The Doves of Ohanavank (43 page)

In Moscow a young man meets Hov at the airport. He looks like a delivery boy. The car is an old Russian Lada 111 station wagon with the back seats removed, and looks like they have transported every conceivable commodity in the back. Hov tries to engage the driver in conversation to at least understand what comes next, but he is not talkative. He just shrugs. “They’ll call you,” he says.

The hotel room is prepaid, and includes breakfast. He walks into his room, which, aside from the single bed, has a narrow plywood closet in the corner. When the door swings open, it almost touches the bed. The bathroom and toilets are outside, at the end of the hallway. A single dim light bulb hangs from the ceiling, which barely illuminates the tiny room. The window across the foot of the bed is about one square foot, with a metal bar running across the middle. This might as well be a prison cell.

It occurs to Hov that the room reflects his status in the Ari’s eyes. A momentary cloud of doubt crosses his mind about his prospects in Moscow. He is totally alone in this gloomy place, for the first time in Moscow, and all he can do is wait for a call from Ari. Even in his most
desperate times, he has never felt so much at the mercy of someone else as he feels now.

He sits on the bed. A cloud of dust rises from the covers as the mattress sinks about twenty centimeters. He looks at his return ticket, and wonders if he should take a taxi back to the airport and try to get on the next flight to Yerevan. That’s when his phone rings.

“Do you need anything?” Unlike the driver, the caller speaks fluent Russian with no accent.

“When will I meet Nicolai?” asks Hov.

“Be ready at ten-thirty tomorrow morning,” the voice tells him. “Someone will pick you up outside the hotel.” And he hangs up.

Hov is not used to luxury. His apartment in Stepanavan is Spartan in every way. But his stomach revolts when he enters the bathroom in the hallway. Rusty faucets leak, the floors are all wet, and the toilet is so dirty that he decides he will not go near it until it becomes a real emergency. He goes back to his room and lies on the bed, waiting for morning.

“How do you want to handle Carla?” asks Ari. They are in Nicolai’s apartment in Moscow. It is a luxurious penthouse on Begovaya Street. The floor to ceiling windows in the living room open to a panoramic view of the Moscow skyline. Nicolai takes a sip of his coffee.

“I’m not sure yet. You have the more incriminating segment of the tape, right?”

“It is a twenty second segment where her face is clearer. There will be no question as to who she is. But this segment does not show her carrying her gun. It will be possible to tell she’s standing in the same general area as where the shooting took place. The two segments together can make a much stronger case than what the police have now. With a good defense lawyer, she may manage to get away, but it’s not very likely.”

“The question is, can we control and manage her?”

“She thinks she’s the only Ayvazian left, so she does not share power with anyone. But if she knew more, she may concede more.”

“But you’re not sure if she will.”

“Can’t be one hundred percent sure. But right now, her other options don’t look that good.”

“And they may look a lot worse if we show her the other tape,” mumbles Nicolai to himself. “What are her weaknesses?”

“Power and sex,” says Ari without a moment’s hesitation.

“Sex?”

“She’ll fuck anything.” And Ari’s eyebrows do the twist.

Nicolai looks at him incredulously. “You?” he asks.

Ari nods, and the eyebrows dance. “And three quarters of the staff. Yuri was her favorite in bed. Her authority over the men who work for her turns her on.”

“Does she have any genes at all from her mother?” Nicolai mumbles again to himself, but looks intrigued and amused. “It would be a pity to waste her. Is she really worth the trouble?”

“She has access to a lot of Sergei’s money. I know she is using the bank accounts, and I know Sergei always had a lot of cash stashed away, which she must have found. She has access to all the papers that Sergei kept at home, and she has searched Viktor’s apartment and taken the papers from there too. So she has a pretty good idea of where the assets are. I’d say she’s worth it, at least until you get your hands on all that.”

“What type of fight will she put up?”

“She tried for years to convince Sergei to let her into the business. Now that she understands what we do, she loves it, and she loves her new role even more. She shot Yuri without a second’s hesitation, in cold blood. It was her first kill. Calmer than I was the first time. She’s smart, calculating and understands how to control people. So it’s your call. If you want a competent number two who one day can kill you when you let your guard down, go for it.”

“Ari, you’re my competent number two, and I hope one day you won’t kill me. You have to help me manage her. Give me a copy of that second tape, just in case.”

“Sure,” says Ari.

“Any basic advice?”

“Don’t fuck her,” says Ari without hesitation. “It will throw her off. She doesn’t know how to handle anyone unless she sleeps with him. You’ll have a much better chance of controlling her if you confuse her.”

Nicolai bursts out laughing. “So the whole world can fuck her except me, eh?”

Ari’s phone rings. He says a few curt “
dah’
s into the phone and hangs up.

“That kid I told you about is here. Shall we go talk to him?”

“The one who tried to sell his wife?”

“That one.”

