Chapter Fourteen
Cameron
WE PULLED UP to Sasha’s villa, the scene in stark comparison to our last visit.
Last time we were private guests at a stately manor.
This time we were specks in a sea of partygoers at a music festival.
Rows of luxury cars were parked neatly on the sprawling south lawn courtesy of the valet service.
Adjacent to the residence was a large outdoor dance floor, packed with party guests, complete with a massive lighting rig, and an elevated DJ booth.
As we made our way through the crowd of beautiful young women and rich old men, I kept my eyes peeled for bodyguards and security staff.
Protection details were usually easy to spot in environments like this.
Guards were typically at least six inches taller than anyone else on the dance floor and would also be the only ones not dancing.
There’s also a posture most men adopt when armed.
A posture I’d clocked several times. Given his strict no guns allowed policy, I had to assume these were all Sasha’s guys.
It made me wonder if the extra security was party related or due to the arrival of Mr. B.
Either way, it made me feel underdressed. I hated not having a weapon. More so with every brick-headed goon with neck tattoos and a bulge on the left side of his suit coat that I saw.
As we neared the house, I spotted Sasha along with his two bodyguards standing with six very well-dressed, extremely beautiful party guests.
“Alright, this is it,” Tess said, with a smile as our group neared Sasha’s.
“Ms. Finch, as punctual as she is beautiful,” Sasha announced to his group the second he spotted her. “Elenor, so lovely of you and your fiancé to make it to my little soiree.”
“Is that what this is?” Tess asked with a laugh. “I thought we’d arrived at Glastonbury by mistake.”
Something about the way Sasha laughed reminded me of the SS officers depicted in old black and white World War II movies. His laugh unsettled me more than anything and he was a pretty unsettling guy.
“And the very fortunate Mr. Beck. Very nice to see you as well. As always, you and your guests are welcome in my home.”
I had to wonder if Sasha was giving himself some sort of alibi in case he had to kill us later.
Should the local police ever happen to question his party guests about the group of Americans who mysteriously disappeared, these lovely ladies would swear that Sasha was happy to see us and welcomed all into his heart and home.
No way could he be involved with our disappearance.
“And last, but certainly not least,” Sasha said, turning to Officer Hart. “The guest of honor. It’s a pleasure to welcome you.”
Hart cleared his throat, pointing down and to the left of him where there stood, a silent and none-too-pleased-looking Midwesterner.
“My apologies, sir,” Sasha said, bowing his head. “I confess I did not know what you looked like until now.”
Mr. B nodded silently.
Tess stepped in. “This is Teddy. Mr. B’s head of security,” she said, introducing Officer Hart.
It was then I spotted the one man I’d hoped I wouldn’t run into while in Russia.
Zivon Petrakov. He was holding a champagne bottle in one hand and in the other, a joint that was so big, it looked like it had been rolled by one of Bob Marley’s roadies.
He was flanked by two young women who were acting as Zivon’s ‘training wheels,’ keeping him on the straight and narrow path. A path that was leading directly to us.
“Elenor, you’ve met by brother, Zivon, haven’t you?” Sahsa asked as Zivon approached our group.
“Of course. It’s nice to see you again, Zivon,” she said with a polite nod.
Zivon stared at her blankly for a moment, blinked twice, and then looked over at me.
“Hey, wait a minute,” Zivon said as he studied my face. “I know who you are.”
My blood froze inside my veins. This is exactly what I was afraid of. Zivon recognized me and now everyone I’m with is in danger. Most of all, Tess.
“Don’t you guys know who this is?” Zivon asked, motioning to me. “He flew all the way from America to be here. Don’t you know?”
Tess and I locked eyes.
“Hold on, I know what will help,” Zivon slurred, before setting his champagne bottle on the ground and handing his spliff to one of his companions.
Zivon then formed his hands into circles before holding them up to my face, then pulling them away.
“See?” he exclaimed excitedly. “It’s Superman!
” Zivon held his ‘hand goggles’ to my face again.
“It’s Clark Kent.” Once again removed, he yelled “It’s Superman!
He flew here all the way from Metropolis to be here for Maxim’s birthday. ”
Zivon’s companions laughed as if their financial futures depended on it.
“See, honey?” Tess said. “I’ve always said you look like Henry Cavil.”
“Christopher Reeve is the only acceptable on-screen Superman,” Sasha said, before turning to Zivon. “Now, if you’ll forgive him, my brother Zivon has some place he needs to be right now. Isn’t that right?”
