Val Karren - The Deceit of Riches

“Did you say seventy-six dollars?” I asked alertly.

“Yes. That is correct. Seventy-six dollars. I take you anywhere in the city of Moscow for seventy-six dollars,” he repeated in a thick guttural accent, but in English.

“Where would you take me for seventy-six dollars?” I asked again.

“I know good place where friend is waiting for you,” he replied without naming names.

“Ok, I’ll pay you seventy-six dollars to take me there,” I confirmed.

“Please follow me to car.” he offered to take my backpack but I refused and carried it myself.

As I stepped off the curb with the cabbie from 1776, the agents watching me stood at alert. Walking just a step behind my guide I gave a very small nod to Sergey in the white Lada closest to me to let him know that this cabbie was my contact and he would be taking me to Del. Sergey’s eyes told me he understood.

The cabbie put me in the front seat of his light blue Volga sedan, an older model. The muffler sputtered on contact and all through second gear as we pulled out of the parking area and onto the Borodinskiy bridge over the river, and directly toward that ever-visible monolith skyscraper. A little further up Smolenskaya street the cabbie pulled over right in front of the Foreign Affairs ministry and motioned for me to step out. I was confused. There was no way I was about to walk right into that building and report myself as a spy! I looked back at him for further instructions.

“You walk up Arbat Street. Go to the Losev House. Have coffee across from Losev House. Your friend will find you. No cars on Arbat allowed. Your friends who follow us cannot drive there,” he clearly instructed.

“OK, I get it. Thanks,” I replied and with that stepped out of the taxi and walked toward and up the Arbat Sreet. I did not run, but strolled up the Arbat slowly and obviously so that Sergey or one of his team had time to also follow me up the street about half a kilometer.

The Arbat Street is a pedestrian zone filled with street artists, theatres, sidewalk cafés and tourist curiosities, and new hip restaurants. Apart from Red Square and the gardens around the outside of the Kremlin walls, it was the only place I knew of in Moscow where cars are not allowed to drive. Del had anticipated that I would be followed and made it so that my handlers would have to step out of their cars, be on foot and be visible. With all the narrow one-way streets intersecting with and ending at the Arbat street, it would be difficult for the unprepared to position a car nearby. My steps began to grow in confidence as I approached the actors’ guild theater building on my right. As I came to the Losev House I stood and turned a full circle looking for a coffee shop. Before I found what I was looking for, I heard a familiar voice call to me.

“Kid, hey kid! Over here,” Del shouted to me. He was sitting at an outdoor café table under a parasol, enjoying something cold and tall in his glass. He looked very relaxed. I was immediately annoyed.

“Come on over. What can I get you?” he offered me a chair and a drink. “How the hell are ya’, kid?”

“I’ve had better weeks,” I admitted with a stunned expression on my face.

Now quieter, Del asked directly, “Are they following you?”

I nodded.

“Good, let them see us, and talk loud,” he ordered and then started again in his loud American voice. “Can I get you a beer?”

I screwed up my face, “Not a Russian beer, please.” I said holding up my hands. “Does this place serve Pepsi with ice?”

“Waiter!” Del bellowed. A sheepish young man shuffled over with a look of boredom on his face. “Can you bring a Pepsi Cola with lots of ice for my friend, please?”

The young man looked blankly at Del. I ordered the same in Russian to make it clear. He came back with a cold bottle of Pepsi and a glass but without any ice.

“Would you like some lunch?” Del turned to the waiter again. “Lunch menu, please?”

This was such strange behavior for Del that I was beginning to get worried that in fact he didn’t understand what was going on and didn’t have a plan.

After lunch was ordered Del began to behave a bit more like himself now that everybody who was following me had taken up their positions on the street and were waiting to pounce on him, and me.

“So kid, I got your message from an old lady who phoned me last week. It was cryptic, but she said you were safe, but in Russia. I guess she was lying,” he said casually sipping his beer.

“No, she told you the truth. When she phoned you, I was in Volgograd and was very safe,” I replied.

Nearly choking on his beer, Del sat up straight in his chair, “Volgograd? What on earth were you doing in Volgograd?”

“I was hiding on a river boat with some old friends of mine. It took me out of Nizhniy Novgorod for a week while I was being chased down by Mr. P’s men,” I replied defensively.

“That was very resourceful. How did you swing that?” he asked with a bit of admiration

“Don’t know really. Just was in the right place at the right time. The boat I mean. I was in the completely wrong place!” I confessed.

“Good for you, kid,” he held up his glass to toast me. We touched glasses lightly over the table.

“So, tell me, what’s the problem now?” he inquired with an amused look on his face.

“This may be funny to you, friend, but I am… we are… you are in big trouble!” I said confrontationally.

“Keep your shirt on, kid. You don’t even know what is going on. Let me explain the situation and you may see things a bit differently,” Del seemed somehow in his element.

“Del there isn’t time for an explanation, nor lunch,” I was starting to panic.

“Kid, if you move from this table, it’s all over. You understand?” he said firmly. “If you leave this table somebody is going to throw you in the back of a car with a gun in your side and you’ll be floating downstream tonight. The only chance you have is to sit here, eat lunch with me and then walk away with me. If you get up and run, you’ll be dead before you make it to the metro station. Am I clear?”

“Why did you get me into all this mess, Del?” I asked desperately.

“Me? I didn’t get you into anything. You got yourself into this one, kid! The sharks have been feeding for years over the spoils of the Soviet Union, carving up Moscow, carving up Prague and Budapest and all the oil in Siberia and then you came along and dove head first into the shark tank of Nizhniy Novgorod when there was already blood in the water. All I could do was try to pull you out before you lost your legs, but you were having so much fun snapping pictures of the sharks that you couldn’t see their teeth coming right for you. I told you to walk away to get out as quickly as you could, but here we sit in the most densely infested depths that is modern Moscow, and I’m trying to save your hide again. You just won’t get out of the water! It’s you who kept coming back and feeding me the information that I was paying other people to provide.” Del was right.

“So, you are a CIA agent?” I asked in an accusative tone.

“You know I can’t confirm that, so don’t ask again,” he snapped.

“So, what is stopping me from getting up and walking away then?” I demanded.

“The cross hairs of a trigger-happy fellow from Bishkek who expects you to hand me a disc of data at any moment, that’s what.” Del sipped his beer again. I looked at him incredulous that he would threaten me so blatantly and so casually.

“Kid, he’s not under my orders. He’s an independent contractor and is waiting to deposit twenty million dollars in a Swiss bank account of my choice as soon as I have the package from you,” he clarified.