August 24–27, 1993
Zhorik burst into the office at half past ten. Darted into his office. Called Serega in and made him show how to use the «auto-dial» function on the fax machine. Set about establishing a connection with the distant city of Gdansk in the Polish People’s Republic.
An hour later he was calling travel agencies, asking about tickets to Brest, vouchers, lodging in Gdansk… in the suburbs? What’s this Kaliningrad business?
At seven in the evening he called me in:
– So, here’s the deal: Moiseich paid for the equipment, it’ll arrive by New Year’s. European equipment, Russian walls, and proletarians at the machines, just as the doctor ordered. That business is locked in and paid for. Now we need to spin the cash. I’m heading to Poland, buying booze for New Year’s. We’ll double it and put the money into the plant. Got it?
– Yeah! – I liked the factory idea. Elegant. Solid.
– You’re in charge while I’m gone. Here’s the cell phone. Don’t screw it up. If anyone asks where I am, say: «On a business trip abroad. Back in a week.» Here’s cash for emergencies. I’ve worked it out with the Poles. We’re buying up as much booze as the money will stretch to. I’ll check the stock first, feel up every crate personally. Then I’ll fax the account to send the money to. Got it? One more thing. Find yourself a decent driver instead of Fedotych, or something.
Gave the instructions and vanished.
I was floored.
As far as I knew, Vlad had tried three times to set up his own supply of Polish champagne and Romanian Amaretto and gotten nothing but a headache for his trouble.
What had Zhorik dreamed up?
Not clear. And he was right about the driver, but where would I even find a good one? Alexander Fedotovich had looked bored for three straight days, and yesterday he’d confessed that he taught courses at various institutes. Couldn’t give up teaching, so, delighted as he was to drive me around, young man, could I settle up with him by week’s end.
Turning the mobile this way and that, I came to the conclusion that walking about with a mobile on your belly is pompous and impractical. Someone could crack you over the head. Besides, I had no permit to carry a cellular phone. There’d be pressure from both sides – the criminal and the law-enforcement. No need for such swagger. But a driver was necessary. The cash collectors weren’t going to Kalyazinsky by public transport. Only by car with armed escort.
I mulled over how to handle it. No idea. Post a listing under «Job Wanted» in the papers?
«Russian Horizon» placed its ads through Kirill, who showed up once a week. His benders didn’t get in the way of the ad work, but I didn’t have time to wait right now. Wait for Kirill, wait for the ad to run… Too slow… I choked on my own hopelessness… oop, froze mid-breath, felt a light jab at the back of my skull. Ah, right, the correct future’s about to flash before my eyes! This is about to hurt!
It didn’t hurt. My gaze landed on the printout of phone numbers, on the entry «102 – Vsevolod Gavrilovich, security service.»
Right, he’s up on the second floor, drinking tea with Rimma Vitalyevna! I needed to ask about retired veterans ready to work as a driver for a commercial outfit. Lunch covered, other perks too.
Called Seva and got it sorted.
From Monday on I was driven by Vasilich, a retired major of unspecified forces, a stocky man past sixty. Slow, thorough, never once squeezing more than eighty kilometers an hour out of the «Taurus». I didn’t need it faster. Vasilich’s calm driving pleased me more than Fedotych’s freestyle across all lanes at once. What pleased me even more was that Vasilich kept silent on the road, unlike Fedotych, who cursed Yelkin for wrecking science and drinking away the country. Fedotych had believed in him, had belonged to the democratic front, had branded the Commies and the KGB with shame, had fought for the ideals of the intelligentsia with foam at the mouth at the Luzhniki rallies, and now… He went to the May demonstration and got a nightstick in the teeth from the cops.
Jackals!!! Ugh!
Vasilich was definitely the better choice. Drove and kept silent. I heard his voice for the first time at the end of the week: «Will Georgy be back soon? Need to talk.»
I shrugged. Vasilich hesitated, offered to drive me late at night and on weekends too, for extra pay. I waved him on, sure, drive! Didn’t need Zhorik for that. I could make the call myself. Though I’d have to run the overtime rate by Zhorik — and it would be hefty, no doubt about it.
Vasilich went off to the spot his predecessor had claimed for himself. The guard room had a black-and-white TV, and Fedotych, when he wasn’t out on a run, used to hang around the couch next to the police officer.
I was glad the problem of late-night subway rides was solved, and gave orders for the girls to treat Vasilich to sandwiches from the traditional Friday booze-up. Decided not to offer him a drink. Though the police officer was still sitting there. Not driving, could have a bit, or not… on duty? Either way, send sandwiches his way too!
Marina pulled me out of my thoughts, phone in hand:
– Roma, urgent! Georgy’s asking for you.
He’d surfaced! Zhorik was shouting through static and noise that he was calling from Gdansk, send every dollar we had to the account he was giving… yes… how much?… yes, all hundred and fifty thousand… yes!… fax!!!… the fax with the account details would be there Monday morning… yes… busy right now… yes, very busy… yes… negotiations… at the casino… yes… yes…
