Chapter 1
January
18th,
2010
Zurich
“It was really unnecessary for
you to come here, Mr. Lacroix,” Konrad growled, staring at the over
fifty boxes full of papers, distributed in one of the meeting rooms
at the bank. “Our lawyers and private investigators can take a look
at them.”
“Yes, they can, but those are
seventy-eight boxes full of documents written in seven or eight
different languages forming a net of societies that will take years
for your lawyers to understand. Is Merenghetti still around?”
Michel answered dryly. “Your best chance is that we cooperate. I
can lead your people through this maze and you can investigate the
accounts and societies.”
“This is only Repin's files?”
Konrad asked in disbelief.
“Ivan Petrov's.”
“Very well, my people will
take a look at all this.”
“You are wasting precious time
with your stubbornness. Let's join our efforts. Guntram might not
have that time.”
“We are using all our
resources somewhere else. In Latin America. Good afternoon,” Konrad
finished the conversation.
“There is still one more box
but we should see it in private. Thabo will bring it now,” Michel
said very quietly, his voice almost like a whisper. “I have no
means to process it but I've heard you had a forensic team working in
Argentina.”
Konrad looked at him with clear
dread in his eyes but he forced himself to remain calm and aloof.
“Strauss has been able to identify the remains of Heindrik
Holgersen, John Emerich and Peter Bowles along with two other unknown
victims. There was no sign that Guntram or Larsen had been hurt. The
anthropological forensic team in Germany did a good work to classify
all the fragments for the families. We are still waiting for the lab
results from Argentina but they will never arrive, won't they?”
“I don't know. I cannot tell,”
Michel answered dryly. “Your people didn't leave much of Luciano's
body for his family to bury. Oh, the family is also missing, so it
shouldn't pose a problem at all.”
Konrad ignored the taunt and
approached the table to take a look at the papers. 'No chance in hell
that I let de Lisle running free inside this bank. My people will
look at this.'
The tall dark coloured man,
Thabo Haymanot entered in the room carrying a medium size box and he
settled it on the table and closed the door.
“What's inside?”
“Something
I received on November 3rd,
2009 at my office in Brussels,” Michel said looking ashen. “This
is why I need your help. I have no means nor connections to process
this.”
“If you had an ounce of
decency you should have gone to the police!” Konrad shouted out of
himself before he tore the box open and gasped and recoiled two steps
backwards at the sight of the plastic bags containing blood stained
clothes. He closed his eyes and his mind replayed his own private
mantra 'he's not dead, he's not dead.' to recover his cold mind.
With his hands slightly
trembling he removed from the box the two large boxes containing a
blood stained light blue pyjama and set them on the table. He took
the other plastic bag wrapping a square box, that reminded him of the
boxes for shirts and another with a card with an inscription in
French: “Not cooperative enough. Deal terminated.”
“Larsen's left small finger
was also included. We couldn't track its origins.”
“Where is that piece of
evidence?” Konrad fulminated Michel with his eyes.
“We kept it frozen for your
team,” Thabo said softly. I will deliver it wherever they want me
to.”
“You had this all this time
and you came to me two months later? Repin used you to get my Guntram
and probably killed him and you wasted two months? What were you
doing? Hiding your money? You are...”
“Enough!
He is my son!” Michel shouted. “If I didn't come was because I
needed time to find a way you wouldn't start to kill innocent people
once more!”
“Innocent people? Masons are
innocent people? Innocent people don't go around financing
kidnappings and murders!” Konrad roared out of himself ready to
strangle Michel.
“Yes,
innocent people like my sister in law and her daughter! They live in
a favela
thanks to you!”
“Sure, you have millions and
never thought to drop a coin or two there,” Konrad smirked.
“Your people still follow
them!”
“Not since the threat in
Madrid was eliminated!”
“That was my brother to you? A
threat?” Michel spat with venom. “You were begging on your knees
to get two minutes of his time, like a pathetic creep.”
“People change, de Lisle.
After your family tried to kill me in Güstrow, I didn't feel any
longer obliged to Roger. I only regret that it took me so long to
eliminate him. Get out here before I do the same with you!” Konrad
bellowed the last sentence, his voice booming all over the room.
Michel turned around as Thabo
opened the door for him and closed it quietly behind them.
