“Why do you say that?”
“Because Takarov died six months ago. His sons inherited the business. His sons are the subject… the subject of rumors.”
“What rumors?”
Obon paused. This time I had the sense he was more concerned about what he was about to reveal than finding the right words. A note of caution peppered his voice. “There have been accusations that they have a more profitable family business on the side. That they are colleagues of a man named Milanovich.”
“Never heard of him.”
“Of course you haven’t. That’s how he likes it. Milanovich is the most dangerous man alive that no one has ever heard of. Number three on the FBI Most Wanted list. He is the global head of the so-called Russian mafia.”
Marko. All I could think of was my brother. At a minimum, he’d taken a job as protection for my godfather during a delivery, not knowing he was getting involved in mob business. The more frightening scenario was that he had lied about the depth of his involvement, and he was either my godfather’s silent partner or the man who’d murdered him.
“Now I want to emphasize,” Obon said, with a note of urgency, “that both the Takarovs have vehemently denied such rumors, and to date they remain just that. I’m telling you about them just in case… so that you understand… if you are involving yourself in their business in any way…”
I had no interest in their merchandise, money, or business. All I cared about was finding out what happened to my godfather and my family’s safety. I thanked Obon for his concern and thoughtfulness.
“The Black Sea Trading Company’s floating craft business,” I said. “Do you know where their top three importers are located?”
His voice turned faint as I heard the sound of papers shuffling. “I have that here somewhere.” A ten-second pause followed. “Thirty-two percent Russia. Seven point eight percent Turkey. And five point five percent of their goods are imported by buyers in the United States of America.”
Black Sea Trading had an established exporting process to the United States. They knew how to package, ship, insure, and deliver. I imagined they had connections at ports in the United States as well as Crimea. I wondered how hard it would be to hide stolen arts and antiquities in a boat.
I thanked Obon and told him I’d be in touch. After hanging up I remembered my mother’s unexpected warning not to dig into my father’s past. I’d meant to ask Obon to do some research on him, but in the heat of the moment I’d forgotten all about it. Just as well, I thought. That was a matter for a later date.
With my engine still idling, I hit *67 on my cell phone to block my identity and called Brasilia. I let it ring eight times but no one answered. It was approximately 5:30 p.m. and I knew their business didn’t pick up until later in the evening. Still, it was a Saturday, and I was surprised someone wasn’t manning the entrance, collecting cover charges, and answering the phone. Then, as I was about to hang up, I heard a quick, coarse hello. It was a familiar voice and tone, one that told the caller he hated to answer the phone for any reason, and he enjoyed surprise phone calls even less, which is why he refused to carry a cell phone.
Marko hadn’t worked last night, but he was working tonight.
I hung up without saying a word. By not identifying myself, I’d preserved the element of surprise. The latter was necessary because there was no reason to expect my brother to be more welcoming this time. Our discussion wasn’t going to be a colorful and cordial affair like the blessing of the Easter baskets. This meeting was going to be the essence of familial darkness, the stuff that led one to close the curtain behind him, kneel before God, and confess one’s transgressions. The stuff that left emotional scars forever and ruined lives.
I zipped down the parkway, took the first exit, looped around to the north side, and gunned the engine.
Fear, prudence, and Donnie Angel be damned.
I was headed back to Hartford.
CHAPTER 26
Nadia’s father kept his palm on her forehead and studied her eyes. It would have been hot a couple of hours ago, she guessed, but thanks to Mrs. Chimchak’s aspirin it probably wasn’t that hot. She didn’t feel as though she was burning up inside anymore.
Marko stood beside him. The flames from the torch burning in his hand prevented Nadia from seeing his eyes. She wished the torch had died.
“Not that bad,” her father said. “A bit hot. Light fever. Not heavy fever. Not that bad. Is it, Nadia?”
Nadia shook her head right away. “Uh-uh. Not that bad. Not that bad at all.”
Her father patted her on the head. “That’s my girl.”
Marko cleared his throat. “Um, I’m not so sure about that. Looks pretty bad to me.”
Their father ripped Marko a new one with a single glance. “What do you know about the human body, slacker? Except how to abuse it with drugs and alcohol.”
An excruciating cramp wracked Nadia’s stomach. She hated it when her family didn’t get along. Hated it more than anything in the whole world. More than all the girls who picked on her at school and camp put together and multiplied by a hundred.
Her father turned back to her and smiled. “So do you want to stay here through the night and earn your merit badge, or do you want to go home?”
“I want to stay,” Nadia said, knowing this was what her father wanted to hear.
“Good girl,” he said, beaming at her.
Nadia was so happy he smiled at her she was prepared to stay in her lean-to alone for as many nights as necessary, even if it killed her.
Nadia’s father told her he was proud of her. He told her they’d be back to get her at 8:00 a.m., and until then, in accordance with survival test rules, she was on her own.
As they turned to leave, Nadia tried to make eye contact with her brother but it was impossible. She could tell he was looking at her, probably trying to encourage her somehow, but she couldn’t make out his face. Then he turned and followed their father into the woods, and for the first time in her life Nadia felt truly alone.
She crawled back into her sleeping bag and counted bobcats to fall asleep. By one hundred seventeen, a light rain started to fall. By two hundred ten, she drifted asleep. An hour later, she woke up covered in sweat. She felt delirious so she took two aspirin and washed them down with a fresh can of pineapple juice. She ate some Ritz Crackers, too. Ritz Crackers were some of the finest food known to mankind. They never failed to give her a boost and make her happy. But this time she couldn’t taste them. No matter how hard she focused, she couldn’t taste that sugar and salt combo she loved so much. She closed her eyes and counted imaginary bobcats again. They were cute, like kitties but with an extra edge. Her kind of edge…
The two aspirin did the trick. Nadia fell into a deep sleep. So complete was her slumber, she didn’t feel the rain when it fell in sheets from the sky and pelted her sleeping bag. Nor did she hear the crash of thunder, its echo among the trees, or hours later, the sound of unfamiliar footsteps approaching her camp.
CHAPTER 27
Brasilia’s parking lot overflowed with vehicles, from an ancient Chevy pickup to a late-model Maserati sedan. A stretch limo in the shape of a Hummer idled by the side entrance. Six college-aged men bounded toward the front door joking with one another, faces bursting with anticipation.