CHAPTER TEN

Squinting in the sunlight, Gina Larsen watched Haines’s helicopter soar off toward the mainland. In no hurry to return to Potemkin’s big but chilly and mildew-smelling office, she ambled down the starboard deck. She did not enjoy Potemkin’s company. He was so unlike his nephew Dmitry, her deceased husband. Potemkin needed to be in complete control, to keep others off-balance. Though if Dmitry had been more calculating like his uncle, he might still be alive, and she wouldn’t be here doing Potemkin’s bidding, waiting for him to reunite her with her daughter. Lydia was now almost two, and she hadn’t seen her in over a year, a constant ache. If Potemkin kept his promise, however, they would soon be reunited and she’d be free.

A member of the maintenance crew, one-armed Yevgeny gave her a gap-toothed smile and tipped his hat as she passed. He was one of the few lower-deck people who never made passes at her, never treated her as if she were one of the ship’s rotating cast of brothel girls. She had few friends. Most of the other females on board were either non-English speaking domestics or haughty software engineers who had their own neighborhoods, each populated with a personal bar, restaurant, and fitness center.

Back in the office, Potemkin was working at his computer. She settled into a chair by his desk. He finally looked at her and yanked the cigar from his mouth. “You forgot your hairbrush.”

“I know. Why did Dr. Haines fly in today? Is there a problem?”

“Yes. But I have a plan. Let’s ask Bodashka to join us.” He turned to the two-way mirror behind the desk and waved. A hidden door opened and out stepped Bodashka Liski, the minister of national security and intelligence. Middle-aged and short, Liski wore his usual dark blue pinstripe suit with a turquoise shirt and red tie.

“Air getting unhealthy in there, boss,” he said in English, his accent a little thicker than Potemkin’s. “You need better circulation.” When he and Potemkin were alone, they usually spoke in Russian.

“Then get it fixed and don’t bother me. You were probably sleeping anyway. I should make you walk the plank. Come sit.”

“I never sleep on the job,” Liski said, laughing and pulling up a chair next to Gina. “Hello, Gina. I didn’t mean to ignore you, my lovely.”

She sighed and gazed out the window. A wall of clouds was approaching from the east. Potemkin tossed Liski a cigar. Along with being an inch or so shorter than Gina, who herself was only five-foot-four, Bodashka Liski had tiny feet and a bald, pear-shaped head. The only non-compact thing about him was a protuberant belly. She watched him slip the cigar into his mouth and apply the hissing flame of a lighter to its tip. He also had a strange mustache. The middle third was shaved clean, leaving two widely separated side sections that drooped beyond the corners of his mouth almost to the middle of his chin. His cheeks sunk in grotesquely as he sucked on the cigar. Gina waved the acrid cloud away from her face.

“So, Bodashka,” said Potemkin. “What did you think of what you heard from the lips of Lawrence Haines today? Talk English so Gina can understand.”

“I think his feet grow cold. How will you approach this, boss? What is up your shirt? I am excited to hear.”

“Then be quiet and listen. I’m going to need help from both of you.” Potemkin swiveled his chair around and stared at Gina. “I have two more important missions for you, niece.” He held up his palm toward her. “Before you get riled up, let me tell you that this work will be your final duty. I promise you.”

She saw Liski look down at his fingernails. I knew it, she thought, her face heating. This is never going to end. Not until I’m dead. “That’s what you said the last time, Mikhail.”

“You are mistaken. I did not say that. It’s what you believed I said. So don’t get angry, zechka.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But it’s true. You are my captive. Not, however, for much longer. When this is done, you will make a great reunion with your beautiful little girl, my grandniece Lydia. End of story.”

“He will keep his word,” said Liski. “You know that.”

“Yes,” said Potemkin. “You will have a trust fund to live from, a nice little house in Aix-en-Provence—if that’s still where you want—and you can raise the girl in peace and security. That is how my nephew would have wanted it.”

Her eyes burning, she inhaled deeply and rubbed her temples.

“I never betray family,” Potemkin continued. “You were Dmitry’s bride when the gangsters murdered him, and your little girl is my blood. You were in bad shape when we took her from you. Don’t forget that. It was to help.”

“Blood is thicker than water,” said Liski. “Have trust.”

Trust? She looked at the diminutive, ass-kissing Liski and shivered. Light shimmering on the mirrored wall reflected off the top of his shaven head, making his skull appear like an open beaker of liquid. As he nodded at her, she imagined his brains sloshing over the edge. She turned back to Potemkin and clenched her jaws. “What is it you need me to do?”

“That’s my girl. Okay, here’s the plan. First, Gina, you will pay Bryson Witner one more visit at the Patterson hospital. You will tell him that things are going along as planned and that we will keep up our end of the bargain and help him get out.”

“Is that true? Or will I be lying to him?”

“Of course it’s not true.”

“No way he gets out,” said Liski. “He is a madman. It will be good for the cosmos with him gone.”