“Let’s go,” says Nicolai.

Hov checks into the same Aeroflot flight from Moscow to Yerevan as Ari. They have decided to hire him, but he needs to go back for a few days to sort out personal matters and his apartment. They get separated at Sheremetyevo airport. Ari checks in quickly and goes to the Business Class lounge, while Hov waits in the long line of economy passengers. Hov stands out from the other passengers only in one way. He has a small carry on bag, while everyone else is checking in huge suitcases, boxes tied with rope and suitcase-size bundles wrapped in protective plastic. He is intrigued by the physical commotion and the emotional anguish of passengers wanting to make sure their bags are checked. We watches the process with detachment and amusement, wondering what all these people were doing in Moscow in the first place, and what is it that they are taking back home with such ardor.

As Hov takes his seat in the back of the plane, he is torn in several directions. They have shown him the lowest state of existence by keeping him in that run-down hotel in Moscow for three nights. By contrast, the reception room on the ground floor of Nicolai’s apartment, where they met, had been the most luxurious room Hov had ever seen—polished brass and glass and deep-colored wood paneling, paintings, the plush leather sofas and arm chairs, mahogany tables, and beautiful white marble statues of naked women gracing the room. What had made all that even more awe inspiring was the way the staff was treating Nicolai—he might as well had been one of Russia’s Czars from the imperial days.

The burning question in Hov’s mind is whether it is possible, really possible, to move from where he is to where they are. Does that happen? Living in Armenia these days no one would believe that it is possible for anyone to improve their lot. That type of hope is long since stifled by the unrelenting greed of the oligarchs and corrupt officials. But that hopelessness is for law-abiding citizens. The odds have to be better for the criminal class.

“We are not a family,” Nicolai had told him. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re joining a family. I run a secret and sensitive business organization. You’ll have colleagues. Over time, you may even build a friendship or two, but don’t count on it. This is a dangerous business. Once you come in, you cannot diverge one-centimeter from the established rules, because we have only one way of dealing with employees whom we no longer trust. Like Yuri was dealt with.” Nicolai had stopped for a minute to allow the effect of mentioning Yuri to sink in. Hov had remained quiet, his face expressionless.

“Curiosity is not a virtue here,” Nicolai had continued. “We’re not conducting experiments in a science lab. You’ll be given an assignment, and you will do it. If you get your nose into anything that does not concern the assignment you are given, you come under suspicion. Do your job, and do it consistently well. We will notice you, and move you up a notch. Then do the new job well, without nosing around. We will notice again and move you up again. That is the only way to move up. Any other way will get you killed.”

The plane has reached cruising altitude. Passengers start bringing bags down from the baggage rack and putting them back for no apparent reason, and lining up to use the toilets. The cabin attendants are scurrying around among the passengers trying to start the meal service.

Hov cannot get Nicolai out of his mind. The gold ring on his finger must have weighed as much as his carry-on. The diamond stud on it must be worth more than Hov has made in his entire life. His ostrich leather shoes and matching belt must have cost more than all the clothes and shoes Hov has owned since he was born. But his apparent flamboyance belied the seriousness and the deadly determination conveyed through his eyes and his total concentration, which gave Hov a chill. Listening to him, Hov did not doubt for a minute that he meant every word he said.

But still, Hov does not believe that the prescription that Nicolai gave for success would work as he explained it. If you only do the job they give
you and don’t look around, they can take you for a fool. You’d be acting like a mule with huge blinkers on. If you get too nosy, they can kill you. So there has to be a middle road somewhere.

In the hustle-bustle of the crowded economy class cabin, as the plane begins its final descent into Yerevan, Hov makes what he believes will be a major decision in his life. He will join Nicolai’s organization and find that middle road, he will rise though the ranks, and one day he will live like him. He already knows how to beat and rape women, and he has made a one-time fee selling his wife, so he understands the basics of running a prostitute. The rest should be easy.

Ari disembarks. He does not make much of the two policemen standing outside the plane, nor of the additional policemen standing at the entrance of passport control. He passes though passport control and customs and is in his car minutes after landing.

When Hov finally makes it to the doors of the plane, the two policemen approach him.

“Hov Samoyan?” asks one of them, blocking his way.

“Yes?”

“Come with us,” says the policeman, signaling the way. The second policeman is on Hov’s other side and they lead him to a side door at passport control, away from the rest of the passengers. They process his papers quickly, ask if he has checked luggage, and they take him away in a police car.

Hov sits in a small windowless room at the police station. Thomas Martirosian and a police officer explain to him the charges against him.

“Do you have a lawyer?” asks the officer.

Hov looks at him in disbelief. Aggravated assault, reckless endangerment, rape, divorce, restraining order, possible long jail term if he is convicted of the charges. How did that worthless piece of shit manage all this? His hands begin to shake. Mounting anger, mixed with fear, is nerve wracking. He looks at Martirosian for a long moment.