Morgan Stone - The Russian Factor

Undeniably, he looked a bit like a down-on-his-luck genie, but it wasn’t enough to convince me he’d make good on any wishes granted. “I’m not sure what game you’re playing, and I don’t really care at this point. This, my friend, is what’s going on. Maybe you have something to offer.” I gestured at Anna. “Her passport has been stolen. I am Canadian. Holland works fine as a destination, if you can get us out of Ukraine. Providing, of course, you really are a captain, or even have access to a ship… then I have money.”

Alexi whined, “Holland? Why Holland?”

“Didn’t you say you were sailing to Rotterdam? As far as I know, it’s in Holland!”

The waiter came to take our orders. Alexi evaded my question about what he had to offer. Instead, between mouthfuls of food and swigs of intensely sweet wine, he bragged of harrowing sea voyages and cargo only his finely honed skills could get in and out of various countries. With his fingers and long filthy nails glistening with grease, he held out a photocopy of a seaman’s certificate. It was written in German and issued in the city of Bremerhaven. I didn’t see his name on it, but he sure didn’t give me a lot of time to look for it.

“Ah, Bremerhaven. I can see how that’s easy to confuse with Rotterdam.” I wasn’t buying it. “Hey Captain, can you get us on a ship out of here? Yes or no.”

He went silent and looked around theatrically, “This, we shall talk about somewhere safe. Not here in public.” He leaned over the table. His stench was overpowering. “If you have money, I can get you out of Ukraine.” Then, gulping the last of the wine, stuffing a couple of buns in his pockets, and writing his very private number on a linen napkin, he rushed off to another “most important meeting,” leaving me with the bill.

“She still says you stole my passport.” Anna thumbed end-call on her cell phone.

“You’re completely sure she has it?” I looked at my watch. “What an idiot.”

“My mother?”

“No, that Alexi! I told him, ‘the Athena mall food fair, fourteen hundred hours.’ He even repeated it. How can he screw that up?”

“I’m surprised that you, of all people, Jess, are still dealing with him. To me he is an absolute swindler, a crook… and yes, I would say he’s an idiot.”

“That idiot, like it or not, swindler or otherwise, is the only chance we’ve got right now.”

We were about to leave when he finally showed up. Strutting through the food fair, he greeted us with an excuse about a very important meeting, “Back at the office.”

“Look!” I started in on him. “You have no office. The address you gave me is the port authority, and there is no Captain A. Laddin there or anywhere.”

“But, you are mistaken…”

“Hey, I don’t even care if you are a ship’s captain; you aren’t, are you? What I care about is getting out of Ukraine, and that’s something you might be able to help with. I assume you know people ?”

“What people ? I am an honest businessman, a consultant.” Alexi straightened up.

“Well consultant , now’s your chance to do a little consulting. I’d like to consult you on how you can get Anna out of here without her passport.”

Alexi looked thoughtful. “I can get you a boat, maybe even a passport.”

He got my attention, at last. I agreed to meet Alexi the following day in Sobornaya Square. He had mentioned a passport. Not promising, but worth a try.

A canopy of vines and ironwork filtered bright sunlight from a blue sky. Beneath it, a number of older Mediterranean-looking men puzzled over chess games. Alexi, like usual, was late. Not a big deal; Anna and I were enjoying the comfortable, old-world atmosphere of Sobornaya Square: soaking up the sunshine, relishing the downtime, pretending to be normal and wishing we actually were. Alexi finally ruined the moment by showing up with his usual bluster.

“Time is money, and money is time… Very important meeting, yes, indeed, so very important. You must forgive me for my late arrival.” If anything, he was theatrical.

I cringed.

Anna rolled her eyes.

“I have a solution to all your troubles, a friend in business who has boats for sale.” Alexi was boorishly loud. Perturbed chess players glared. “I can do business for you with my esteemed business comrade. It will be for a boat that will sail you to the new world. We shall go meet him now. This is a serious matter.” He paused dramatically. “Very serious, indeed. You have money?”

“A boat? Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a passport?” Either my clavicles suddenly dissolved, or I unconsciously slumped my shoulders. Yup, the guy was nuts, I figured.

Anna chided, “He was your idea.”

“I wonder how to get the genie back in the bottle?”

Alexi snapped around, cape trailing in his wake as he goosestepped away from us. We ended up chasing him to a marine outfitter’s store at a strip mall. He strutted in and ordered a clerk with disfiguring acne to show his clients, “The boats for sale in Odessa.” The young man glared disdainfully and moving with deliberate disinclination, swung the monitor around, opened a browser, and navigated to a website called Yacht World . In the search parameters, he entered Odessa. Then he asked Alexi a run-on series of single word questions: “sail-power-length-range?”

Alexi in turn asked me, “Do you want a boat with a sail or a boat with the motor? How much money do you have for your boat?”

“I don’t want a boat!” I looked at him for even the slightest glimmer of cognition which might indicate he had heard me. “What I want is to get Anna out of Ukraine, and you said you could help us, Captain Aladdin .”

“Captain?” The clerk raised an eyebrow. At Alexi’s insistence he showed me some frighteningly neglected sail, power and fishing boats on offer in Odessa. The blasé clerk flashed from one ad to the next, rattling off prices in US dollars.

“Whoa, enough! I can’t come up with that kind of cash, I don’t want one of those boats, and this is a complete waste of time.” I looked at the clerk with contrition. “Sorry about this.”

“Whatever…” He shrugged and turned away, muttering some Ukrainian curse.

Maybe Alexi really was actually nuts. Outside the store, I told him, in the simplest terms I could muster, that I was not going to buy a boat and, unless he came up with some other way of getting us out of Ukraine, our acquaintanceship was finished. We left him silently cogitating.

Not being in Vancouver to push Gavin or pull in new business, our network security firm was inexorably grinding to a halt. Cash flow concerns had literally become palpable. From the hotel’s business center, and thanks to Sandy’s cousin’s proxy server, Gavin and I kept in touch via an encrypted email correspondence. His latest email was a threat to shut down our business and terminate my last trickle of income. Unless, of course, I ditched Anna and returned to my senses.

I had barely been aware of Anna, at an adjacent desktop, finally having it out with The Skater. She was speaking to her mother over an anonymous Internet-to-phone service. Anna’s side of the conversation had increased in volume to the point I couldn’t help overhearing. Neither could anyone else, if we not been the only two there. I looked over at her. In response, Anna cranked the volume on the desktop’s speakers and glared back at me. Eyes locked on mine and narrowed, cheeks bright red, she leaned toward the tiny boom microphone protruding from the CRT monitor and carried on. “How can you do this to me? How can you be attacking me like this? You are lucky I am still talking to you after what you’ve done to me and Jess — my friend. Why can’t you just let us be?”