Konrad fixed his eyes on the
bloodied clothes and nothing could make him avert them from the dark
brown spots.
'Is this Guntram's? Is it one of
their messages? Repin never hurt a single hair from my Kitten; he
would have destroyed a city without regrets but he would have never
hurt Guntram. He was madly in love with him. What if Guntram rejected
him and he became violent? He was very violent with the boys who
crossed him. Repin was a beast but he couldn't have hurt my Kitten.'
'Could he?'
Konrad's mind was in turmoil
when he finally realised that someone was knocking at the door. He
gulped and put the bags inside the box and closed the lid with a
thump. “Come in,” he said outloud.
“Hello Konrad. Monika heard
you shouting with Lacroix and called me, but I just saw that piece of
shit walking to his car, so I'm just intruding you,” Ferdinand said
a bit embarrassed. “I'm going back to work.”
“No, stay please,” Konrad
said very softly and placed his hands over the table, leaning all his
weight on them. “Just take a look inside the box.”
“Shit!” Ferdinand swore
when he saw the box's contents. “Is it his?”
“I don't know. We have to call
Strauss.”
“Right away, Konrad. Repin
would have never hurt the lad. You know this, right?”
“I can't lie to myself all the
time, Ferdinand. Guntram was very sick and without the proper medical
care he would have passed away. Maybe he did and this is Repin's
revenge upon us,” Konrad fought against the tears and Ferdinand
embraced him, patting him on the back rather strongly, trying to
comfort him as his friend controlled himself to prevent himself from
crying.
“Ferdinand, I still need my
ribs,” Konrad said softly as the other big man increased the
pressure of his hug.
“Sorry.” Ferdinand released
his friend. “I didn't mean it.”
“All of you are taking a fancy
to push, shout or drag me around,” Konrad snorted, more back to his
senses. “Ratko almost threw me to the floor when we entered in that
plane.”
“That's because we all love
you. Wherever there's love, there's friction.” Ferdinand said
solemnly but changed his mood into a playful one in no time. “It
was just a little push, Konrad. I was there too. Are you getting soft
by any chance?”
“I? Nah, never,”
“I'll take this myself to
Strauss. Goran returned this morning to Buenos Aires, I think,”
Ferdinand picked up the box and once more adopted his businesslike
persona.
“That's another. No one ever
tells me anything any more,” Konrad complained.
“That happens since a long
time ago, even before Guntram was moving in with you. A man has to do
what he has to do to survive,” he chuckled, ready to escape but
Konrad looked at him in the eyes, catching his sleeve.
“Do you have any idea of what
Goran might be doing in Buenos Aires, Ferdinand?”
“I?
I'm just the
Summus
Commendator.
They are always plotting behind my back. I'm always the last to know.
I only type the final reports,” Ferdinand protested his innocence
and escaped the room with the box firmly held under his arm.
* * *
January
25th,
2010
Montevideo
The small café near the
colonial part of the city was full with people and a dense smoke that
hurt Fedérico's eyes when he entered. He caught sight of the lanky
man sitting in one of the small round tables under the myriad of
football club pennants and posters.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr.
Martiarena.”
“Your message was a surprise,
Mr. Pavicevic. What can I do you for you?”
“Were you followed?”
“I'm not a rookie. I'm fucking
a prostitute as we speak. That will give my superiors something to
think about.”
“Not my choice of cover.”
“You left quite a mess at the
airport. Someone filtered to the press that an armed FARC terrorist
was at the VIP lounge. There are many pissed off people with you at
the high spheres. Even the Comrade Chávez had to issue a statement,”
Fedérico said with a gnarled smile.
“I need to ask you some
questions about Guntram's past.”
“I'm listening.”
“How did he take his father's
death?”
Fedérico looked at him shocked
and took a sip of his coffee, remembering the past. “I met him when
he was ten years old. His father passed away two or three years
before that.”
“How was he?”
“Guntram? I was very incensed
to be “paired” with a dwarf.” Goran glared at him but Fedérico
smiled at the happy memory, ignoring the man's fury. “Yes, he was
three years younger than me and not very tall. I was almost a school
drop out, failing class after class and our tutor stuck me with him
as we were in the same class. Can you imagine the two of us together?
I was the typical troublesome pre-teenager, knowing everything in
advance; a real brat and Guntram was... Guntram. Wacko Guntram,”
Fedérico sighed at the last sentence.
