Don Winslow - California Fire And Life

And says, "How would you like to go to America?"

He sticks out his broad tongue and takes a lick of the ice cream that is almost obscene. Smiles a Mephistophelian smile.

"I think I would like that very much," Daz says.

Having just been offered a chance at heaven.

"The United States," Karpotsov says — he continues the lecture between licks of ice cream — "is waging economic warfare against the Soviet Union. Reagan knows — and we know — that we can't compete. We can't continue to build missiles and submarines at this pace and still maintain the economy required for a workers' paradise. The ugly truth, Daz, is that they can win the cold war simply by outspending us."

He stops and stares off at the park as if at any moment it is going to disappear along with the Soviet way of life.

He collects himself and continues, "We need cash — hard currency — and the Soviet economy is incapable of generating any. It is simply not to be found here."

"Then where?"

"America," Karpotsov says. "Our expatriate Russian criminals in New York and California are sucking dollars out of the American system like milk from a cow. These are gangsters, mind you, and we have to believe that if common criminals can do this, well…"

What could a cadre of KGB-trained agents do?

"It's a brilliant idea, really," Karpotsov says. And it should be — he thought of it. "It has a double benefit — it takes from them and gives to us. Every dollar we make is a dollar they lose. Where better to attack a capitalist system than at its capital?"

"So my assignment would be in the realm of economic sabotage."

"That's one way of putting it," Karpotsov says. "Another would be to say that your assignment is to steal. And steal, and steal."

Daz cannot believe his ears. He's frozen his ass off in that Afghanistan moonscape, and winter is coming so he'll be freezing his ass off in a Soviet Union that is clearly headed down the drain and the best he can hope for is sharing a one-bedroom with Mother forever, and maybe one week a summer at a dacha on the Black Sea, and part of him knows, I must get away from her and this is my chance, and the other part screams, This is my chance to give her the life she deserves, and now they offer him a transfer to America for the expressed purpose of making a fortune.

So what's the catch?

"Of course you'll have to become a Jew," Karpotsov says.

"A Jew?" Daz asks. "Why a Jew?"

"How else can we get you in?" Karpotsov asks. "Christ, the Americans are always screaming at us — 'Release some Jews, release some Jews.' Fine, we'll release some Jews, along with them a few of our agents trained in — how did you put it — economic sabotage."

"But to become a Jew…"

"It's a sacrifice, I understand," Karpotsov says. "Perhaps too great a sacrifice to ask…"

"No, no, no, no," Daz says quickly. For a heart-stopping second he sees his chance slipping away. "No, of course I accept the assignment."

Karpotsov finishes his ice cream and grins.

" Mazel tov," he says.

So Daz goes to "Jew school."

This is a little course the KGB sets up where Jewish prisoners teach the Torah, the Diaspora, the Holocaust, and the whole catalog of Russian outrages against the Jews. Daz studies Zionist history, the history of Israel, Jewish culture and tradition. Jewish artists, writers, composers.

For graduation they do a Passover seder.

And Daziatnik's like, Done that. Hand me my airline ticket.

But Karpotsov is like, Not so fast, Jewboy — first there's a little matter of prison.

"Prison?" Daziatnik asks. "You didn't say anything about prison."

"Well, I'm saying it now," Karpotsov tells him on another stroll through the park. "Daz, we need you to infiltrate the mob, the Organizatsiya. They're the people who are sucking the money out of the States. Without being a member, you'd frankly be quite useless. And sadly, the qualification for membership is a stay in the system. To establish your bona fides, as it were."

Daz is furious, at Karpotsov and at himself, because he has let the man lure him into a trap, step by step.

"Can't you just create a criminal record for me?" Daz asks.

"We will," Karpotsov says. "But that by itself wouldn't be safe for you. No, there is knowledge and experience — and connections — that you can only get in prison."

"How much time?" Daz asks.

"Not a long stretch," Karpotsov says. "Eighteen months or so for petty theft. I could order you, but I don't want to do that."

Daz's mind is reeling. A year and a half in prison?

"I don't know, Colonel…"

"And who knows?" Karpotsov asks. "Perhaps we could arrange exit papers for your mother?"

Karpotsov is a slick piece of shit. Like every other piece of shit who handles agents, he knows exactly what buttons can be pushed, and when to push them.

Daz says, "How bad could a few months in jail be?"

Uh-huh.

Daz is in the system for maybe ten minutes before a huge old zek called Old Tillanin jams him into the corner, shoves the sharp point of a shiv against his ribs, and by way of fore-play demands his blanket and his next meal.

Daz is in the system for maybe ten minutes and. 00025 seconds before he jams a finger strike into Old Tillanin's left eyeball, which hits the filthy concrete floor about one full second before Old Tillanin does.

He's rolling around, howling in pain, trying to reach out and grab his eyeball before someone in the crowded cell steps on it. As if they're going to send a team of crack surgeons to reattach it.

Daz is in the far corner of the cell before the guards can get over to see who performed the eyeballectomy, and most of the other zeks only get from hearsay that it's the new guy, Daz.

Two zeks actually witness the action, though. One is a barrel-shaped mugger from Moscow named Lev, the other a tall skinny extortionist from Odessa named Dani, and they're pretty impressed that a new zek is either brave enough or stupid enough to take on Old Tillanin, who is the King of the Heap in this cell.

The word on Lev is that he has a way with a chain saw that you don't want to see up close. Lev has a reputation for his skill at performing the "chicken chop," which is Organizatsiya's favored method of execution and is just what it sounds like: not to put too fine a point on it, they take a chain saw and cut you into parts. And this is Lev's hobby. He likes it.

The story on Dani is that back in Odessa his own brother ratted some guys out to the cops, and the local mob boss — the pakhan — wanted to job out the hit but Dani said no sweat, I'll do him myself.

Dani gutshot his own brother.

Dani is such a mean fucker he's doing guys in prison. The guards come in in the morning and one or two zeks are tapped out, their necks snapped or their intestines lying on the floor and Dani's standing there with his bowl waiting for his breakfast gruel.

Dani is cold.

When Lev and Dani see the new zek take out Old Tillanin like that, they mark him as a guy to, well, keep an eye on.

Anyway, one of the guards asks who did it. He's no more expecting an answer than he's expecting fucking Princess Anastasia to descend through the ceiling on a trapeze, and he's dead right about that because even Old Tillanin keeps his mouth shut.

So the guard grabs up Dani, figuring that mean little fuck had to have a hand in any piece of violent nastiness in the cell, and he's hauling him out into the corridor to give him a going-over with the baton when this new zek — a petty thief from Leningrad named Valeshin — yells, "I did."

"What?" the guard asks.

"I did it."

Which is just about the stupidest thing the guard ever saw any zek do in a population that is already subpar in the intelligence quotient. The guard is so annoyed by this honor-among-thieves bit that he takes a belt and straps this Valeshin moron to the top of the cell door and whales at him with a piece of rubber hose until the dumb-fuck dickhead passes out. The guard gives him a few more shots to the ribs for good measure, unties him, and kicks him back into the cell, there being no point in taking him to the infirmary because (a) they don't have any doctors there, and (b) Old Tillanin's comrades are just going to kill him anyway.