“It would be if the stolen artifacts were the prize,” George said.
“But we want the people who make up the pipeline,” Tess said.
“And if we shoot at rabbits…”
“The sound of our gunfire will scare away the bears,” George said, completing my sentence.
“And I can tell you,” Tess said. “The Deputy Director wants to use that bear’s skin as a rug on the floor of his office more than anything else in the world.”
“What makes Ilya trust Sasha so much?” I asked.
“Sasha is like a son to Ilya Petrakov. More accurately, Ilya wishes his own son was more like Sasha. Sasha’s parents were both killed in the 1999 apartment bombings in Moscow. Sasha was only thirteen or fourteen years old at the time. Zivon found him half-frozen to death, begging for help in the streets three days after the attacks. Zivon brought Sasha home and his father figured any kid tough enough to survive what he had was worth keeping around and feeding.”
“And training in the family business,” Tess added. “Zivon and Sasha grew up like brothers from that time on. They shared everything. In Ilya’s eyes, his two sons were given equal opportunity within the family business, but as Sasha grew within the ranks, Zivon failed to find his place. Ilya tried to teach Zivon about loan sharking and money laundering, but his son sadly lacked a head for numbers. Afterseveral costly financial errors, Ilya moved Zivon to the muscle end of the family, but that was equally disastrous. He was a complete maniac. If Zivon was told to break someone’s arm, he’d break the guy’s arms, both legs, knock all his teeth out, and then go after the guy’s brother.”
“Legend has it”—George glanced around and lowered his voice a little—“that one of Ilya’s pakhan, his bosses, told Zivon to scare a man who’d failed to pay a debt he owed to his father. So, Zivon found the man, beat him, tied him up, put him into the trunk of his car. He then drove to the Vantovyy Most bridge, where he sent the man over the railing and into the freezing waters below, to his death. When the pakhan who’d sent him asked Zivon why he would do such things, reminding him that he’d only asked him to scare the man, Zivon replied, ‘I don’t know. He looked pretty scared to me.’”
“Awe, c’mon,” I said, sarcastically. “I’m sure the guy has his good qualities, too, right?”
Tess huffed. “If he does, Daddy hasn’t found it yet. Zivon had been nothing but a thorn in Ilya’s side for years, but after a recent botched kidnapping of an Oligarch’s wife, he’s had it. Ilya’s made it clear that he’ll no longer tolerate his son’s incompetence and insolence. He’s determined to put a collar on Zivon’s neck, so the bad little doggie is hiding.”
“Ilya isn’t stupid,” I said. “He has to know that Zivon is holed up at Sasha’s place.”
“Of course he does, but that’s just fine with him. Ilya sees the situation as a sort of self-imposed house arrest. If Sasha has eyes on Zivon, he can’t cause anymore trouble. But eventually, he’ll get his hands on the scruff of Zivon’s neck, and a rolled-up newspaper will be the least of puppy’s worries.”
“What about the insurance scams Zivon pulled in the States?” I asked. “Was that Ilya’s operation or one of Zivon’s failed plans?”
Tess and George looked at one another before shaking their heads and shrugging in almost perfect unity.
“I’m not aware of anyone in the Petrakov family running insurance scams,” George said.
“You mentioned this before, didn’t you?” Tess asked.
I nodded. “Are you sure you never heard anything? This was about six months ago. A series of construction site fires in the US. Insurance payouts routed to offshore accounts. Any of this ringing a bell?”
“Zivon certainly hasn’t run any state-side scams that I’m aware of, and I doubt Ilya would let him run anything more than a faucet let alone international insurance fraud,” Tess said.
In my mind’s eye, I saw a yellow flag hit the field of play that is this mission. It wasn’t the first time either. First, I found out that Zivon Petrakov wasn’t in Moscow then, and now this. Why was so much of the intel I was given about this mission incomplete or flat out wrong? I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the missionitselfwas very wrong.
“I’m surprised you weren’t briefed on the history of the Petrokovs,” George said, sounding concerned.
“I was a last-minute addition to the party,” I said. “Sent here to serve as arm candy to my partner. A simple assignment.”
George smiled wide. “Simple plans are what Red Chaos loves the most.”
* * *
Tess
“I’ve cultivated a business relationship with Sasha over the past three months,” I explained to George. “Supplying him with masterworks he’d otherwise have no access to, along with helping him acquire pieces for his personal collection. I gained Sasha’s favor, then his trust, but the op has gone a bit pear-shaped.”
“How so?” George asked.
A wave of nausea hit me. Admitting I’d “screwed the pooch” as my dad would say to a legend like George Korman was gonna be rough. “I sold him a painting,” I said, as spots appeared before my eyes. “And—”
“One of the pieces supplied to Ms. Finch by the home office was compromised,” Wallace interrupted. “A sub-par forgery, she had no choice but to use. Sasha sniffed it out.”
“I assume Sasha wasn’t pleased,” George said.
