David Duffy - In for a Ruble

Not that it mattered. I fully expected to be fired by the time I got back to Manhattan.

Suspicion confirmed.

Leitz was waiting at my office. He and Foos were bent over a laptop in the open area, comparing notes on something. Leitz had switched to blue cashmere today. Same corduroys, from the looks of it, same shoes.

“Don’t you believe in progress reports?” Leitz said, looking up, trying to be confrontational, but not able to manage it. His eyes were red with bags underneath. He was tired, and for him, decidedly subdued. Looked like Jenny had told him of her diagnosis.

“Didn’t see the need. You had your man in the tan coat for that.”

He started to say something, stopped and shook his head. “He figured you spotted him—on Houston Street.”

“Before that—outside Marianna’s.”

“How’d you figure he was working for me?”

“Process of elimination. Who else would have someone following me around?”

He nodded. “Serves me right. Foos said I could trust you, but…”

“I’m told you like to control things.”

He nodded again. “Guilty.”

“You want your report now?”

He shrugged. “If you think it’s necessary. I actually came down here… I want to ask you to stop. The computers, whoever it was, it just doesn’t matter that much anymore.”

He looked down at the coffee table.

“I’m finished anyway,” I said. “I can tell you who and what if you want. But it’s likely to cause more pain.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

It took a minute before he raised his head. Tears in his eyes. “You… you know?”

“She told me. Only when I asked, although I already knew about the doctors and the tests.”

“Jesus.” He started a lunge for the laptop. For a moment I thought he was going to hurl it across the room. Foos thought the same thing and was ready to grab it first. But halfway there, Leitz just collapsed and fell back on the sofa. Sorrow overwhelmed temper. Foos was unconvinced. He closed the lid and moved the computer out of range.

“Life ain’t fair, man,” he said, mainly, I think, to say something.

I went to the kitchen and came back with the vodka bottle. Leitz shook his head when I offered him a glass.

“It’ll help, if you don’t overdue it.”

“You mean, like Marianna?”

I shrugged.

“Just a little,” he said.

I poured him a finger. He took a sip and put the glass on the table and wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to unload my burdens on you.”

“That’s all right.” His family had already done that.

He picked up the glass, took another swallow, and shook his head when I offered a refill.

“Tell me what you found out,” he said quietly, “although I’ve almost decided to abandon the TV bid. I’ve got more important things to focus on.”

He sounded sincere. I believed him, but I wondered how he’d feel a day or two or ten down the road. I’m determined we should all lead as normal a life as possible, Jenny Leitz had said. She’d be encouraging him to keep on.

“We can do this another time if you want,” I said.

He shook his head. He was struggling to stay afloat in an emotional tsunami. For the moment, the trader was still in control. “Go ahead.”

I double-checked with Foos. He dropped his lopsided visage ever so slightly in assent.

“Your computers were bugged by the Baltic Enterprise Commission—an organized cyber-crime outfit. We told you it was someone like this, and we were right. They specialize in Web hosting for phishers and spammers, but they’ve expanded into hacking for hire and industrial espionage. Nosferatu, the man who beat me up, is the BEC’s enforcer. I established that through contacts in Russia. He got the cleaners to place the bug.”

“How did he…?”

“Your brother-in-law, Coryell, was the agent. He was with Nosferatu when they bribed the cleaners. He told them where to put it. The cleaners described him. I’ve since seen Nosferatu at Coryell’s office. He had a key.”

I half expected an explosion— WALTER? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN? WALTER?! I DON’T BELIEVE IT. HE’D NEVER … What a difference a day and a diagnosis of death make.

All he said, weakly, was, “Walter?”

“Afraid so. I wish there was another explanation, but…”

“Why would he…?”

“Coryell’s compromised. He’s being blackmailed, I assume by Nosferatu and the BEC, but also by someone else. I don’t know what the leverage is, but it’s powerful. It’s already cost him two hundred grand by my count, maybe more.”

The money focused his attention. “Two hundred thousand? Blackmail? Who told you this?”

I was trying to get through the story without squealing on Thomas. I didn’t give a damn about him, but he wasn’t connected to the main event, and adding his troubles to the mix would only make matters worse for Leitz. Maybe I was doing my own under-the-rug sweeping.

“It’s in the Dick,” I said.

“But… Have you talked to Walter? What does he say?”

“I haven’t seen Walter. Neither has anyone else—in at least a week.”

“What about Julia?”

“She tells me her husband is very busy. I doubt she knows anything about blackmail or Nosferatu, and I haven’t enlightened her.”

He shook his head. “Okay, but… Jesus. Tell me about this Baltic… what do you call it?”

“Baltic Enterprise Commission. It’s a partnership—three oligarchs—that’s suffered some setbacks and internal disagreements in recent months. The founding partner’s Efim Konychev. He still runs the show, maybe, but in that world, disagreements often lead to violence. Someone tried to gun him down in Moscow last month.”

I was watching for the reaction. He didn’t try to hide it. He fell against the back of the couch like a man who’d been slugged. I waited, but he didn’t say anything. The eyes, still red, went blank as he stared into the distance of the space. I hesitated a moment before delivering the next blow.

“Konychev’s sister is Alyona Lishina.”

“CHRIST!”

The old Leitz came back in an instant. He balled his fists, leaned forward, and flailed in the air. Foos picked up the laptop.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?”

He pushed himself to his feet, thought about kicking over the coffee table, thought better, and marched around the room. Pig Pen, who’d been attracted to the door of his office by the commotion, beat a fast retreat to his back perch when Leitz headed in his direction. I glanced at Foos, who shrugged and nodded— You’re doing the right thing . I wasn’t certain I shared his confidence.

Leitz came back and stood close to my chair. “What do you know about Konychev?”

“Sit down and I’ll tell you.”

He went back to the sofa.

“He’s an oligarch—now. He was a high-level propaganda apparatchik in Soviet times. He bought up media properties during transition. He controls most of the nonstate media in Moscow. He also grasped the commercial potential of the Internet early. All the spammers, phishers, and pornographers out there need servers to call home, preferably servers somewhere hard to find, in a jurisdiction with authorities who aren’t eager to assist the rest of the world’s police. The former Soviet republics have such places in abundance, and as new converts to capitalism, they were keen to attract the business.”

He shook his head again. “I had no idea.”

At the risk of setting off another explosion, I said, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No… You don’t understand. I really didn’t. I didn’t know who he was.”

I waited, my skepticism evident. Foos shifted in his seat, reached for the vodka bottle, thought better and left it where it was. He wasn’t buying either.