The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (22 page)

40.

I was introduced
to Anna Fyodorovna Ivanova, and we sat down at the table. She greeted me briefly in Russian, and I bowed gently as a sign of respect, as I could think of nothing better to do. Beside her sat a large dog. It was familiar breed, I’d seen them before, but the name slipped my mind.

"Mr. Greystone, let me introduce you to Afonso Evgenich," Ivanov said pointing, to my surprise, at the dog. His eyes were imploring me to pay my respects to the dog.

I succumbed, and said: "Good evening Mr. Afonso Evgenich," and bowed my head respectfully, thinking what the fuck I was doing.

Anna Fyodorovna didn't understand a word, but it seemed she heard me saying “Afonso Evgenich” and saw me bowing at the same time, from which she must have inferred I was greeting her dog respectfully. She muttered some “blah blah blah” in her mother tongue and put an expression on her face which was meant to be a smile, but looked like a sideways extension of the corners of the lips instead. However, I attributed the failed attempt to smile to her advanced age rather than any ill intention and smiled back gently, leaning my head forward again, not having anything better to do.

"Afonso Evgenich is a French Mastiff, otherwise known as, whatcha call it, Dogue de Bordeaux. Yeah, I think that's the right name. Anna Fyodorovna, my grandmother, is very fond of him. It would probably be more accurate to say she loves him, as I said earlier. My grandma was a lady. She was also very handsome in her day. And she was very clever too. She knew very well it was safest to marry wealthy old men who were likely to die shortly," Ivanov said, introducing me to his family history.

"After she moved to Spain with her parents, she managed to have a few very profitable marriages. No doubt she was motivated by money and power, mainly money I would say," Ivanov explained, "but she also truly loved her husbands. She was a great actress, well taught by her mother, who was a lady at the Russian Imperial Court, and was well-versed in the intricacies of court life, which required a lot of acting, scheming, building alliances, and in general behaving like a slippery fish to survive and thrive.”

“It’s probably not too much different to present days,” I said.

“So my grandma was a really good actress in the play called Life. My father, her son, who is no longer with us, used to joke that her husbands were so wealthy that she truly loved them. Her last husband was Afonso Suarez, son of the former Socialist President of Portugal. As a son of a Socialist President, with extensive connections in industry and politics, he was very open to bribes and other facilitation payments, so his inheritance was very substantial, even though it required frequent visits to private banks to retrieve the funds stashed away in various client-friendly jurisdictions like Switzerland, Luxembourg, Guernsey, the Cayman Islands, Bermuda, Singapore, etc. Whether her husband accumulated his wealth himself, or was aided by his father, the President, was hard to say. The President had an impeccable reputation, but that could also mean he was simply very careful. It’s hard to believe that a presidential son would have enough clout and power to offer his business partners what they wanted in exchange for bribes. My take on it is he was just intermediary, and his father was pulling the strings. But that's just pure speculation. What matters was the good few million Euros he left to my grandmother. My grandmother loves me dearly, even though she says I have no manners. And I love her dearly, as I’m going to get all her money. Not that I need it so much, but it's better to have it than not, right Mr. Greystone?"

"Sure it is," I agreed.

"My grandma actually helped me to kick-start my business. She vaguely knows what I do, and of course doesn't approve, but she appreciates my knowledge of how to launder and move money without a trace, as her fortune is still not entirely legal. And besides, I pay her a decent dividend on the initial investment she made in my business. She doesn't have any remorse when accepting money from me, even though she knows where it comes from. She just asks not to hurt any animals in the process. She's very flexible in terms of her interpretation of right and wrong, if you know what I mean."

"She's very clever, no doubt," I confirmed, quite interested in Ivanov's grandma’s family history.

"Anyway, the dog was named after her last husband. It's a fine beast. Evgenich is a patronymic from the dog's father, whose name was Evgeniy," Ivanov explained. "You wouldn't normally mix Russian and non-Russian names, Afonso Evgenich simply doesn't go well, but at her age of nearly a hundred and her mind clearly deteriorating, she could be excused."

Afonso Evgenich seemed to be bored by the long explanations provided by Igor Ivanov, and was looking curiously towards where the kitchen must have been and where some nice smells were coming from. Grandma Anna Fyodorovna was equally bored, but became much more alert when Ivanov's daughter, Lena, brought in a bottle of whiskey.