“What kind of child was he?”
“Don't misunderstand me. He
was the saddest and quietest person I knew in my life. One Saturday I
counted all the words he said in the whole day and those were sixteen
in total. Not a single one less or more. The other boys didn't like
to be near him because he was unsettling, looking at you as if his
eyes were piercing your very soul. He had very good friends, Mariano,
Coco and Juan, all of them dwarfs too. I was hanging out more with
boys of my age. He painted the whole day when he was not studying or
helping someone with his homework. People liked but avoided him and
he didn't make any effort to let other people come near him.”
“Was he depressed over his
father's passing?”
“I don't know. Honestly. He
never spoke about it to anyone. I know the school's psychiatrist
finally gave up on him after several months of having him sitting at
her office without speaking. Coco told me once about this incident
right after his father died. Guntram lost a pencil box and the whole
school searched for it. Just like this, he banged his head against a
wall because it was a present from his father. That's why some
students called him wacko.”
“Did he ever speak about his
father?”
“I don't speak about my
father. Period,” Fedérico quoted. “No, never. It was a hard blow
for him. Over the years I've realised that his need to help other
people was his way to prevent them to suffer what he went through. I
used to pull his legs because he was a disaster with girls. He was
not looking one for fun but a suitable mother for his children and
that scares girls away. I used to say he was going to marry a girl
from the parish and have five or six kids and die of boredom.”
“So he really felt his
father's death?”
“Sure. I mean, his old man was
everything he had. With me he started to open himself a bit more to
the rest of the world.”
“What about his inheritance?”
“His
inheritance? I don't know. After school he had some money left, but
he was saving it to buy a house in the future,” Fedérico said with
a smile. “He never spent a dime on him. His greatest dream was to
go to Europe and see all the paintings he loved so much, but he was
saving money to buy a house for his children. He didn't want to have
a large mortgage. He was counting up to the last cent for the bus. In
fact he was never taking it and walking everywhere and never bought a
book more than what was required for the University. He used to peer
the Art books in the place he was working. Guntram was always short
of cash and short to the point that from the 25th
onward he was only eating what was left over at the restaurant. He
was too proud to tell a thing and I never heard him complaining about
anything.”
“How did he meet Repin?”
“Well, that's a way of
speaking. Repin met Guntram but Guntram didn't meet Repin. I met
Repin in January 2001, if I remember correctly, at one of my mother's
very dull dinners. He introduced himself as Oblomov at that time and
my mother was almost kissing his feet to get money out of him. He
didn't care about me and only asked me about my school and studies. A
week later I saw him at a club's VIP, with some local politicians,
beautiful bimbos and a hell of a party going on. He knew how to party
and his men too.”
“I've been in several of those
gatherings, no need to illustrate your exploits,” Goran retorted
dryly and Fedérico looked at him surprised at his outburst before he
continued with his story.
“We became “friends” and
he came to my mother's birthday party. I had brought Guntram along
and he was very nervous because my mother had been very nasty to him
with one of her remarks. He hid in a corner and stayed there. Repin
ignored my mother and “her charming ways” and went straight to
talk to Guntram. I introduced them, but Guntram was so on the edge
that he only said “Excuse me, sir. I don't speak Russian at all,”
and left the party. I remember Repin looked devastated at his
rejection and I was very glad for it. I knew he was after him because
he always had a male model or a TV star around.”
“What happened then?”
“Repin asked me if he had
insulted him in any way and I say, no, Guntram is an artist and a bit
strange. He's afraid of crowds or something like this and there I
royally screwed it up. “Is he an artist?” he asked me and I
showed some of the sketches he had left at home. Guntram was always
losing his material. Repin started to bugger me about introducing us
again, convincing him to sell his work, he even had it appraised by a
well known curator, but I evaded him as I didn't want to share
Guntram with him.”
“Why?”
“Do I have to spell it for
you? I was in love with him since he risked his neck for me. I still
am.”
“How did you get to Europe
with Guntram?”
“Do you remember the parties?
