Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

“Del, I really should tell you the rest,” I tried to interrupt.

“Just wait. Here is where it gets sticky. A city councilman has hired Mr. P’s thugs to go and visit the few expats that are already here for the different projects, and do their best to scare them into the housing project that they are now renovating. They think then if they can get me and two or three others to endorse it, after being chased out of our current housing situations, that they can get the big corporate contracts for any other foreign companies trying to set up new operations in town. They want to corner the market on expat housing and earn some fat profits. Not a bad plan. So, before Mr. Z. from the city council figures out that I am also looking to provide him competition and he sends his blokes with batons and pistols, as you see they are ready to do,” Del motioned towards me and my broken ribs, “I have also decided to stop my project. I have already instructed Misha to wrap up the property management activities and cancel all tentative agreements. This little project is not worth getting our throats cut by the little sharks in town,” he wisely concluded.

I nodded in agreement.

“So, kid, get your ticket and get out as soon as you can. So, what else did you need to tell me?” he finally asked.

I sat up straight the best I could. ‘Del, before I tell you what I think you want to know, I have a question first for you, and I need a straight answer,” I said seriously.

“Sure, kid. What is it?” he was curious.

“Can you get me out of Nizhniy tonight if I tell you what I’ve learned? I have the feeling Del that you are more than just a project manager for a construction company or a hotel chain. You have connections and knowledge that a project manager wouldn’t have. I’ve listened to you and Els the last few months and there is something that you are not telling me. If I give you this piece of information that you are looking for, for the reason that I think you are looking for it, I am going to need help to get out of town tonight. Can you help me with this?” I looked him straight in the eyes.

After a long pause with much consternation from Del and Els alike, Del shifted in his chair, sat on the edge of it and looked me straight back in the eyes.

“Kid, you’re as sharp as they come. We saw that after our first meeting. There is little fooling you despite some initial naivety on your part. But you’re young and untrained, so that should be expected. There are things I am not allowed to tell you, but it seems you have filled in the details yourself, so I am pretty sure that you don’t need a confirmation from me. Let’s leave it at that for now. Until I hear what further information you have, I can’t promise anything, so it’s best you tell me and then we’ll figure out what it means,” he had never sounded so serious.

“Ok, thanks for the straight answer. I wouldn’t have accepted a BS answer from you at this point. So here it is. During our last discussion, you were desperate to make a link between Mr. P. and the aviation sector here in Nizhniy Novgorod. We were puzzled by what Mr. P. said about his father leaving him some money to purchase the land of the hotel with. Do you remember? Well, two things, when I was trying to direct my research in a new direction away from Mr. P. as the university demanded, I mentioned then that I would like to study the government’s plans for privatizing the aviation factories here in town. Valentina went into a rage! She was foaming at the mouth and spitting on me, she was so mad, and more or less told me no, because that was a current or future interest of Mr. P’s entrepreneurial activities. She knew she had slipped up and she knew that I knew she had let too much be known. I think that is why the problems haven’t stopped for me. Second, and this is something I should have remembered from my meeting with the Dean: P. Is not Mr. P. ’s birth name. He changed his name when he was released from prison. His real family name is S. His father Ivan Sergeyevich S. just received a posthumous medal from the Red Army for his contribution to Russia’s military aviation development. Mr. P. accepted the medal for his father just before my bag got stolen. I was there and heard it with my own ears and saw him shake hands with the mayor in front of the whole crowd!” I revealed.

“What did you say the engineer’s name was?” Del jumped.

I repeated the name clearly, slowly.

“Do you know anything more about him?” he demanded from me.

“Only what I told you, and that he died in Tajikistan last year,” I was cut off by Del.

“In Bishkek? Did he die in Bishkek?” Del was now adding information that I couldn’t confirm.

“Do you still have the articles you showed me about the arms shows last year in Kirgizia and Tajikistan?” Del pushed.

“Sorry, Del. Everything I had worth keeping for my case studies was just stolen. All of it!.” I said with resignation. “That article though came from an issue of The Economist in late January, I think. Have you kept the copies I brought you each week?”

Del sprung from his chair and went to his office and came back with a small stack of magazines and quickly found the editions from January. Del leafed through them until he came to the article I was referring to. He read silently while moving his lips in inaudible whispers.

Del was silent as he paced the living room again as he did when he learned of Mr. P’s hotel plans and inheritance. He stopped and stared out the window onto the city skyline. He spoke with his back still to me.

“Peter, it will be very important that you are out of town by Monday morning. You need to pack up and get gone. As you will understand, if I am seen helping you leave Nizhniy, it could put you at more risk than you are leaving on your own. Mr. P. wants you gone, he isn’t going to stop you from going. The FSB will, however, try to stop you if you are traveling with me and Els. We can’t be seen together. You already gave your name to the cops downstairs so we can’t have any more contact. You’ll need to get your things as soon as possible and hop on a train to Moscow and fly away. Got it?” As he finished his thinking and speaking he turned to see my reaction.

I was silent. I was doing everything I could to hold back tears.

“Are you able to get back to your apartment and get some clean clothes, get fixed up and leave tomorrow morning? Take as little as possible with you. Don’t get delayed and bogged down by your luggage. Just go as quick as you can,” he instructed again.

I nodded and started to get up slowly from the couch. The pain in my ribs was now acute and laming. I straightened up stiffly and offered a hand shake to Del. He then handed me a business card from his shirt pocket.

“Kid, when you get back to the States, please call this number and leave me a message that you arrived in the States, or wherever you land, and that you are safe. Leave a number on the message machine and we’ll be in touch after some time. Understood? Do not call the apartment phone any longer and don’t come back here again,” his instruction seemed well rehearsed.

I nodded again and put his card in my pocket after glancing it over. I had no more questions and I couldn’t think of anything else to say and headed for the door. I collected my blood-stained jacket with my passport and wallet in it.

“Kid, don’t tell anybody where you’re going. Just go!” and with that Del opened the door and I slipped out and onto the street. With my bones and joints aching, I decided to hail a cab for the first time in Nizhniy. I did not speak to the cab driver. Twenty minutes later I was let out at the Proletarskaya Metro station and twenty steps from my door.