David Duffy - In for a Ruble

Karp reported some progress. He’d identified the source of the theft attack. Konychev boasted they’d have the culprit soon. Batkin and Lishin were losing patience, fast.

Another five million went out the cyber-door in November. Karp leaned on Coryell. Elizabeth Rogers started making the rounds. The BEC leadership was apoplectic. It wasn’t just the money. They weren’t used to this kind of treatment—and the inability to do a damned thing about it. Lishin told Batkin it had to be an inside job—their defenses were too strong to be so easily breached. Lishin ordered Konychev whacked. Batkin didn’t put it that way, but we were Chekists, we understood each other. The killers missed, Konychev went into hiding.

Batkin didn’t say anything about the most recent cyber-attack that felled the BEC or about Lishin’s death. I didn’t ask. I wouldn’t have believed him on either of those questions. It was possible that he had been playing me for a sucker since that first visit to my office. I could have delivered Irina into the hands of her jailer, maybe executioner, last night, which was why she ran the first chance she got. Even money, though, that neither Konychev nor Lishin had confided in him. No reason for them to have done so.

As I picked my way through the snow-packed sidewalks, I tried to handicap whether his concern for Irina was based on her safety or a desire to reunite her with her dead father or some idea that she, or Andras, could lead him to the missing ConnectPay servers, now more valuable than ever. Perhaps even the foundation the BEC needed to rebuild. A man like him would already be thinking about that.

First things first. I called Victoria. She was in a meeting. I left a message that Irina had taken off. I didn’t say anything about Batkin. I’d call again as soon as I had more information. Then I found a payphone and dialed Moscow—Aleksei’s apartment.

“Coffee?” I said.

“When?”

“Sooner the better.”

“Do you know what time it is? Never mind. Ten minutes.”

I walked a few more blocks, until I found another pay phone and dialed Aleksei’s disposable.

“You hear about Taras Batkin?” he asked.

“Just left him.”

“What?!” Then, “Why am I surprised?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“How do you know what I think?”

A fair question.

“I can tell you all about it—it’s his stepdaughter. She’s playing some dangerous games, and she’s run away. You know the BEC’s offline?”

“Old news.”

“How about the late, unlamented Alexander Lishin?”

“Ivanov broke that story.”

I listened for anger or frustration but didn’t hear any.

“Here’s something else, the real reason I called. I’m assuming you’ll be able to pinpoint the date of Lishin’s demise. Check whether his daughter, Irina, was treated around that time for a wound to the neck, right side, just below the ear. A cut, maybe a burn, bad enough to leave an ugly scar.”

“That’s not going to be easy.”

“I’m assuming you have hospital contacts. You can do it quietly. It might be the bulldozer you need to push the roadblocks aside—if you want to. You have a suspect yet?”

“Don’t ask. What’s your interest in the girl?”

I started to give the same reply— Don’t ask —until I heard Beria chuckling. I spotted him across Lexington Avenue, shaking his head with a smile.

You don’t get it, he mouthed. You never will.

“I think she’s the one who took down the BEC,” I said to Aleksei.

Sharp intake of breath. “How…?”

“She had help. Her boyfriend’s a computer geek. His uncle was a key cog in the empire.”

“Was?”

“He checked out last week.”

“Connection?”

“Maybe. Probably. Not sure. Konychev’s enforcer is after the kids. Name’s Karp by the way. You can pass that on if you like. I need to keep the girl’s role under wraps.”

“You trusted me. I can return the favor. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

I hung up. Maybe that was the start of something. I looked around for Beria. He was gone. I continued down Lexington and stopped at the window of a coffee shop. Cheka and BEC troubles were sidelined by the immediate prospect of a club sandwich and fries—not my usual lunch diet, but comforting in the prospect that they might soak up the brandy. My hand was on the door when my cell phone buzzed.

Thomas Leitz’s voice was high, shrill and hysterical.

“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME! YOU HAVE TO!”

“What’s wrong?” I said.

“EVERYTHING! IT’S YOUR FAULT! He’s out there. I can’t move. I can’t do anything!”

“Who, Thomas? Who’s out there?”

“The tall man. HE’S STALKING ME!”

I dropped my hand from the coffee shop door. The fear coming through the phone was real. People brushed past, bumping me from either side on the snow-narrowed sidewalk. I pushed on down the block until I found a doorway providing shelter from the pedestrian traffic.

“Okay, calm down. Tell me what’s going on.”

“He’s out there. HE’S WATCHING ME!”

“Describe him.”

“The man you told me about. You told him where to find me, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?”

“Cool down. I didn’t tell anybody anything.”

“I DON’T BELIEVE YOU. HE’S OUT THERE!”

“Thomas! Stop! You called me. I want to help. You have to tell me calmly and specifically what you are seeing. Understand? Where are you?”

“He’s out there.”

The hysteria receded, a little, the borderline panic remained.

“Where are you?” I repeated.

“My apartment.”

“Okay. What’s going on? What do you see?”

“He’s across the street. He’s watching me!”

“How long has he been there?”

“I don’t know. I was going out. To… He came towards me. STRAIGHT AT ME! I ran back inside. I’ve been watching. He hasn’t moved. He’s waiting for me!”

“How long ago? How long ago were you going out?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes.”

“Okay. Good. What does he look like?”

“The man you told me about. Tall. Ugly. Bad hair, bad teeth.”

“You have a doorman?”

“Yes… Part-time.”

“There now?”

“Until four.”

I looked at my watch—2:30 P.M. The doorman would be no match for Nosferatu, but the fact that he was still across the street said he didn’t want the complication of getting past someone. Question was, what did he want?

“How many entrances to your building?”

“How should I know? I…”

“Thomas! I’m trying to help. Answer my questions. This is important. How many entrances?”

“The front door?”

“Good. Fire escape?”

“From the rear window. Down to a well in the back.”

“Then what?”

“Back out to the street.”

“Next to the front door?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?”

“I think so.”

No way for Nosferatu to get in without the doorman seeing him. Or so I hoped.

“Listen to me,” I said. “I’m going to hang up for a minute. I’ll call you right back. I want you to watch the tall man. Tell me what he does. Okay?”

“I need help!”

Cheka training, any training, if it’s done right, is hard to shake. I had Thomas Leitz in the palm of my hand. I could help him, I could also get something in the process. The process wouldn’t be pretty.

“You shouldn’t have blackmailed Coryell all these years,” I said, making my voice hard, almost cruel. “That’s what this is about. The tall man knows what I know. You want my help, there’s a price.”

“WHAT?! What are you saying? I didn’t…”