Lots of good stuff and he got me by the balls. Literally. I had great
debts as trafficking is not such a flamboyant business as they say in
the press. Well, it's great for the top sharks; not for the little
fishes. Idiot me, still believed that Repin was only a Russian with
more money than a Czar. He offered me 250.000 dollars cash to take
Guntram to Europe and I accepted. I'm not proud of it! When we reach
to Paris, I was supposed to introduce them, but Guntram started to
run all over the city and it was almost impossible to stop him. He
literally ran over Repin in a book store at the Quartier Latin,
because he had seen a street vendor of roasted chestnuts. Can you
imagine? A billionaire wants to speak with you and you push him aside
to run after a penniless immigrant.”
“Yes, that's typically
Guntram,” Goran said with a sad smile.
“Repin was furious with me.
Really furious and that's scares the shit out of anyone. He grabbed
my arm and told me to bring him to a place in Pigalle that same night
or there would be dire consequences for me. That moment, I feared for
Guntram's life. He was obsessed with him. I mean, he had pictures and
videos of him!”
“Did you bring him there?”
“No, I asked him to come with
a group of us but he preferred to go to bed. I had met two beautiful
French bimbos at the hostel's party and went out with them and some
other guys.”
“How did Repin react when you
appeared empty handed?”
“He took me aside and punched
me like never before. I mean, even now, with military training and
everything, I've never met anyone who could hit like him. I had no
chances against him and I thought he was going to pop my eye out with
a spoon he took from a table.”
“Most probably he would have
done it, Mr. Martiarena. Repin was a ferocious adversary. KGB
training.”
“As suddenly as he had
attacked me, he released me and gave me another chance to bring
Guntram to him. I was very afraid and ran away from the place. This
is why I went to Milan with the two girls, leaving him behind in
Paris. It was stupid, I know.”
“Were the girls his agents?”
“Agents is too much. They were
two hookers working for him, I guess. I swear we never had so much
cocaine around. I was never into this, only into some coke. When I
left with them, I didn't know they were that. Guntram suspected they
were prostitutes, but I didn't listen to him and left him in Paris.”
“Repin could have attacked
him.”
“No, he had many opportunities
before but for some reason, he didn't want to have troubles with
Guntram. He wanted a honest shot with him.”
“What happened then?”
“I left on Christmas, yes,
that's right.”
“Guntram told me he attended a
Mass in Notre Dame,” Goran commented nonchalantly.
“Really? Did he finally go
there?” Fedérico asked laughing loudly. “He can be more stubborn
than an old mule!”
“What's so funny about a
service?”
“Nothing at all. It's just
that Guntram never really considered to go there. It was one of the
unspoken rules for the trip; no religious mambo or I'll put you in
the next plane back home.” Fedérico laughed as he took a sip of
his cold coffee and grimaced at the sour-bitter taste.
“Before we left Buenos Aires,
we both got his tutor's speech on how to behave in Paris as he had
lived there for many years. It was a pretty boring meeting, mostly
focused on shouting me, till the man started to pull Guntram's legs
over the Church. He was a real atheist and always liked to upset him
over the Church. Guntram mentioned he wanted to visit the Notre Dame
gargoyles and the guy started to bugger him about the Church
treasures and the poor people. Things like “you kick mud every
weekend so the pennies you collect can buy a nice solid gold censer
to cast the demons out”.”
“Guntram
was fuming, but as usual, he kept the steam well under control. “It's
a matter of faith, Luciano!” he shouted and I was shocked because
Guntram never rose his voice. He must have been very upset. The guy
said something like go there in Christmas Eve and see if there's
something left of Christ's love under those riches. Guntram was so
furious with him that he couldn't find the words to send that man to
hell. That lawyer kept challenging him to go there if he dared.
“Watch the gold from Rome. The golden calf on the altarpiece. Ah
no, was Christ not a lamb? Almost the same but without the horns.”
He said something like this and that was too much, even for me.
Guntram told me he was going to attend the Mass on the morning of the
24th.
I never believed he was going to waste a full morning on that.”
“You seem to remember very
well something that happened eight years ago,” Goran said, closely
inspecting Fedérico for any signs of deception but he found none.
“It was an epic clash, now that you mention it. Finally, Guntram recovered his voice and shouted his lawyer that he was going
to go and that if he was so blind by a few golden things, he was
never going to see God or feel his love. “I pity you because you
live in a desert,” he told him and it took me years to understand
his words.”
“What happened when you
arrived to Milan?”
“I saw not a single Russian
around and thought it was safe enough as to return to Guntram. Maybe
Repin had enough and was giving up. Don't look at me like that. I
know I was a cretin.”