“And he knows too much,” said Potemkin. “His fate, though, is not a worry for either of you. I will arrange to take care of him at the right time.”

“Like you recently did for the snoopy medical director Teitelbaum at Patterson, boss, where Witner is locked up, right?”

Potemkin glared at him. “Bodashka, you talk too much.”

Gina looked at the two of them. “Is there something here I should know about?”

“It wasn’t necessary for you to know, Gina,” Potemkin said. “But I suppose there is no harm. You reported last month that Witner believed the medical director there at Patterson was becoming suspicious. That could not be allowed to continue.”

Gina felt a twisting sensation in her upper abdomen. Dr. Teitelbaum had seemed to be a nice man. She’d met him a time or two. “So, what happened with his car wasn’t an accident,” she stated.

“No,” Potemkin said. “In any case, Gina, you simply need to see Witner tomorrow and reassure that I will help him get out soon. That is all.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

She looked out the window again. The sky was darkening. “What’s the second thing you want me to do?”

“Something even more interesting than when you befriended the Turkish ambassador last year and got so much good information for me. This second thing will require all your skills and talents.”

With a sense of revulsion, she remembered the chubby, oily-skinned ambassador who reeked of cigarette smoke. “What is it?” she asked, clenching her jaws.

“A different type of seduction, Gina. Not to bed, but into the head. Witner’s old enemy, Jack Forester, is now the hospital dean at New Canterbury. Lawrence tells me Forester has a mysterious plan that might prevent Lawrence from buying the hospital. They gave him two weeks to try.”

“Do you think he can do it, boss?” Liski said.

“This is what Gina needs to discover. If Forester figures out a way to block me, she will make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“But, boss, why can’t you just find out through their computer system? You roam it freely, I thought.”

“Good question,” Gina said. “Why go through all this if you can hack their communications?”

Potemkin blew out a cloud of smoke. “I will be doing that also, of course. But too much is riding on this. We need better information of the deepest kind, right from the horse’s trough. That’s what Gina will do.”

She shifted in the chair. “But how, Mikhail? I can’t just walk in there.”

“Oh, yes you can.” Potemkin strode to his desk. “Come and see. Both of you.”

When they were standing behind him, he pointed to a photograph filling the screen. “You see this woman? Her name is Marianna Vlada Marina Kovalenko. This was taken last year in Kyiv, where the bitch lives.”

The woman was slender, maybe in her late thirties, early forties. She had long chestnut hair, a smallish chin, and a no-nonsense expression on her somewhat pretty face. The photo was grainy, as if taken from a distance. She was standing on a city street corner in a summer dress, satchel slung on her shoulder, her hair lifted off her neck by a breeze.

“She has bowlegs,” Liski said. “But nice too.”

“This is the woman Gina will impersonate,” Potemkin said. “Kovalenko is thirty-nine years of age, a little older than you, but close enough. Unmarried and has no children. For a living, she writes a lot of liberal rubbish for the Ukrainian Week magazine. Do you remember who she is now, Bodashka?”

Liski nodded and smiled. “I do, yes. She wrote the big article accusing you of eliminating that person who was going to rat you out in Kyiv, the one they put in a Ukrainian witness protection program. Some witness protection!”

“Right,” said Potemkin. “She’s one of those people who thinks their life’s purpose is to write negative things about successful businesspeople from Russia, whom she believes make Ukraine more corrupt. As if they need our help.”

Liski turned to Gina. “Her article about Mikhail made him seem like the devil.”

Imagine that, she thought.

Potemkin sniffed. “In her stupid article she didn’t once mention my orphanage in Crimea.”

“Actually, she did,” said Liski. “She said it was linked to sex trafficking.”

“Which couldn’t be further from the truth anymore,” said Potemkin. “Fake news.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t punish her,” said Liski.

“Who needs to swat at every fly? I am glad now I didn’t bother. Marianna Kovalenko is going to be very useful. You see, she also writes things about health care and public policy garbage. She was once a nurse, like Gina.”

“You actually read what she writes, boss?”

Gina stepped away from the computer impatiently. “Mikhail, what does she have to do with New Canterbury?”

“Patience,” he responded, then turned his attention back to Liski. “Since she disrespected me in print, Bodashka, I read all her things. She writes well. She even won a little Ukrainian award for a story she wrote last year about . . .” Potemkin hesitated, giving them a teasing smile.

“About what, boss?”

Potemkin chuckled. “About some good hospitals in America that are situated in small cities, about how they survive. And New Canterbury was one of those she mentioned. I remember because of our project. You see why I read a lot?”

“Kindly get to the point,” said Gina.

Potemkin let out an exasperated sigh and took another drag on the cigar. “Be patient. The point is that Kovalenko would have reason to visit New Canterbury and interview Dr. Forester to write some more for Ukrainian Week. That would be you, Gina.”

“I can’t speak Ukrainian.”

“Don’t be a fool. All you need is an accent. You can do that in your sleep. You will charm Forester and find out what he’s up to. Simple.”

