TS 2 Part VI Chapter 11

Chapter 11

March 3^rd, 2011

Moscow

The elegant and classical restaurant was the place Alexei would expect to find Oblomov and one of his new mistresses; a young ballerina from the Bolshoi. 'Typical of him, blonde and with a baby looking face,” he thought when he took a look at the beautiful features of the girl. He crossed the room, feigning he was following the maître to his own table but changed his direction in the last minute, purportedly walking toward the couple.

“Hello, Ivan Ivanovich. It's been a long time,” he said as he sat uninvited at the table.

“I thought I told you to keep away from my land, boy,” Oblomov barked.

“You told Lintorff to be out of your land or you would attack his territories but I missed that memo,” Alexei sneered. “Beat it,” he told the girl and she began to protest indignantly at the rude intruder.

“Go away, darling. I'll compensate you later,” Oblomov said gently and she gaped at him. “Go!”

She rose from the table and furiously smashed her napkin against the table before she left, the sound of her stilletos clearly showing her anger.

“Repin was right about something,” Alexei smirked. “Good manners are essential in a sound relationship.”

“Does your boss send you here?” Oblomov asked disdainfully. “You might run out of luck this time. You spent eight of your nine lives, Aliosha,” he added with a forced smile, knowing how much he hated the nickname.

“Not really. Lintorff is busy with his own territory. This is a private visit, Ivan Ivanovich. One for old times sake.”

“Good, glad to have seen you. Good bye.”

“You forgot to tell us that Repin is alive and well kicking,” Alexei said jovially.

“That's a crazy rumour spread over the past months to cover your own inefficiency, crusader,” Oblomov smirked. “Constantin is well buried six, well let's say, four feet under. You failed to find who killed the poor lad. I had great esteem for him. The Sable was a good boy, maybe too good for this world. It was a matter of time before someone would settle the score with your Hochmeister through him.”

“I beg to differ. You helped Repin to disappear and he took Guntram away. We would thank you if you would tell us where he is. It would save us a lot of time.”

“Look at Smolensk churchyard!” Oblomov chortled. “Get a shovel and dig if you don't believe me,” he added with a smirk and took a sip of his red wine.

“I already did. By the way, the poor devil you used was shorter than Repin. That's clumsy of you. I also visited Malchenko but he wasn't telling much. A real pity what happened.”

“Regrettable, indeed.”

“So, Ivan Ivanovich, I'm waiting for your answer.”

“I have nothing to tell you, go back to your master, Aliosha.”

“I think, we should speak.”

“My people will show you out,”

“You mean the three gorillas? They're busy at the moment. Bleeding to death in the alley,” he said very softly. “Don't look at me like this, I left you the driver. You may need him soon.”

“Lintorff will pay for this, boy.”

“Lintorff? Didn't I mention I quitted last December? I've been gathering some old pals, collecting some old debts and you know, all the things you need before starting a real clean up process in our Mother Russia.”

“You have no...”

“It's your choice, Oblomov. Speak up and nothing happens to your friends. Be rude to me and start to order plastic bags.”

“Lintorff will put you back in your place.”

“I work alone now. Like always. You decide what is more dangerous for you. A nice Alexei working under the Germans' rule or a nice Alexei working on his own and feeling a bit resented at his old friends' lack of loyalty.”

“Well, get your old friends and go back to where you came from.”

“Is that your last word?”

“Yes.”

“As you like, Ivan Ivanovich. You have till end of the month to change your mind. Call me at this number,” he said, leaving a visit card over the table.

“Get out. You're ruining my evening.”

“Good afternoon to you, Ivan Ivanovich,” Alexei said sweetly. “Ah, by the way. If I were you, I would pass by the hospital before two... or was it an hour? I'm so out of the trade. One stomach lavage and you'll be the same man.”

“What?”

“Don't you begin to feel a bit dizzy? I thought I dosed it well, but maybe alcohol increases the substance's speed.”

Oblomov shook his head to cast the dense haze that was clouding his eyes. “What?”

“I don't remember exactly the name of it. Ask Constantin when you see him. It's a neurotoxine. Ask for the lavage and leave science for later. Coming to think, maybe it was forty five minutes before the effects were irreversible. It was a real pity to ruin such a good wine with it. Enjoy the rest of your soirée.”

Alexei leaned against the back of his seat to watch how a faltering Oblomov stood up, grabbing himself from the table and laboriously fighting to grasp for air. Gentlemanly he gestured for the maître and asked him to accompany Mr. Oblomov to his car. “I believe the wine was too strong for him. His chauffeur has instructions of where to take him.”

Leaning on the maître, Oblomov looked at Alexei and whispered. “I'll kill you for this, Antonov.”

“Pray it's not vice versa,” he growled. “Up to the end of the month.”

* * *

April 7^th, 2011

Zurich

After letting a long sigh out, Goran readjusted his tie and followed the maître to his Duke's usual table at the Könighshalle. 'It was just a matter of time before shit would hit us again. I hate to put on a show for the Russians but we need one if we want to look not guilty.'

“Do you have any idea why Oblomov is calling me with the story that Antonov is loose in Russia?” Konrad barked without waiting for the Serb to sit down in the chair placed in front of him.

“None at all. He resigned in December and went away. Since then, I have heard nothing from him. He even dumped his boyfriend, the cook,” Goran shrugged.

“He almost poisoned Oblomov and he's threatening to retaliate in our territory.”

