TS 2 Part VI Chapter 5

Chapter 5

September 10^th, 2010

Zurich

'This meeting proves that we are exactly at the same starting point as day one,' thought Alexei as the elevator's metal doors closed before him. 'Nothing at all, as if the earth would have swallowed that piece of shit.' He sighed and clutched the large blue tupperware stronger than he really intended and released his hold when his fingers turned white. He walked down the ivory corridor and rang the golden bell.

“You are twenty minutes late,” a very irked Goran told him when he opened his flat's door.

“I have a private life, you know?” growled Alexei and entered in the white and modern foyer, still holding the blue container in his hand and stopped at the large painting of a landscape in one of the walls. “Is it new?”

“Not really, it was Guntram's. He told me to take it if I liked it. It's somewhere in Spain.”

“It's very good,” Alexei commented fighting with the constriction in his throat. “You can almost feel the sun.”

“The others are waiting in the living room.”

Alexei nodded and entered in the large room decorated mostly with glass libraries from the floor to the ceiling filled with books on warfare, classical music and history and approached the three large white sofas around a crystal and marble coffee table full with papers where Ferdinand, Michael, Ratko and Milan were sitting, all of them informally dressed.

“What do you have in there?” Michael inquired the second he noticed the container.

“Something akin to brownies,” Alexei said dryly, setting with some force the box in the middle of the stacked piles.

“Did you bring brownies?” Ferdinand asked in disbelief.

“I told Jean Jacques I was coming here to play poker. It's his idea and didn't let me come till they were ready. Happy now?”

“Poor little Alexei can't go out to play,” Michael mocked him.

“What was your excuse to go out?” Alexei growled. “I didn't finish my reports and the Duke will be very upset with me on Monday?” He used a whiny voice and Ferdinand chuckled as Milan removed the lid and the room was filled with the Belgian chocolate aroma.

“I don't need to tell my wife where I'm going,” Michael answered with sufficiency.

“No, of course,” Ferdinand retorted. “You only had to buy two first class tickets, reserve a suite at the Carlton, and first row tickets for that French singer for Monika and her sister,” he chuckled. “I don't need to resort to such childish strategies since I'm married with Cecilia. She's clever enough as not to check what I'm doing or where I'm going and that erases the need for cheating.”

“Maybe she thinks you are too old to cheat on anyone, Ferdinand.” Michael sneered. “Clever woman indeed. Who would bother to go after you?”

“Look, you....”

“It was a good idea, Michael,” Ratko interfered to stop the impending fight. “If the Duke finds out what we are up to, we all are going to be in great trouble. Although he doesn't say it, he wants to stop all military actions and move on.”

“The brownies are very good,” Milan commented, getting his second one out. “You have a good life, Alexei.”

“Get a dish from the kitchen,” Goran growled and Milan immediately put his hand under the cake to prevent more crumbles from falling into the hairy beige carpet. He was well aware that Goran hated dirty or untidy rooms and that he was the target where his commander will vent his growing frustration at their Griffin's passivity and depression.

'So far we only have a trail of bodies behind us and nothing else. The Komturen are questioning our leadership and maybe they're right to do so. “I can't bring myself to do it any longer”, tells me the Duke and he expects that I solve everything,' Goran thought darkly. 'Mirko and the Argentinean lead more than he does.'

“Do you want something else from there?” Milan asked hurriedly, rising from his seat and Goran sighed very frustrated as his comrade got several requests. Goran stood up and went to his own kitchen to look for the things before he would strangle his own friends.

“Does your boyfriend always send brownies to poker games?” Ferdinand asked very amused to Alexei.

“If he thinks I'm into something murky, he looks for a way to check what I've been doing. He believes I can't go hunting in a club with a tupperware under my arm. Don't ask me why he believes that,” the blonde said with a tired smile.

“At least you eat well,” Ratko said gloomily. “I'll ask Goran if he has some milk for later. Fucking doctor forbade me to eat chocolate because of the ulcer.”

“The chocolate ban is because you have high sugar levels in your blood,” Milan said, when he returned from the kitchen with some glasses and beers as Goran carried six dishes, napkins and milk for Ratko.

“This is a miserable existence, my friends,” he growled as he served one of the pieces on the dish and some milk in his glass.

“Let's see what we have so far. Ferdinand?” Goran grunted, reaching the limit of his patience.

