ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA
TUESDAY, 1:56 A.M. MOSCOW STANDARD TIME (MONDAY, 6:56 P.M. EST)
Dead,” said the Bear, stroking his bushy beard.
Despite the dark hour, the burly man wore his usual wraparound sunglasses as he stood in front of a large picture window. The view was of twinkling lights along the black Neva River that ran through the center of St. Petersburg. Vibrations from the nightclub two floors down pulsated through the room like a beating heart on speed. “Zhang-tao is supposed to be . . . dead.”
“Aye, boss,” replied a muscular bald man in a tight black suit standing at attention. “Should I bring in Yuri?” he asked, with an accent that could come from nowhere except the streets of London’s East End.
“You see the Neva, Mikey?” the Bear said, ignoring the question and gently tapping a long finger on the window. “The water of the Neva comes from Lake Ladoga, where my grandmother was born.”
Mikey nodded enthusiastically, even though he had heard this speech many times before.
“The Neva pours from there through our glorious city out to the sea. The Neva flows to Finland, to Sweden, to Denmark. It surrounds Great Britain. My family’s water floods the Atlantic. It goes wherever the ocean currents take it, to Africa, to Asia, to America. From my small village at Tuloksa, the Neva touches the entire world.”
“That’s right, boss.”
“Everyone is drinking the water of Mother Russia.”
“’At’s it, boss.”
“It’s invisible. No one sees it. No one knows. But the water flows from me.” He smacked his hand on the window. “To everywhere.”
“You’s everywhere.”
“From nothing. From nowhere. We are everywhere. We have built an empire.” The Bear spun to face Mikey. “And how did we do this?”
“Crackin’ skulls.”
“No!” the Bear growled. “Any man can just kill another man. That is nothing. Violence alone cannot build an empire. That is a recipe for savagery. To build an empire, you need savages, yes.”
“You have me, boss,” Mikey offered.
“But more than brute strength, we must create fear and respect. That’s how our business works. That’s how the world works.”
“’At’s it.”
“When we see something we want, a snake that is feeding, how do we make that snake our own? We can cut off the head. But for the body to live, for the body to thrive, for the snake to truly become ours, we need fear and respect, Mikey.”
“Fear and respect, boss.”
“That’s how we profit from every kilo of opium from Afghanistan, every Kalashnikov on the streets of Mexico City, every whore in Romania. And that’s how we will profit from every barrel of oil.”
“Truth.”
“How are we supposed to create fear and respect if Zhang-tao defies me? If he’s allowed to live?”
“It’s bang out of order.”
The Bear pulled a compact comb from his pocket and slowly groomed his beard. “Bring the boy here.”
The bald man opened the door and led in a younger man with a brush cut and wide shoulders. The new arrival saluted the Bear.
“We aren’t in the army anymore, Yuri,” the Bear said. The man raised his hands in apology as Mikey placed a hand on his shoulder and forced him down into a chair.
“What were your orders, little Yuri?” the Bear demanded.
“Get to Zhang-tao,” Yuri said.
“And?” Mikey demanded, looming over the younger man.
“I put our very best on it,” Yuri said nervously, looking back and forth between the two bigger men.
“So how did Evgeny see Zhang-tao drinking champagne in Manila yesterday?”
“I don’t know, boss. Queen Sheba has never failed us before. Maybe Evgeny is mistaken?”
“Is he dead or not?”
“I don’t know, boss.”
“Show me your hands,” said the Bear. The young man hesitated, then extended his arms and rested his palms on the coffee table. “The world is a rough and filthy place. Men have to be this way to survive. Are your hands rough and filthy, Yuri?”
“Yes, boss,” the man said.
“The world is a terrible place, full of monsters. Strong men have to be terrible and sometimes inhuman. Can you be inhuman when I require it?” the Bear asked.
“Of course,” Yuri said, a quiver sneaking into his voice. “I follow orders. You know that. I always follow orders.”
“Do you know how our organization works?”
“Fear,” the younger man said. “You told me yourself.”
“Correct,” said the Bear. “How do we maintain our empire?”
“Respect.”
“Correct again,” said the Bear, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his overcoat. “But, Yuri, do you know what separates us from the beasts?”
“I . . .” the man looked to Mikey who offered no assistance. “I don’t understand.”
“I said: Do you know what separates men from animals?” the Bear repeated. As the man shook his head, Mikey lunged forward and pinned Yuri’s left arm. In that instant, the Bear swung a meat cleaver high over his head and whacked it down on the table like a guillotine, severing Yuri’s left thumb. Bright red blood spurted across the room. Yuri screamed in pain and clutched his hand.
The Bear calmly wiggled the cleaver to remove it from the table, wiped it off with a white handkerchief, and replaced it in his coat pocket.
“Thumbs,” said the Bear. “Now bring Queen Sheba to me.”