Gina leaned forward. “But what if Forester knows what she looks like?”

“I just spoke with her editor at Ukrainian Week. She never met Forester. And I will have our web people remove every photograph of her that exists on the entire internet.”

“But if you know Kovalenko’s editor, boss, why did he publish her false news about you?”

“I didn’t know him then. But he knows all about me now. And he doesn’t want to know me any better, I promise. The day after tomorrow, after you visit Witner, you will go to New Canterbury as Marianna Kovalenko. You will pick Dr. Forester’s brains and help stop whatever he is planning, if needed.”

“How can I get in to see him on short notice like this?”

“How? I know that the hospital CEO was just fired a few days ago. So, you will call Forester and say you had made a deal to interview the CEO. I will provide you with a letter from his office. And my people will hack into his computer and put you on schedule. Now he’s gone, and you’ve flown all the way from Kyiv. You’re a poor little woman. Mew, mew, mew. While you’re there, Bodashka will detain the real Kovalenko.”

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” asked Gina.

Liski glanced toward Potemkin. “Am I, boss?”

He waved the cigar dismissively. “We don’t put blood on our hands when we do not need to. You will simply take her out of sight as long as needed. A week or so. She may come in handy again.”

“Where do I take her?”

“The little dacha south of Kyiv. Her associates at the magazine will be told she’s gone to the US to research the story. The editor will help me in this. No problem. Her only relative is a sister with two daughters and a husband. You will let Ms. Kovalenko understand that their safety depends upon her keeping a shut mouth after you turn her loose. She will agree, I am sure.”

“One more question,” said Liski. “How did you come up with this plan so fast?”

Potemkin swiveled his chair around to face them. He puffed the cigar, exhaling toward the ceiling. Then he tapped his finger against his forehead. “I didn’t become one of the world’s richest persons by being slow. Prepare to leave now. Gina goes to New York, first to visit Witner then to New Canterbury. Bodashka, you fly to Ukraine.”

Gina squared her shoulders and met his eyes. “Mikhail, I need your absolute word that when this is over, I can have my daughter back.”

“Absolutely,” said Potemkin, crossing himself.

“I’d like to FaceTime with her before I go.”

“No. Only when you come back. And then you can see her in person.”

“That’s cruel,” she said, her eyes burning.

“I am not cruel,” he said. “The sad fact is that my nephew Dmitry should have come to work for me instead of hanging around with those low-class Russian thugs in Brooklyn. Had he listened to me, he would be alive today, warming your bed and raising your daughter. You should have tried harder to talk him to sense. I warned you.”

Gina’s eyes suddenly overflowed.

Potemkin set down his cigar in a large green glass ashtray on the desk. He closed the photo and looked back at Gina. “No need to cry. You will have a contact close to New Canterbury in case you need help. Here—take this.” He reached into his drawer and handed her a blue cell phone. “This is a burner phone with his number.”

“Who is it?” she replied.

“His name is Freddy Sokolov. He manages a local scrapyard I own there.”

Liski grunted. “I know Freddy. A good man.”

Gina took the phone and stared at Potemkin in surprise. “You own a scrapyard in New Canterbury?”

“Why not? I have a few scrapyards here and there. I’ve got a little bit of everything everywhere. I happened to hear about this one when Lawrence first started looking at the hospital. It was close, and I got a good deal.”

Gina shook her head. “Why a scrapyard?”

Potemkin smiled. “Do either of you know the two biggest raw materials needed in Russia today?”

“I have no idea,” Gina said.

“Cobalt?” guessed Liski.

“Not so fancy. One is scrap iron for making steel. Scrap is much cheaper than ore dug out of the ground. The American countryside is full of old rusting cars, trucks, and tractors. They just leave these things lying around. So, I buy a scrapyard, and I put it in a big shredder machine. Then my men go hunting for junkers. Americans will sometimes even pay you to haul them away. I run my shredders day and night, turning old cars into chunks of iron that I load on railroad cars and then ship across the sea and voilà. The profit is not bad.”

“Smart business,” said Liski. “America wastes a lot.”

“I also have scrapyards in California, Mississippi, and Oregon. From the west side of America, I sell to China. The second raw material Russia needs is recycled microprocessors for cell phones, missile guidance systems, new cars, you name it. Americans throw out thousands of computers every single glorious day!”

Liski chortled. “God bless America.”

“I buy them for pennies and hire people to harvest the chips. I do it right at my scrapyards. Economy of scale.”

Gina shook her head. “If this is lucrative, why not just drop all the illegal things and the hacking? It would be safer, for God’s sake.”

“If I cared about safety, I would have become a doctor like Lawrence. No, I am too creative. Before you go, Gina, I will also provide you with an ID badge that will give you free run of the hospital there. My staff is making it now. May come in handy.”

Lightning pulsed within the greenish gray clouds now surrounding the ship, and water rose in huge greasy swells. Gina saw that Potemkin was watching the approaching tempest and smiling, his fingers raised like a conductor’s baton, moving in little arcs.