Lena asked her great-grandmother if she wanted a glass, which Ivanov translated for me, and Anna Fyodorovna said she didn't normally drink, but on occasion she did, just for medicinal purposes. Lena poured her half an inch of the amber liquid and asked:

"Mr. Greystone, would you like a glass of whiskey, or would you prefer something else? Beer, wine?"

"Thanks, whiskey is fine," I said. Lena filled my glass and placed the bottle on the table. Meanwhile, Anna Fyodorovna emptied her glass and grabbed for the bottle. She was surprisingly quick doing it. It may have been her unsteady hands that were trembling slightly, which was why she filled three quarters of the glass. Once done, a faint smile graced her lips, so I suspect it wasn't an age-related hand tremor, but a deliberate one. My suspicion was confirmed when grandma took a gulp and emptied half the glass. Noticing my puzzled expression, she muttered something in Russian. Ivanov translated: "It's just her medicinal dose."

Meanwhile, the dog, Afonso Evgenich, was watching the kitchen door intensely, drooling profusely onto the table in front of him, and trying to lift his ears in vain. In vain, as this breed had large ears which fell down along the sides of its head.

Somebody came out of the kitchen, most likely a cook, and asked Ivanov something.

"Mr. Greystone, we have lasagna or steak today. Or both if you wish."

"Steak sounds promising," I said.

"It’ll be a fillet steak, should be nice. How would you like it?"

"Medium rare please."

He talked to the cook for a while.

"Dinner will be served soon. By the way, Afonso Evgenich likes his steak rare."

I wasn't surprised. He was a dog after all.

Ivanov added: "In fact, his favorite is blue rare, but it takes longer to prepare, as they need to pre-heat it in the oven first, before grilling. So we might need to wait for his steak before we can begin. Otherwise my grandma will say I have no manners. Sorry about that."

The dog kept watching the kitchen and seemed to understand that we were talking food. He gazed alternately at me and Ivanov while we were talking. Dogue de Bordeaux are said to drool a lot. The one at the table must have been pure bred Dogue de Bordeaux, as saliva was gushing out of his mouth like a river.

Ivanov must have noticed my thoughts and said: "Apologies for the mess, Mr. Greystone, these dogs do slobber a lot. In fact, today he hasn't drunk a lot, so he's drooling only moderately."

"I thought so too," I said in jest.

"Grandma was thinking about going over to Spain with the dog for a few months by ocean liner, as she doesn't like planes. I discouraged her as Afonso Evgenich would salivate uncontrollably and eventually flood and capsize the whole ship," he laughed.

"Dad!" Lena reprimanded him.

"What?"

"Don't offend Afonso Evgenich, you have no manners," Lena joked. Ivanov laughed. I was amused too.

"Here you go, my own daughter is on my grandmother's side. She must have paid her handsomely," he said, and added: "First she bought her grandson, and then her great-granddaughter."

Lena took pity on the dog, or perhaps on me, brought in some paper towels and tried to wipe at least some of the saliva off the table.

Anna Fyodorovna, in the meantime, had emptied her glass furtively and grabbed the bottle to top it up. After Lena had used at least ten paper towels trying to contain the flood of spittle, in vain in my opinion, the cook started bringing in plates with our dinner.

My dish was a generous size fillet steak, sliced into half-inch roundish pieces, with peppercorn sauce. It looked like sixteen ounces at least.

Afonso Evgenich, the dog, got a massive thirty-something-ounce T bone steak, which looked fairly raw. There was a slight commotion on the other side of the table. Anna Fyodorovna was quite agitated. Ivanov called the cook, who took the dog’s plate and returned to the kitchen. Afonso Evgenich was looking questioningly at his mistress.

"Grandma wasn't happy with the steak for the dog, she said the cook burned it, effectively murdering the steak."

"It looked raw enough to me," I said, expressing my opinion.

"Me too, although you don't quarrel with the matriarch, if you understand the figure of speech," Ivanov swelled up with pride on account of his eloquence.

"Yeah, she pays, she demands. Fair enough."

"Dad, you should love and respect your grandmother for what she is, not for what she owns," Lena interjected.

