Last Snow by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page B

the window for a moment, her expression opaque. When she turned back to him, she said, “The problem isn’t Ivan, it’s Milan. Ivan knew nothing, which is why I broke it off with him, but he, you know, didn’t want to let go.”
    “You’re apparently very accomplished in bed.”
    She stared at him for a moment with her lambent eyes. This close to her, even in the dim light, he could see silver flecks flare in their mineral color as the
bombila
passed streetlamp after streetlamp.
    Apparently deciding not to comment, she said, “It’s Milan I was after, and once he discovered who I really was, he set the trap. Ofcourse I took the bait, because it was he who called, because I knew he would be there, that with Ivan out of the way I could start on him.”
    “They fucked you six ways from Sunday.”
    She tilted her head. “I don’t know that curious idiom, but I’m sure I catch your meaning.”
    They were on the final approach to the airport, and she bent down and retrieved her cell. “The real problem isn’t even Milan, though that’s bad enough. Milan was tied to a man named Batchuk. Oriel Jovovich Batchuk is a deputy prime minister, a close confidant of President Yukin’s, they go back all the way to St. Petersburg, where they served together in the municipal government. Even in those days, Batchuk did all of Yukin’s dirty work. The two developed a remarkably effective modus operandi. Yukin targeted successful businesses in the St. Petersburg area and sent Batchuk out, armed with paperwork that accused the company—its principal owner or its board—of malfeasance, of not being in compliance of arcane laws, whatever. Basically, it didn’t matter because the charges were all phony, but the resulting shit storm landed the company or the individuals themselves in court, where judges owned by Yukin handed down decisions favorable to him. Unlike in America, here you can’t lodge an appeal, or, more accurately, you can, but there isn’t a judge who pays it the slightest attention.”
    The interior of the
bombila
was lit up in the sodium glare of Sheremetyevo’s arc lights. Jack, leaning forward, told the driver where to drop them off.
    “Yukin and Batchuk got rich as very young men,” Annika continued. “Now both have risen to the ultimate level, and the same MO is being repeated, only on a national scale. Yukin is using Batchuk and the power of the federal courts to retrieve the largest, most lucrative privatized companies by finding arcane accounting discrepancies or fabricating multiple charges of fiduciary malfeasance against theofficers and the oligarchs behind them, many of whom had skimmed off profits to pay him and his people. It started with the takeover of Gazprom and has only escalated from there.”
    “But what is a deputy prime minister doing with a high-level member of the Izmaylovskaya
grupperovka
? He must have every government agency on his payroll.”
    “Batchuk is far more than a simple deputy prime minister,” Annika said. “He’s at the head of a shadowy secret service agency that flies so far under anyone’s radar it doesn’t even have a name, or, at least so far as anyone can ascertain, anything other than a designation:
Trinadtsat
.”
    “The number thirteen, possibly Directorate Thirteen?”
    “
Trinadtsat
is not a part of the FSB, it’s over and above FSB and every other secret service agency controlled by the Kremlin.” She made a face. “This is why my directorate cannot help me in this situation—and I cannot help you. Everyone above me is paralyzed with fear now that Milan Spiakov is dead. I am, as they say, radioactive. I cannot return to my job or to my normal life, from which I have been summarily expelled.”
    “I’m sorry, Annika, but I’m in somewhat of the same situation.”
    She shook her head. “No, no, you are American. Americans always have more options.”
    Which is why we’re at this part of Sheremetyevo now
, Jack thought.
It will be far easier for