The Spy Devils by Joe Goldberg (top rated books of all time .TXT) 📕

Uncle Anton.” Vlasenko was not her uncle, but the man and her father had been business partners and friends most of her life. He brought her gifts and gave advice when she needed it. She loved him like an uncle.

“May I introduce Deputy Minister Chen, of China.”

Chen’s suit was dark. His shirt was white. His tie was striped. Round cheeks framed small lips. Behind nearly invisible wire-rim glasses were deep dark eyes.

They exchanged introductions, handshakes, and bows. Ira offered seats at the table and some breakfast. No one accepted. Anton sat next to Ira, close enough to pat her on her leg. Chen sat across from him.

Vlasenko had no equal in Ukraine and most of central Europe. He was already a millionaire many times over before Ukrainian independence. Over the decades, his empire rose to gain access or control over many of the country’s coal and steel resources, energy, telecommunications, transport systems, engineering, finance, real estate, and retail. If something was sold in Ukraine, Vlasenko had a piece of the profits. If it was sold to China, he had most of it. And if it was sold to Russia, Vlasenko was the one selling it.

Now, he was a billionaire many times over.

Vlasenko pulled a small orange out of his overcoat pocket, bit it through the skin, and started to chew.

They sat in silence and listened to the wind drive the large raindrops against the windows. The only other sound was Vlasenko as he bit into the orange, sucked the pulp and juice out of his teeth, and chewed the fibrous snack.

“No doubt you heard of the recent incident,” Vlasenko said, still chewing, showing orange pulp stuck between his jagged gray teeth.

“I am not certain what you mean,” Bondar replied. He knew precisely what Anton meant.

“Two of our men were killed retrieving the case the American brought with him. They were ambushed. The case is gone. I was wondering if you have any knowledge of where it might be,” Chen said in a pleasantly soft voice.

“It?” Bondar tilted his head in a gesture of mock recollection. He leaned forward and gazed from one man to the other. The dance had begun. They each wanted to lead and they all knew the steps.

“Give the man the case, Viktor!” Vlasenko said in a stronger voice than his appearance would deem possible. “This is bigger than you.”

“Are you referring to the case I was expecting the American businessman George MacLean to hand to me? The case I was told that MacLean was bringing to Kyiv that I could use as leverage against them on the debt I owe them? The case that I was to exchange,” he looked at Chen “for guarantees of payment of my obligations to the Kirkwood company? That case?”

The room was silent again. Bondar looked at Vlasenko, who stared into space, chewing on the last piece of the orange as if he hadn’t heard a word.

“What is in it?” Ira asked.

Chen and Vlasenko did not answer.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” Vlasenko answered. “Let’s stop all of this.” His nasal voice pronounced each syllable with deliberate effort. “Viktor, I know how you think and why you think that.” He flashed a pulp-filled grin. “Let me tell you what you are thinking.”

Vlasenko started to pat his coat with the palms of his hands. “I know you better than you know yourself. I saw the smart, aggressive young man in 1991 looking to make his mark when the Soviet Union dissolved.” He inhaled a deep wheezing breath. “We eliminated any rivals, or with the right amount of persuasion, made them our allies. Remember what I said?”

“Chaos is good for business.”

“Precisely.”

Vlasenko released a strain of phlegm-filled coughs. Orange debris projected from his mouth. He wiped it with the sleeve of his coat. The rest he let bead on the glass tabletop. Then he smiled as if nothing happened. “I gave you steel and coal. We all profited from the military manufacturing factories. We have done well—together.”

That was true. Bondar also knew Vlasenko as well as Vlasenko thought he knew Bondar. He saw the past from an entirely different perspective.

Through years of a prosperous partnership, whether legitimate—coal and steel—or more illegitimate—selling surplus arms—Bondar was the thug to Vlasenko’s master entrepreneur and capitalist. Bondar’s image was that of a killer in a suit. A mobster. A nobody who became someone only because he was lucky enough to be in the shadow of Vlasenko.

Bondar knew one other truth. Both would not hesitate to obliterate the other if it was good for business.

And it was time to unleash some chaos.

14

Warning Signals

Novi Petrivtsi, North of Kyiv, Ukraine

Vlasenko reached his hands deep into his coat pockets and rummaged around.

“It is not a secret the war has weakened you, significantly. As a result, the government is interested in seizing your assets. I called you in good faith, offering a way to salvage your reputation.” He tapped a crooked finger on the glass table. “Yes, you were worried that the Americans would still want their money, or the Chinese might not provide the new business they offered. They are businessmen also, correct Minister?”

They all looked at Chen, who remained silent as Vlasenko continued.

“You have received over two hundred fifty million dollars from the Americans on your debt. Minister Chen has promised new contracts and business. I consider that good business.”

“Helping to obtain the case is a token of goodwill,” Chen said, breaking his silence. Chen’s eyes looked at Bondar with purpose.

“What about the Russians? I could go to the Russians.” Bondar said, looking at Chen. He thought for a moment, then continued. “You think the Russians are too focused on causing havoc in Crimea and eastern Ukraine? That China will solidify its economic position in Ukraine and surrounding countries for the Silk Road while no one is looking?”

“We all have our role to play,” Vlasenko said.

“I want guarantees of more contracts with the Chinese,” Bondar glared.

Vlasenko waved his hand in the air, dismissing Bondar’s comment. He glanced over