“Our legal and accounting teams tracked down every company this Ivan Petrov had but all was a dead end. Nothing at all. This Lacroix knows his job very well and is very creative. The teams are baffled. After the companies were created by Lacroix firm, they were sold or emptied within three months. The money was spread around the globe in thousands of small accounts from ordinary people.”

“What?” Milan croaked.

“Never got that e-mail scam “I represent an African dictator and we need someone to lend us his bank account to get money out of the country? We pay 15% of the what is deposited there.” Oldest trick in money laundering. Russians and especially Repin's people were masters at that since internet was invented.” Ferdinand looked among his papers and whistled at the number. “We calculate that around 1.5 million individual bank accounts were opened for that matter and all had an average of 2,999 dollars deposited -one dollar less than minimum required for the banks to report the authorities about the deposit-. The deposits were made overnight and the people had to withdraw the money from the banks in cash the next morning and send it to a PO box, minus your fee. We made many interviews but no one wanted to speak or say a thing.”

“That's impossible!” Ratko said. “If people have cash in their hands, they keep it!”

“No if a very clever troyan landed in your computer and all your passwords were hacked and your dirty laundry is hanging up on the air. That's a good incentive to make people fulfil their promises. Repin is very clever and the people who did this are real professionals. The techs think that at least the Russians should have sent over fifty million e-mails to fish the cretins out.”

“Every minute a sucker is born,” Alexei mumbled. “How can you be so idiotic as to open such a thing?”

“Greed and stupidity. Mankind driving forces,” Michael said. “One point five million accounts did you say?”

“More or less.”

“That makes four billion dollars what he has.”

“Of clean money and it was never detected by the authorities of any country. A masterpiece,” Ferdinand said.

“That operation must have required an important amount of people to go ahead!” Milan said still shocked.

“Twenty, maybe thirty,” Michael calculated.

“That load of money is impossible to physically move!” Milan protested.

“Not really. In hundred dollar notes, let me think. When I was a teenager wanted to have a million dollars and made the Math of how much it would be. A billion is like ten full pallets, so that's forty pallets and many banks don't ask many questions if they get so much cash in. If we consider that he has Guntram since June 2009, the money must have travelled around a lot. Ferdinand is right. This is a dead end.”

“Thank you for your stamp of approval, Michael” Ferdinand smirked. “Perhaps he has less, considering all the people who got money in the meantime.”

“Can we not track the people who opened the PO boxes?” Alexei asked.

“We already did. Another dead end. So far, all of those which we were able to get the owner's name, are fake.”

“How about the people who created these software? Can we not find who they are?” Milan asked. “I really don't understand how they could process fifty million e-mails. How did they select the people to send the money to? What if they betray you?”

“With the correct algorithm you can rule the world, Milan. You infect the computer of people stupid enough as to answer such an e-mail and look for small things that give their personalities away.”

“Pornographers? Drug addicts?”

“No! That would be too simple! Those jerks know they are watched or follow minimum precautions while using the web. A software of this kind investigates the victims' profile. Where do they buy? Do they buy at discount stores for expensive brands? How much money do they do? Do they download pirate copies? Do they upload them? Which Facebook accounts do they follow? Who are their friends? What is their profession? Which internet browser do they use? Which webpages do they visit? You elaborate a profile of your “perfect dummy”, throw the net into the sea and fish them out. All is automatically done. It's the Big Brother watching you all the time and you are glad for it.”

“As for the original programmers, they must be dead and well buried by now,” Goran commented.

“That really sucks,” Michael said. “How about the great Amazonian experience?”

“Nothing,” Ratko growled. “Four wasted months.”

“And the Komturen are growing restless because we were not here,” Milan added. “We will have to put them back in the fold once more.”

“We followed many leads from Ciudad del Este but we found nothing because no one knew a thing. The most certain lead we had, was Estévez Prieto's gang, but they seem to have vanished into thin air. No one has seen them since March.”

“Do you think Repin killed him?”

“Or someone else not related to this. Estevez was making the Mexicans lives harder and he tipped the DEA several times. A true snitch.” Goran said. “The Komturen are useless if Repin hid his money like this. They have no idea about money laundering and need us to process their profits. A very clever method, indeed. Can only be used once before someone notices anything.”

“We have to look who were his closest people in the past. He can't disappear just like this!” Michael said very frustrated. “How about you Alexei? You can speak with the Russians. Oblomov talks to you.”