"I do love her for what she is. Even if she didn’t have a single penny, I'd still love her the same," he said, but added: "I wouldn't invite her to my house so often, though."

Dinner went on, and I’d already devoured half of my steak, which was very tasty indeed, when the cook brought in the dog's dish.

The dog was so happy that it shook its head. Nothing wrong with that, except that I had to dodge a ten-inch drool projectile flying towards my head. Another one landed safely on the ceiling and stuck there for a while, before it started gravitating towards the ground, still attached to the ceiling. You would be surprised to note how far it could extend.

The dog wasn't taking any notice of this dribble-type stalactite hanging over the table but proceeded to devour his dinner. The salivary stalactite eventually fell down and landed in Ivanov's whiskey with a splash. Grandma looked at Ivanov with an expression of reproach, as if he had no manners.

"Nice one," he tried to keep a straight face. "How's your steak Mr. Greystone?"

"Very good, I must admit. My salivary glands were in overdrive even before it landed in front of me. And not only mine, as I can see," I said, and Ivanov burst out laughing. Lena was giggling too. Afonso Evgenich just licked his lips in between two bites of his steak.

"By the way, how is she managing to keep a dog as large and powerful as this one? Surely, 150 pounds of bone, flesh, and muscle have mind of their own, and with all due respect, Anna Fyodorovna would just be dragged along by the dog on a leash instead of the other way round." I was curious.

"Good question, she employs a trainee dog trainer/handler full-time during the day, plus two of her security guys are ex-military dog handlers, and the rest of her security staff, who rotate, have undergone special dog training too. So it’s all well-covered. She would be screwed otherwise. It's not a lapdog, by any means. Dogue de Bordeaux apparently don't listen. They just do what they want, and learn very slowly. They say they need three times as much time to learn basic commands. Not that they’re stupid, more that they have a very strong will. And strong muscles. And you really need a wrestler to subdue this kind of dog during training. Once trained, and once the dog is attached to its owner, it's pretty much plain sailing. Except that it’ll eat more than the rest of the family put together."

"I can see that," I said, watching Afonso Evgenich finish off the bones of his thirty-ounce steak.

"Although today her usual dog trainer isn’t here, and she got an emergency replacement handler. Her regular dog keeper landed up in hospital with a broken coccyx, which is very painful and hard to heal. He slipped on the dog's drool, did a high-speed somersault in mid-air and landed on his tail bone. An ambulance had to be called in."

"Risky business," I smiled, "hopefully he had medical insurance?"

"Yeah, looking after a dog takes a lot of dedication," Ivanov responded, ignoring the medical insurance part of the question.

We finished our dinner in a pleasant atmosphere and the dog continued sending saliva all over the place while enjoying a generous serving of lasagna that Anna Fyodorovna had demanded was brought in for him, as the poor little fella still seemed hungry. We had some more whiskey and I directed the conversation towards the purpose of the visit.

"I think it's time to get down to business."

"Sure, let's go to my office. We’re leaving the table a bit early so I'm afraid my grandmother will think I have no manners, but fuck it, to be honest."

41.

When we were
alone, Ivanov started telling me a story.

"From what I gather, Morgenthal was dating Lauren Wimbledon for nearly a year. She probably wasn't happy in her marriage. Or perhaps she just wanted some variety. At first it seemed to be working, but as time passed, Lauren Wimbledon became disillusioned. Morgenthal is a very secretive kind of guy, you can’t build a proper relationship when your whole life is shrouded in mystery, can you?"

"I suppose it's difficult."

"So the word on the street has it, she dumped him. Secretive as he is, he wasn't happy. He wanted revenge, and we saw his revenge on TV."

"How do we get him?"

"It won't be easy, he has at least two houses I know of. They’re not fully secluded but quite private, and highly secure. I asked my guys to track him when he started working for me. You know, customer due diligence, you want to know about the client. They found two locations. Morgenthal found out about it straightaway and next time we met he said he was disappointed and asked us not to follow him again. Since he was reliable and seemed reasonably trustworthy, I dropped the topic and didn't try to follow him again. He also added that the perimeter of each of his locations was monitored and guarded by custom-built, state-of-the-art security systems. He said he used two different companies, put their best solutions together, plus he used a completely unknown security specialist to tweak the systems to optimum performance, and himself being familiar with security systems he improved them even further. So to get in there will certainly be tricky. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a panic room."