“Poison is a favourite among KGB boys. Look what they did to that journalist or that other presidential candidate in Central Europe,” Goran said innocently. “For some reason, Alexei never liked Repin and Oblomov,” he added and Konrad looked the other way, ignoring the unspoken question.

“Goran we can't have a war here, not now,” Konrad said sternly and slightly rising his voice. “Solve this problem.”

“How? He's not our employee any longer.”

“Don't play the idiot with me!” Konrad bellowed. “Do your work Summus Marescalus!”

“Georg von Lintorff told me nothing about the matter, sir.”

“Are you disobeying me?” 'Exactly as I wanted. The men are on Antonov's side. They will leave him alone.'

“You're not my superior any longer, sir,” Goran clarified. “In fact, the Komturen were very entertained with the story of Oblomov getting a full stomach lavage for some amphetamines in his wine. Alexei was always a heavy prankster. I remember when he left a false bomb in Mirko's car. One of the best initiation rituals I ever saw.”

“The three bodies he left in an alley were not a joke! Those men were Oblomov's!” Konrad shouted more than ready to go along with the charade. 'Perhaps Antonov could need some more money if he's working so enthusiastically,' he briefly considered.

“Moscow is a dangerous city with all this rising criminality. Will that be all, sir?” Goran used that particular patronizing tone, masked as submission that Konrad hated so much.

“Pavicevic, I'm only giving you one warning. Solve the problem,” Konrad growled and Goran feigned once more to be humbled.

“Very well, sir. I'll do my best,” Goran promised in an attempt to look as he wanted to placate his superior. 'Acting was never my thing, but the Russians should be happy with this video. Ten to one, the Griffin is behind all this mess.'

* * *

April 20^th, 2011

Moscow

“Boss, there's a problem.”

“What now?” Oblomov asked tiredly.

“Someone blew up Vronsky's car and turned in his laptop and agendas to the authorities. We are screwed up if they decode them.”

“Shit!” Oblomov cursed.

“We got also this, boss,” the man said extending a visit card to him. “It was inside a large bouquet of white gladioli, delivered ten minutes ago.”

Oblomov took the piece of paper with the well known phone number. “My patience is at its end. A.”

“So you want to play hard, Aliosha. Then, we will,” Oblomov mumbled.

* * *

“I have a little job for you two,” Goran said to the two young men standing in front of him. “As you know, the Russians blame us for their internal problems and I'm expecting them to retaliate in any minute. You must protect the young princes with your lives.”

“Is it true? Someone told me Alexei blew Oblomov's financial advisor's car up but before he stole all the information the man had and gave it to the authorities,” Mirko asked eagerly.

“Those are rumours. Nothing else,” Goran growled.

“We should be doing what that crazy Russian is doing alone,” Fedérico said heatedly. “Russians only understand one language; strength.”

“You are nothing but a soldier!” Goran bellowed, furious at the challenge directly thrown over his face. “Remember your place, Martiarena!”

“I took an oath of obedience to you, but I never said I was going to be mute! If I risk my neck for the Order. I will tell my opinion and I'm speaking for many of us,” Fedérico retorted.

“He's right Goran. All the Executioners think the same,” Mirko supported him.

“The Griffin has spoken. No wars here. Do you want the Russians start to blow metro stations up? We are neutrals in this,” Goran repeated the lesson so it would finally enter into his people's heads

“Like real good Swiss,” Fedérico mumbled bitterly.

“Exactly,” Goran retorted dryly. “Now, do your work and do it well because those children are Guntram's sons. Is that clear enough?”

“Yes, sir,” both men answered in unison.

“Ask one of the other brothers to look after the cook. Discreetly. Somebody may want to take revenge on him.”

* * *

May 2^nd, 2011

St. Petersburg.

“Is it ready, Danilo?”

“Almost, but I still think this is too much. Do you have any idea of the crater this baby will leave?” the fat man answered as he carefully joined the last two wires.

“Big is good,” Alexei mumbled. “Thank you.”

“It's a pleasure to help you. Blow those mobsters motherfuckers to hell, Aliosha. Just as if they were Taliban. Russia is going to be a much nicer place once they're out.”

Alexei listened with great attention the long explanation on how to operate the bomb from a safe distance with a mobile phone.

“I've spoken with a friend in Irkust. He wants to help you too. He was very good at making bombs with almost nothing. He has a cabinetmaking shop nowadays but knows where to find the materials.”

“I'll visit him soon,” Alexei promised as he placed the small devise into the simple card-box. “Good bye, Danilo. We won't see each other again.” He extended his right hand to shake the three fingers left in his old comrade from the war.

* * *

May 15^th, 2011

Frankfurt

Konrad switched off the television with a tired sigh. The smoking images of a destroyed car reminded him more of Lebanon than Russia but it was to be expected.

'Antonov really deserved those medals he won in Afghanistan and he certainly works better alone.'

'I should be there with him, but he's right. We can't have a war here. The loses would be staggering and we need to regain the Komturen's trust once more.'

'Oblomov must be getting desperate and Antonov has not even used a third of the money I deposited in that safe box. All the other gangsters are rising against him. It's just a matter of weeks before he speaks up.'

'Antonov is right. Sharks kill each other when they smell the scent of blood.'

'I wouldn't like to be in Oblomov's shoes right now.'

'If my Kitten is still alive, the Russians will clean their own yard. I only have to play the idiot for a bit longer.'