Zivon saluted his ‘brother,’ retrieved his bottle and his zeppelin of a joint, and again with the assistance of ‘Pretty Thing One’ and ‘Pretty Thing Two,’ sauntered toward the dance floor.
And that was it.
Zivon Petrakov looked at me dead in the face and had absolutely no clue who I was.
Sure, he was drunk. Sure, he was an idiot, but if he’d orchestrated the fires that had burned down Wallace Brother’s properties, he’d know who I was.
His obliviousness, coupled with the fact that neither Tess nor George knew anything about the scams he’d supposedly run, could only mean one thing.
Zivon Petrakov never ran any scams and had nothing to do with our jobsite fires.
So, why did my handler lie to me? Why did Frank Graves want me to think the Petrakovs had targeted my family?
I didn’t know what it was, but I could not shake the feeling that something about this mission was fundamentally wrong.
“Please,” Sasha said. “You are all most welcome in my home. Let’s go inside, away from all this foolishness and noise.”
Once inside, we faced the metal detector.
“What is this?” Mr. B asked in a low, controlled tone.
“Security precautions,” Sasha replied. “I don’t permit firearms in my home.”
“Security for who? Your guys are all heavy. Why should mine go in light?”
Krist Darwood had left the building and the Man from Brussels had taken his place. His demeanor, his accent, his tone of voice, all completely different to what we’d been subjected to for the past three hours.
Sasha held firmly. “I mean no disrespect, but I’m afraid it is my policy.”
“You’ve got an even bigger set of balls than I thought,” Mr. B said.
“Shall we continue, then?”
“Go ahead, Teddy. Check your piece,” Mr. B instructed.
Hart let out a low growl, but did as he was told, handing his 9mm to the station guard.
“Thank you,” Sasha said. “Now—”
“Hold on,” Mr. B said, stopping Sasha. “Now, how about your man?”
“I’m sorry?” Sorry replied.
“I go in with one unarmed guy, and you go in with one unarmed guy. Only seems fair, doesn’t it?”
“Let’s not forget who called the meeting and where we are,” Sasha said, with just a touch of menace.
“And let’s not forget who the fuck pulled on your strings to make it happen,” Mr. B shot back with so much menace I was honestly stunned for a moment. “Now, I’ve had about enough of this fucking circus. We go into the meeting equal, or we don’t go in at all.”
Sasha nodded to his guards. “Vova. Check your weapon here and come with me. Dima, you stay. No one enters the house.”
We were then led down a series of hallways and into Sasha’s office.
“Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, inviting us into the lavishly decorated space. The walls, shelves, and display cases were adorned with antiques and antiquities from around the world. Some of which were thought to have been lost or missing for decades.
“This is quite a collection, Sasha,” I said, once again, no pretense needed.
“And a beautiful office,” Tess added as we took our seats from the selection of antique chairs that adorned the space. Mr. B sat in a leather club chair, directly across from Sasha’s desk.
“Thank you. Everything in this room except for the rugs are original pieces. Besides the gallery, it’s my favorite room in the house.
Unlike the gallery, however, there are no cameras in this room.
It’s also completely soundproofed. It’s the only truly private space in the entire house, so you can speak freely. ”
“I’ll speak freely, either way. I have no reason not to,” Mr. B said.
“You’re the one who stands to win or lose today.
Not me. And if you think you can intimidate me just because we’re in your house, I’ll remind you that I’m backed by three of the five families in New York, the Frangelico brothers in Vegas, and the lawyers in Atlantic City and Detroit.
So, should I come out of the meeting minus a head, you and your boss will answer for it. ”
“My boss has nothing to do with this meeting, and I want to keep it that way. I assume you feel the same or you would have gone directly to Ilya with any business proposal.”
“See, Teddy? I told you this guy was smart,” Mr. B said to his ‘bodyguard.’
“Vova, pour our guests a drink,” Sasha said, motioning to a bar cart that looked straight out of Ernest Hemmingway’s study. Hell, for all I knew, it was Hemmingway’s bar cart. “I just recently opened a Glenlivet 1938 I procured. You must have a taste with me.”
“Pre-war Scotch?” Mr. B asked, clearly impressed.
“I purchased three of the one-hundred-twenty-five bottles made available at auction. It's the oldest Scotch ever bottled, as far as we know. It was drawn from a single reused American oak sherry cask.”
Even I couldn’t resist a wee dram of that.
Once our glasses were poured, Sasha proposed a toast. “To new roads taken,” he said and we all clinked glasses.