“Going against the most prominent mobster in Russia could cause a lot of unrest among our own Komturen, Michael,” Goran interfered before Alexei could answer. “This must be a joint and unanimous decision.”

“What are we going to tell the Duke?” Michael pressed.

“Nothing. It makes no sense and will only drive him more nervous. How is the other thing?” Goran replied sullenly.

“Excellent. All is going as we foresaw. Europe's debt market is in total chaos and no one knows where to run. Most of the private banks are transferring their rubbish to the ECB. We are making fantastic profits,” Michael said very proudly.

“Georg von Lintorff must be suspecting something because he's after my throat,” Ferdinand shrugged. “I'm only the poor Summus Commendator. Why do people think I know everything? He has half of the Order banging at his door asking for refinancing or condoning debts. He has promised to lower the tribute to ten percent of the profits and the Duke says it's fine by him. I think he's planning to force me to resign next April.”

Alexei sighed as he doubted to tell the results of his mission but he had to. “I was in Smolensk three weeks ago and went to visit Boris Arseniev.”

“Malchenko? Could you see him? Did he receive you?” Ferdinand asked with clear shock written in his face.

“Yes and no. I spoke with his mistress and she knows nothing at all.”

“What happened?” Milan shouted.

“Arseniev had an accident and is in an irreversible coma,” Alexei told them. “I did try to find out what happened but I came out empty handed. People wanted to speak but they had no real clue of who did it. I got like ten different versions. Everyone hated the Butcher of Smolensk.”

“What kind of accident?” Milan asked “This you should know.”

“Forty to sixty kilos of ammonal in the car,” Alexei smirked. “Anyone could have done it. It's Russian gangsters most loved explosive.”

“How come it didn't kill him?”

“He was standing several metres away from the car when the driver started the engine. Malchenko was very cautious and never entered in a car that was not already running. The blast was what hurt him so seriously. A metal piece embedded itself into his head. He's as good as a vegetable now.”

“He was best friends with Repin,” Milan muttered very impressed.

“Being family with him means nothing,”Alexei said quietly.

“We should investigate his second line of people in the past. He needed people he could trust! Even if he planned this since 2004!” Ratko shouted and felt a piercing burning pain on the right side of his upper stomach.

“What if he hired them under his new identity? What if he changed his face? He wouldn't be the first mobster who got a new life,” Michael smirked. “He must have chosen his soldiers very carefully. He's one of the most intelligent people I've ever met and he played us all the time. We were so stupid as to believe we had won the game.”

“What weaknesses did he have?” Ferdinand asked. “There must be something! It's not his children because he left them a hefty sum and vanished, after getting rid of Olga.”

“Guntram was his weakness,” Alexei said with a dark voice.

“He was obsessed with him,” Goran added. “I spoke with the Argentinean boy who got him into the Venice mess and he confirmed all my fears.”

“The false painting. Who painted it?” Michael wanted to know.

“Who knows,” Ferdinand shrugged. “But you are right, we should find out what happened to the rest of his paintings!”

“I already did,” Alexei said dejectedly. “I spoke with the guy at Mountpleasants' and he told me all of Guntram's works -except for the one the Duke bought- are at their depots gathering dust. The others, the good ones are all accounted for and in the hands of well known people. No anonymous buyers at all. The unsold ones were returned to the children and Lacroix knows where they are. Nothing was lost in the process.”

“Did he tell you that?” Ferdinand asked in shock.

“People love to talk in bed. If any of you say a word about this to Jean Jacques, all of you are dead. It was work but I don't expect him to understand this.”

“His collection was much bigger. What happened to the rest?”

“He left it behind for his children. So we can rule Art out as his main motivation in this life.”

“For Christ sake! Repin was buying like crazy! He couldn't resist a fucking Picasso!” Ferdinand shouted very exasperated. “We should find out who has been buying in the past year and what.”

“We could hack the databases of the major auction houses, but it will not work at all. Many people buy through societies established in fiscal paradises and that's a dead end. In dire times, people sell artworks in a very private way to avoid the shame of being in display at an auction house. It could take years to find the smallest clue,” Alexei explained him softly.

“There must be something we can do!” Ferdinand whined and all the men looked at him before they buried their heads into their hands, unable to hold each other gazes.

