school, I financed his studies in Toronto.”

  “Enough, Father. I’m sure she’s heard enough.”

  Tereza felt as though she were somewhere else, looking in on this strange scene. She had no words to describe how she felt about what she had just heard. She couldn’t begin to identify with the man sitting in front of her. Chilling blue eyes, cropped grey hair, vicious temperament and an attitude of arrogant disdain. Nothing in common with the memories she’d built of her brother. She had no choice. Play along with whatever game they were playing. She needed to buy time, to know why she was here and not lying in a London gutter with a bullet hole in her head. She needed to find out about Michael.

  “Michael Berg? Where is he?”

  Rivello smiled and swiveled his wrist to look at his watch.

  “Right about now, he should be arriving in the Saint Petersburg city morgue. It would have been much better for him if you hadn’t gotten him involved.”

  “You’re lying. How on earth would he have known where to find me? He had had no idea where you would take me.”

  “He’s certainly a resourceful man. But not resourceful enough to avoid two tons of steel.”

  Her throat went dry, she couldn’t swallow. Her eyes welled up. She’d gotten to like him. Now she’d never find out how much. Tereza felt burning hatred for Rivello. He might be her half-brother, but all she could feel was revulsion. For Pisti, not much less.

  Tereza jumped up and sprang towards the desk behind her. Her hand slammed down on the desk.

  “Perhaps this is what you’re looking for?” Rivello’s hand was outstretched, palm open. The letter opener lay against his hand.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic, Tereza. What would you gain from killing me? A momentary burst of self-satisfaction? And I’d be amazed if you were able to drive this,” examining the contents of his hand, “into dear old Pisti’s heart.”

  Tereza collapsed into the chair, exhausted. “What you’ve done, you didn’t just do for revenge. That would be too honorable. Michael has nothing to do with our family. This is all about money, isn’t it?”

  “Jay, let me.” István straightened himself in his chair, his face somber. “Your mother wasn’t meant to die. She meant everything to me. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. About Jay, your father’s death. Or about what we’d done to Vass Holdings.”

  “Father, shut up.” Rivello’s voice was firm, commanding. “None of this is personal. Vass Holding’s and BOS were fundraising exercises. Vass was a sitting duck. Your father overleveraged the company to build his dream factory in Katowice. Berg was a mark. An overambitious, greedy businessman whose desire to conquer the world overcame his duty towards his own shareholders. But these were only a means to an end. If Berg hadn’t been so damn persistent, he wouldn’t be dead. If you’d just kept your nose out of it, you wouldn’t have spent the last three days strapped to a bed in the cellar.”

  “You said, ‘means to an end.’ What’s the end?”

  Rivello smiled and glanced at his watch. “Well now, in approximately three hours time, a decision will be made that will lead to the most spectacular financial fireworks display in eighty years.”

  Tereza studied her brother’s eyes. The fevered anticipation of a zealot. “You rigged the market?”

  Rivello grinned. Like an evangelical preacher foreseeing the apocalypse, he continued his diatribe.

  “No one else knows it’s about to happen. They still have their heads up their asses believing that their beloved US banks will be bailed out by the government. The first of the overstuffed parasites will fall tomorrow. Beirsdorf Klein. Within a week, I guarantee the majority of the world’s financial institutions will have lost up to ninety percent of their value.”

  “And you’re betting against the banks with the money you stole from my father and Mi
chael?”

  “Oh Tereza, and a lot more besides. You have no idea.”

  “You’ve ripped off others?” said Tereza.

  Rivello laughed. “I have ten billion euros in put options on Beirsdorf stock and dozens of other banks across the world. Once Beirsdorf goes down and other’s start to follow, my negative positions will be triggered. I’ll have a hundred billion within a few weeks. There will be no richer man, anywhere.”

  “If you know that this is going to happen, I’m sure a lot of other people do as well. You’ll be running with the herd.” Tereza’s commercial curiosity overcame her desire to wring his neck. “I don’t see how you’ll have an advantage over anyone else.”

  “I thought I’d explained. Everyone expects the US government to bail out the banks. They won’t.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Your neighbor in the cellar,” said Rivello, grinning again. “He might have woken you yesterday morning. Ralph ‘Nine Fingers’ Kennedy is the son of the chairman of the US Federal Reserve, Elisabeth Kennedy. She was on the other end of the line as my friend Konstantin Rykov did what he does best. We were running low on morphine.”

  Tereza’s stomach churned at the thought of what the poor man must have gone through.

  “Anyway, cutting this short, if Mommy agrees to the Beirsdorf bailout, she has a pretty good idea of what will happen to little Ralph. Ralph, who in case you’re feeling sorry for him, has set himself up as one of New York’s premier cocaine dealers. He’d recently set up a distribution deal to supply cocaine to half the schools in the Bronx.”