"And what do I get out of this?"
"Twenty percent of the profit. The fund contains hundreds of millions right now, but eventually will grow to billions. Your take, obviously, will depend on how well you invest it. It will be a reasonable compensation."
"Is the money clean or dirty?" Alex asked, ignoring the offer.
Volevodz shrugged. "What's clean money in Russia these days? Anyway, why should you care?"
"I don't. What about the case against me?"
"As I said, these are powerful people."
"How powerful?"
"Arrangements can be made." His forehead wrinkled and he pretended to think about it awhile. He reached up and massaged his sore neck. Alex towered a good six inches over him and had chosen to stand nose-to-nose. Volevodz was a tall man himself, used to being looked up to, and he hated having the role reversed. "A few witnesses might materialize and clear your name. The state prosecutor assigned to your case is a very reasonable sort. For a judgeship and a healthy contribution to his retirement account he might be persuaded to declare the case a dead end."
"Stop lying. My story was spread all over the front pages for weeks. I find it hard to believe it could be easily disposed of."
The colonel enacted a small shrug. "Sadly our police and courts are so overburdened, there is little pressure to close cases. Besides, in Moscow these days, a new scandal always eclipses the last. Such are the times you helped bring about, Alex Konevitch."
"What about my money?"
"Don't think of it that way." He attempted a feeble smile and placed a hand on Alex's arm.
Alex shrugged it off and backed away a step. "I was beaten and nearly killed. My wife was kidnapped and threatened. Three hundred and fifty million dollars were stolen from me. My businesses have been ruined and I've been publicly disgraced. How should I think of it?" Alex asked carefully, coolly, without a trace of rancor-a businessman dispassionately listing the credits and debits from a register.
"Water under a bridge, if you're smart. Or, if you like, a down payment on a new future. You're an exceptionally talented man, Alex. We're offering you the chance to make it all back."
"How kind of you."
"Get over it. In a few years, with a little elbow grease, you'll be right where you started. Maybe richer."
This offer was the last thing Alex had expected, and he needed a pause to consider what he was hearing and learning. It was almost laughable. Almost. Volevodz obviously was another cog in the rapidly growing conspiracy that robbed his life. Now they were offering Alex the chance to take the money they stole from him, to invest and nurture it, and produce fabulous profits that would make them even richer.
In return he would get a fraction of what was already his. It wasn't enough that the sharks took everything from him; they now were offering to make him a slave to their financial interests. And it was slavery. They would own him, a deal with the devil, and once he was in there was no way out.
They had his money, his companies, his homes-they now wanted to own him.
In fact, it was beautiful-for them, anyway. Alex would be the offshore front for their illegal activities, he would launder their money, keep it hidden and growing, and if anyone got wind of it, Alex would be there, the disposable frontman, holding the bag.
"You're a liar and the people who sent you are thieves," Alex said very simply, a fact he managed to express without sentiment. "So why should I trust you?"
"Do we have a deal?"
"Not yet. You're moving a little fast for me."
"I'm offering you a chance to live. Let's say you don't take this deal, okay? We'll hunt you down and kill you."
"I thought we were negotiating. Now you're making threats."
"All right. Negotiate."
"Twenty percent is too cheap," Alex told him. "A deal like this needs to be structured. If I increase the value of the fund ten percent or less, twenty percent is all I deserve. But if I beat that, my percentage needs to increase accordingly. Cap it at thirty percent if the value increases by fifty percent or more."
"What if you lose money?"
"I won't."
"You're quite the optimist, aren't you?"
"I gave you the pessimistic scenario. And any smart businessman builds in incentives to encourage better performance. I'm more than confident that I will easily produce returns surpassing a hundred percent a year. In that case, I'd like a five million bonus on top of the thirty percent."
Volevodz turned and traded surprised looks with his two assistants. "The man has balls."
"If you weren't a fool, you'd know I'm being generous. Find yourself another man with a track record like mine, the terms will be even stiffer. There are people on Wall Street who demand thirty percent even if they don't make you a dime. And if they know the money is tainted, or in any way questionable, they'll demand at least sixty percent. Don't take my word for it, ask around."
Volevodz became fidgety. "I will have to discuss this with my friends."
"Of course you will. You're an errand boy," Alex said, twisting the knife a little deeper. "You and I are through speaking. The next conversation will be with your boss or no one," he added. "If it's another rude flunky I'll hang up and never take another call."
Volevodz's eyes narrowed. Oh, how he was tempted to whip out his gun and blow this impertinent punk back to New York. He would, too, would smile and blast away, except he was at a severe disadvantage with all the guns pointed at him. "I'll bring it up," he mumbled, biting his lip.
"One other matter I'd like to bring to their attention."
"What?"
"Given my history with these people, I want some form of assurance I'll get what I earn."
"Like what?"
"I'm not sure yet. I'll think about it." He backed two steps away from Volevodz, then stopped and, treating it like a careless afterthought, warned, "Move two feet or make any effort to follow me-so much as tug a cell phone out of your pocket-and the nervous people with guns have orders to blast you to pieces."
Volevodz's mouth gaped open. A team of five stalkers lurked around the corner, awaiting a call from their boss to jump on Konevitch's trail and track him to his lair, where they would add a little more pressure and help Alex make the right call.
He shifted his feet, suddenly remembered Alex's warning, and froze. He briefly pondered the amazing question of how he had been so thoroughly outwitted by a complete amateur. But before Alex could escape, he remembered to ask, "How do we reach you?"
"Same as before. Tell your boss to call my hotel in New York."
With that Alex turned his back and walked purposefully toward the west and freedom and Elena, who was pacing nervously behind the large gray apartment building, praying they had not overplayed their bluff. They held hands tightly and briskly walked two blocks, caught a taxi, got lost in the traffic, and eventually made their way back to the gasthaus.
Volevodz and his two aides stood in place, nervously wringing their hands. Their eyes never wavered from the window ledge six floors above. As long as the barrel never budged, neither would they. A flock of giggly Japanese tourists mistook them for tired old spies, perhaps sharing a reunion in a place of former glory, swapping lies and inflating old adventures. The tourists spent five minutes snapping pictures of the three scowling men in wrinkled trench coats. A bus arrived delivering a fresh batch of rambunctious tourists, who piled out and were instantly drawn to the attraction. Erupting with laughter, they yanked out the cameras and joined in the fracas. They were third-rate actors hired to lend a little authenticity to the site, one tour leader helpfully explained to his entourage, who laughed louder. "Absolutely third-rate!" one of the crowd yelled back. How badly the three men wanted to yank out the guns and start blowing holes through the crowd.