“Bière de Garde. That's it!” Michael shouted, grasping the beer bottle from the table with so bad luck that he knocked it down and the liquid scattered over the crystal, dripping to the carpet. “Shit! Sorry Goran.”

“It's not the time for asking for another bottle,” Goran growled as he covered the carpet with paper napkins.

“What? No, not that. We'll need a bottle of good champagne if I'm right,” Michael said excitedly. “I'm still the cleverest in the room!”

“You are the craziest person in this room. There's a difference,” Ferdinand grunted, cleaning his trousers as the beer had stained them.

“I don't expect that you can understand a mind like mine,” Michael told Ferdinand haughtily and the other buffed rising his eyes to the ceiling.

“Do you know how I caught you, Goran? You and your buddies drove me mad for over five months, smuggling everything right under the NATO's nose.”

“I assume someone gave me away,” Goran answered, feeling very uncomfortable at the reminder of his arrest.

“To you? No, never. Nobody knew a thing about your people,” Michael sneered. “It was driving me crazy till one day we found one of your meeting places with the weapons dealers and there was what I've been looking for all this time. This baby did the trick.” Michael took one of the caramel candy bottles and rose it. “La Choulette de Noel,” he announced triumphantly.

“No one in this room can follow you now, Michael,” Goran huffed.

“The beer! I found the bottle among others and it was something I've never seen before. This is a very special kind of brew, produced with traditional methods in a very small farm in France. I investigated the bottle and followed the distributor. For two months I had people checking if someone was buying that kind of beer and that's how I saw little Mirko going to pick it up. Following him was a pain in the ass but finally I caught you and all your pals.”

“The beer gave me away?” Goran asked in utter shock.

“Your weakness. We all have one. It's a matter of finding it.”

“I'm switching to Budweisser from now onward,” the Serb swore, leaving his glass on the table. “I only drank four or five bottles during the whole war.”

“I never said it was easy to catch you and finally my superiors let you go the next morning, apologising to you for my “harassment” of a poor defenceless Serb citizen. I was even punished for spending some money during my investigation!” Michael whined loudly.

“The plan?” Ferdinand asked impatiently.

“Repin does have a weakness; Guntram. Following him is useless as he has renounced to everything to get what he wanted most. We are doing it wrong. We have to follow Guntram's trail.”

“Do you plan to look all the emergency rooms in Latin America?” Ferdinand asked ironically and Michael sighed very frustrated.

“That will not work. Think people, what makes our Guntram so special?”

“That he lives in another planet and paints the whole day?” Ferdinand suggested.

“Exactly. Artists are very touchy about their materials. Did Guntram have any special preferences?”

“Mr. “Sorry I painted your newspaper, Konrad. I thought you were done with it”? No, he was doing it everywhere,” Ferdinand said.

“The materials; his oils for example.”

“He would have stolen the boys' temperas to paint.” Milan shook his head negatively. “I remember most of the plates for the second book were made with a twenty francs set of watercolours he found to be “funny”.”

“The canvases? Any special brand or cloth?”

“I could ask Ostermann, but the bitch's portrait, the one Volcker paid that crazy price, was painted in a canvas he bought at the Chinese store around the corner, near the atelier,” Ratko said and all the men became broody again.

“Wait! I have it!” Alexei shouted very excited. “His perfume!”

“What?”

“He uses a very strange thing. It's an apple and citrus extract mix especially made in Milan by a perfumer on demand. It's very expensive and when he fought with the Duke, he stopped ordering it. It was his father's fragrance, he told me once. Jean Jacques was always giving him a bottle for his birthday. If Repin is so crazy for him, he must want to have Guntram happy and nice and maybe he gave him a bottle of this. He was always using it and his clothes smelled of it.”

“That's right, the Duke's eldest son has his cashmere scarf and he says it smells like him,” Ratko remembered.

“Guntram would have never thought in this!” Ferdinand protested.

“Not him. Repin. He investigated everything about Guntram,” Alexei retorted. “He even knew how the boy was taking his tea. Guntram told me he was shocked about it when Repin kidnapped him in London. Two sugar cubes, no milk.”

“It's worth the shot,” Milan said. “The option is interviewing a million and a half of cretins or hacking into their computers.”

“Alexei, can you do it?” Goran asked softly.

“Yes, but you have to cover my ass with the Duke when I don't show up on Monday.”

“Whatever you need my friend.”