Orest Stelmach - The Boy Who Stole from the Dead

“I’ll try.”

Nadia thanked him.

When she returned to the table, the caviar and wine had arrived.

“Everything all right?” Simeonovich said.

Nadia sat down and smiled. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You looked very serious when you came back into the dining room.”

“That’s what people used to say when I was growing up.”

“That you looked too serious?”

“No. Is everything all right.”

“Behind every serious face is a child who wishes she’d had more fun growing up.”

“She?”

Simeonovich piled some caviar on a piece of toast. “He. She. We are similar, you and I.”

Nadia laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t see that.”

“You’re thinking about money,” he said. “You shouldn’t. Money doesn’t define the man. But now that you’ve brought it up.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Here’s a check for your work. A billing rate of four hundred and seventy-five dollars per hour for twenty-two hours worked. Plus a bonus of four thousand and change to make it an even fifteen thousand dollars.”

Nadia envisioned real estate tax and tuition bills getting paid. “That’s very generous but what’s the bonus for? I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“You did everything to deserve it. But did you hear what you said? That’s what we have in common.”

“What? Earning more than we expect on a deal?”

“No. Distrust of the person on the other side of the table.”

He handed Nadia the envelope. She took it. Nadia usually savored a sense of accomplishment whenever she got paid but this time she experienced something more. A greater sense of pride. One of the richest men in the world had just paid her. And he’d paid her more than he owed her.

“I don’t distrust you,” Nadia said.

“But you don’t trust me either.”

Nadia considered his words. “They’re not the same thing, are they?”

“No. They’re not. Why are you here in Lviv? It has something to do with the boy, doesn’t it?”

“No. I’m sightseeing with my brother.”

“Now that’s insulting. I deserve a better lie than that.”

Nadia smiled. He was right. He deserved a better lie. But he’d caught her unprepared, and it was too late now.

“If you trust me with the truth,” he said, “if you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you.”

It was tempting, Nadia thought. The resources. The power. “Why?” she said.

“Why trust me?” he said.

“Why do you care?”

He stared at her. His face softened. He kept staring. Nadia felt her breath shorten.

“Obviously it can’t be that I’m fond of you. After all, I barely know you.”

“Obviously,” Nadia said.

“This man Valentin. And his friends. They have a less than savory reputation in some circles. They are remnants of old Russia. Of the Soviet Union and the lawless transition that followed. If I were to get some evidence of criminal acts, I could put a stop to them. I could make them pay for prior sins.”

“What sins? What criminal acts?”

“Oh, so now you are curious?”

Nadia shrugged. “You brought it up. I’m just asking.”

“Rumors. Myths. It’s hard to separate them from reality sometimes. One wouldn’t want to libel a fellow countryman, especially a group that together is every bit as powerful as I am. But if a man had evidence…”

He’s Russian, Nadia reminded herself. And he could be lying. The living members of the Zaroff Seven could be friends of his. She remembered her uncle Damian’s final words to her. With foxes we must play the fox.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nadia said. “But I’ll certainly keep my eyes open during the rest of my stay.”

Simeonovich sighed. “You do that. Now, have some of this caviar. If you won’t trust me, at least let me feed you. Before you go back out there among the wolves.”

THE CALL CAME later that night as she lay awake in bed pretending sheep were counting her.

A man with an endearing voice. The kind that sold flowers to women at the hospital to supplement his income during medical school.

He spoke proper Ukrainian. He apologized. Said it was a big misunderstanding. They’d lifted the wrong man. They had no business with her or with Marko. They’d mistaken them for some other Teslas.

He put Marko on the phone. Her brother sounded wonderful. Healthier and more sober than ever. One of his abductors was a woman, he said. A real looker. Vanessa from Odesa. She had a university degree with dual majors in nursing and massage. She loved motorcycles, green cards, and America. Her life ambition was to marry a strip club operator with a trigger temper. Nadia imagined how happy their mother would be when she heard her son was engaged. And to a proper Ukrainian beauty no less.

Then the endearing man delivered the good news. Nadia was right. There was a connection between Bobby and Valentin. It would illuminate the events the night of the murder and prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Bobby was innocent. The man didn’t get into the all-too-important specifics but promised an explanation so convincing the judge would release him immediately. With the court’s apology.

The endearing man said he had one last question before hanging up. Had she conquered her ethnic bias and accepted the billionaire’s Russian heritage? Did she realize he was smitten with her? Had she made the proper decision to go for it?

Nadia scolded him. That was three questions, she said.

No, the man said. They were all the same question.

Yes, Nadia said.

Yes, she was going for it?

Yes, they were the same question.

The torrent of good news lulled her to sleep.

She awoke an hour later, in the heart of darkness, to the sound of the real phone ringing, whereupon she received a simple set of instructions consisting of nine words. It was delivered by a gruff and somber man speaking course Russian.

Then he hung up.

LAUREN DEBATED WHETHER to approach Johnny Tanner or Iryna first.

She considered Johnny. Her odds of coaxing the truth about Bobby’s background from his lawyer were zero. The probability she’d get him to slip up about Nadia Tesla’s current location was no better. The man was a defense attorney. Confidentiality defined his livelihood. He woke up suspicious. He distrusted authority and people who asked questions. Attempts to trick him would be a waste of time or worse. They could jeopardize her life. She didn’t know who Victor Bodnar was but her gut told her he and his twin protégés were dangerous men. Johnny Tanner had spoken to him as though he knew him. The risks of approaching him outweighed the benefits.

Lauren imagined paying a visit to Bobby’s girlfriend, Iryna, at the bakery in Brighton Beach where she worked. She’d studied the girl’s Facebook page. A classic beauty. Not too Slavic the way some Russian girls looked, with sunken faces and narrow eyes. She looked like the innocent type who loved to bake cupcakes and watch hockey. Pictures lied, though. And girls lied. Lauren wondered about her real personality, her true motives. She had a genuine hankering to find out, except her gut told her that was a waste of time, too. At the first mention of Bobby or Nadia, Iryna would clam up right away. To earn the girl’s trust, Lauren would have to pose as a person of authority. Like a cop. And she was still rational enough to realize that was more likely to land her in jail than glean any information.