"Not very encouraging so far," I admitted.

"I guess you'd have to do either a frontal assault with considerable force, or strike with surgical precision at the right moment."

"I'm weighing up both options."

"But that's not your biggest problem now. As I said, I only know two of his locations. He said there are more. I’m not sure how he can afford it. I paid him very well as he was doing a great job, even though I admit he proved unstable at that stage. I don't like publicity like the school shooting. Anyway, to earn that kind of money he must have been doing some major jobs on the side too, or be involved in guns or drugs, both of which still have decent profit margins."

I pondered over the difficulties described by Ivanov.

"You could call him on his mobile, and my team would track him down," I suggested. "To create the appearance of a casual phone call, you could tell him that I was looking for him and contacted you. You'd tell him to be careful and not to do anything stupid, for your business relationship's sake. Or something like that to allay his suspicions."

"Could do, but it wouldn't work. He uses a sophisticated call-forwarding system for his cellphone. He has a depot somewhere with a server and a permanently plugged-in cellphone, plus another parallel backup, as he once told me. These re-route his phone calls randomly through various connection routes, so that it's impossible to trace him, they say. Clever piece of kit he has. He's a pro in every respect. In fact, I quite admire him. If only he weren’t such a freak, as it turned out, and could control his love life better. My grandma has more composure, I'd say."

"My team or my government employers might have the technology to work around that, I’ll need to make a call." I excused myself.

I called Martin and described the situation. He said we could try, but depending on how complex that telephone re-routing system was, we might need to get help from Dermot Clenaghan's Research & Execution team, as they had better technology. He conferenced Dermot in and we agreed on a plan.

"Good," I said to Ivanov. "My team will be ready in quarter of an hour. You'll call Morgenthal, and we'll intercept the signal."

We had another glass of whiskey and after I got a call from Martin that everything was set up, Ivanov dialed Morgenthal's number."

"Ron, it's me."

"What's the story?"

"There's a lot of publicity around you these days. They don't know it’s you yet and hopefully it’ll remain that way, as I'd rather not be associated with your antics."

"Don't worry, it's nearly over."

"Be careful, I don't want any fuck-ups."

"No need to worry."

"One more thing. This guy Michael Greystone asked about you once or twice. If I'm right, he’s been commissioned by some government agency to track you down. Do you know anything about it?"

"I know, he’s harmless."

"Better be careful and don't underestimate him. As I said, I don't want any trouble."

"There'll be no trouble," Morgenthal responded.

After a few moments Martin called me to confirm they’d traced the cellphone. I gave Ivanov a thumbs-up sign so that he could finish the call.

"Good, so no trouble and be careful. This is friendly advice, but also a warning, watch your back," Ivanov finished the call.

"Right, they managed to trace him," I said.

"I'm impressed, nice to hear the government’s spending money wisely to acquire technology like that," Ivanov said.

"You wouldn't believe what they spend money on."

"Another reason I'm glad my business is not really taxable, if you know what I mean," he laughed.

"Thanks for that, this time I'll finally get him."

"Good luck, and thanks for disposing of that creep Harker, my would-be son-in -aw. I'm glad that sick fuck is dead."

"And your daughter seems to be coming to terms with the loss of her boyfriend without any major problems. The grieving process will be short, I'd say," I laughed.

"I noticed that too, I'm really happy that she took it so lightly. Thanks for that again."

"No problem, looking forward to doing business with you in the future."

"Sure."

We had another glass of whiskey and I left. When I was passing by the living quarters, I saw the household staff wiping drool from all the surfaces in the house. The medicinal dose of whiskey was working, and Anna Fyodorovna was surely cured by now. The dog was wandering around in the vicinity of the kitchen, surely mindful of the unfinished steak that had been prematurely taken away from him at the request of his mistress.

One of Ivanov's goons had to drive me in my car back to the office, as I’d had quite a few glasses of spirits, so it wouldn't be fit to drive, even though Dermot would fix it if I was caught. Another of Ivanov's entourage followed to take the driver back.