“Go on with the story.”
“I
arrived to Venice in the morning of the 28th
and Repin was there with his goons. He was furious because I had
cheated on him, but more furious because there was another man
following Guntram. He seemed to know who he was. Honestly, I didn't
believe him but when I met Guntram where we had agreed, there he was.
Lintorff, the suitor sent by God. Repin ordered me to bring Guntram
to a house in the Arsenale,
and I couldn't do it. Lintorff was a duke and looked quite loaded, so
I left Guntram with him.”
“What on earth made you think
the Duke would have taken care of Guntram?” Goran asked,
exasperated with the man's idiocy.
“Please! Lintorff looked like
a starving wolf in front of the flock!” Fedérico snorted and
Goran huffed. “All right, I was very stupid! But the option was
taking Guntram who knows where! I told Repin that Guntram had
preferred to go to the museum with his new friend.”
“That was suicidal, Mr.
Martiarena.”
“I know. This is when he
clubbed one of the girls almost to the point of death. I think
Chantal was her name. I swore I was going to get Guntram in the
morning. That was one of the longest nights in my life.”
“In the morning I went to the
meeting place and started a stupid and loud fight with Guntram and
like a Godsend, Lintorff came out of nowhere and took Guntram with
him. Repin almost killed me for that. The Italian police never laid a
finger on me, it was him all the time. I think that was the minute he
changed to plan B and in the evening I found myself walking like a
zombie in front of a disco with three hundred grams cocaine in my
pocket. The police arrested me and somehow they assumed I had three
kilos and and Guntram had hidden the rest.”
“Why did you accuse Guntram?”
“To win time over. If he was
arrested too, he would have not been alone in the streets.”
“That was very stupid and
exactly what Repin was expecting you to do. He had paid some people
to kidnap him. A tourist involved in a drugs case is not worth the
hassle of an investigation. He saved his life only because the
inspector in charge of the case was one of us and phoned us.”
“I'm very glad that Lintorff
was a gentleman and stood by him. The seven hundred million was a
bitch.”
“Your mother would have given
Guntram to Repin without a second thought.”
“She knew nothing. She
honestly thought that all had been a set up. She always hated and
despised Guntram and I guess she knew I was in love of him, no matter
how many girls I was fucking. You can't fool your own mother.”
“I thank you for your
honesty.”
“This is when you shoot me?”
“Never in a bar and I don't
like gunfires. So impersonal,” Goran said softly and Fedérico
shuddered violently. “No, I will need your help on a permanent
basis. You know most of the Russian gangs operating here.”
“No one knows them all. It's
almost impossible to break their security. We know some of the top
leaders, like Zakharov or Rimsky, but nothing more. You'd probably
have more information than I do.”
“Repin is alive and kicking.
He was responsible for Guntram's kidnapping.”
“You're lying,” Fedérico
muttered as his face went livid. “Guntram told me he was dead and
buried.”
“He's back from the land of
the dead and went by the name of Ivan Petrov.”
“Went by?”
“He changed it a few months
ago but we don't know to what. You have to help me to find where this
Petrov was in Argentina.”
“It will be very difficult,
but I'll do my best.”
“No, you have to come with us.
Where would you hide if you were a Russian with a lot of money?”
“There are hundred of places!
Repin had many properties here, but the Mecca of the arms dealers is
Ciudad del Este. It's in the triple border between Argentina,
Paraguay and Bolivia. Everyone is there, from the mobsters from
Arkhangel to Hezbollah and the Mossad. One of these days, someone is
going to smuggle a nuclear warhead through there.”
“We leave tomorrow. Is that a
problem?”
“I have a job!”
“We will compensate your
troubles.”
“It's not about the money!”
Fedérico whispered very irked.
“What is the problem then? I
thought you wanted to cooperate with us.”
“Of course I do! But what if
we lose the track? Wouldn't you prefer that I use my contacts here?”
“Your government is clueless
or allied with our enemies. We have nothing to do there. Come to this
address tomorrow at 9 a.m.” Goran rose from his chair and left the
bar and Fedérico saw two other men following him.
'He had two gorillas and I
didn't notice? Shit!' he thought and threw some money over the table
and picked the abandoned visit card up.
Where is the new post? 3-17-13
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