Ice Trilogy (48 page)

Two minutes and sixteen seconds passed.

Mair’s lips opened. A moan escaped her mouth when she exhaled. She took her hands off the ice and pressed them to her red cheeks. “Fine.”

The men began moving around with relief. Uranov gave Dato the briefcase. Dato opened it, looked at the packets of dollars. He nodded and closed it. Mair turned and went back to her car. Crowbar closed the coffer, removed it from the trunk, and gave it to Frop. Frop carried it to the car. Crowbar slammed the trunk.

“When’s the next?” Dato asked.

“In about two weeks. I’ll call you.” Uranov stuck his hands in the pockets of his beige overcoat.

“All right, pal.”

Uranov quickly shook his hand, turned, and strode over to the automobile.

Dato, Crowbar, and Straw got into their car.

“Count it.” Dato handed the briefcase to Straw. He opened it and began counting the money.

The off-road vehicle turned around sharply and took off.

Crowbar gazed at it as it disappeared.

“I swear, I just don’t get it, Dato.”

“What?” said Dato, lighting a cigarette.

“I mean, those blonds...what sort of ice is it?”

“What do you care? You hand over the goods — and that’s it. Let’s go.”

Crowbar started the car and turned onto the highway.

“Yeah, sure, of course. But what, can’t we pass off some other ice? I mean, it’s a waste. Just some piece of ice and so much bullshit around it: the ice, the ice, the ice. What kind of ice is it? No one knows. And it costs a hundred thou. What’s the big fucking deal, man?”

“I don’t even want to know,” said Dato, blowing smoke out. “Everybody gets their rocks off how they want. The main thing is it’s not radioactive. And not toxic.”

“You checked?”

“Damn straight.”

“Then all the more reason to slip them a phony. Hey, we can freeze a couple of buckets of water. And fuck it!” chuckled Crowbar.

“You’re green. Even though you done time.” Dato yawned.

“They’ve already been double-crossed,” murmured Straw, counting the dollars.

“Who?” asked Crowbar.

“Vovik Shatursky. He was found later. In the fuckin’ garbage. With his throat slit.”

“Shit, man,” Crowbar exclaimed in surprise. “But that’s...wait a minute! You mean he ran the ice too?”

“Yeah, he did. Before Gasan and us. He and Zhorik shipped it together.”

“And now they’re in the underground business together.” Straw slammed the briefcase shut and handed it to Dato.

“In the shareholder’s society Mother Earth-Worm. Heard about it?” Dato smiled. “It’s a business with a lotta prospects. Want the phone number?”

Dato and Straw laughed.

“Shit.” Crowbar shook his head in surprise, without taking his eyes off the road. “And here I thought the Chechens or somebody offed him.”

“No, brother.” Dato placed the briefcase on his knees and drummed on it with his short fingers. “It wasn’t the spades. It was the diamonds.”

“But how? And this...Dato, tell me, this ice here, is it — ” Crowbar continued.

Dato interrupted. “What fucking ice! What are you talking to me about, boy? Ice! Spades! Zhorik! I got more serious things on my mind!”

“What?” asked Crowbar quietly. “The mayor’s office again?”

“What fucking mayor’s office!”

“Shishka pull some kinda shit again?”

“What goddamned Shishka!”

“Taras making trouble, then?”

“Whaaaat fucking Taras?!” said Dato, rolling his eyes angrily. “Baby food, you fuckin’ asshole! That’s the most goddamn important thing in the world!”

For a moment they all rode in silence.

Then Straw began to laugh. Crowbar stared at Dato in the rearview mirror, not understanding.

Dato leaned back and was overcome by a high-pitched, Asiatic giggle.

They passed the Teply Stan metro station.

Then the Konkovo station.

Crowbar started laughing too.

22.20, The office of the ICE Corporation, 7 Malaya Ordynka St.

The lincoln Navigator drove into the gates of the attached courtyard and stopped. Ire, Mer, and Frop got out of the car. Frop and Ire carried a refrigerator case with the Ice. Mer went to the door and press a button. The door was opened by a guard in a dark blue uniform. Mer, Frop, and Ire entered, took an elevator upward, and moved down the hallway. At the far end, two armed guards sat next to a massive door. Catching sight of the group, they stood up from their plastic chairs, grabbed their sawed-off automatics, and stood stiffly next to the door. Mer moved toward the doors, looked straight at the security cameras, and said:

“Mer.”

The door opened. The three entered a large office decorated in a high-tech style. In the middle of the office, standing on a large light- blue-and-white rug with a picture of two crossed blue hammers and a flaming crimson heart, were: brother
Lavu
: 33 years old, tall, blue-eyes, dressed in a dark blue suit; sister
Tse
: 41 years old, medium height, blue-eyes, dark blonde hair, wearing a black-and-white three-piece suit; and brother
Bork
: 48, tall, thin, with thinning light- chestnut hair and dark blue eyes, wearing large glasses, an ash-colored sweater, and light trousers.

As soon as the door closed behind the new arrivals, Frop and Ire placed the case on the rug.

“Mer!” Tse exclaimed, taking a step to meet her.

“Tse!” Mer stepped toward her.

They embraced with a moan, tightly, then swayed and grew still.

Frop opened the case.

Lavu and Bork approached, placed their hands on the Ice, and closed their eyes. Ire walked over to the glass bar counter, poured himself some water, and opened the refrigerator. The refrigerator’s transparent doors were full of fresh fruits. Ire took a tomato and a large fig and closed the refrigerator. He drank the water in one gulp and began eating the tomato and fig greedily. Frop sat down on a low, frosted stainless-steel armchair upholstered in black leather, stretched his legs out, and with a sigh of exhaustion leaned back on the headrest.

Lavu and Bork opened their eyes and sighed deeply.

“The next to the last,” Frop said, closing his eyes.

“There’s still another cube?” Lavu asked.

“Left over from what the meat machines stole, there was another one,” answered Ire, chomping on his food.

“Who was in charge?”

“Mer.”

“Mer...” Ire opened the refrigerator and took out another tomato and fig.

Lavu glanced at Mer standing immobile with Tse.

“And who
knew
?” he asked.

“Ma and Nu
knew.
The meat machines don’t have any more Ice. We bought up everything they stole back then in Ust-Ilinsk.”

“The eighteenth cube.” Lavu closed the case.

“The eighteenth,” Ire confirmed and plunged his teeth into the fig. “In a couple of weeks the meat machines will bring the last one.”

“And we’ll close.” Bork said.

“We’ll close,” Lavu nodded.

“What should be done with
those
other
meat machines after all this?” Ire asked.

“We don’t need Dato.” Lavu walked over to the steel table and pressed a button on the control panel. “But Gasan, he’ll come in handy. For
covering tracks.”

“
Covering tracks
requires calculation.” Bork moved toward the half-closed blinds, glancing at the evening street.

“This doesn’t need calculation, brother Bork.” Lavu sat down at his desk, opening a folder of documents. “
Covering tracks
is superficial. All the possibilities are obvious.”

Bork thought awhile, running his finger down the blinds.

“That’s right, Lavu,” Ire agreed, eating the last of his tomato. “Superficial tracks don’t require any expenditure. Certainly not the powers of the Mighty. The meat are always ready to kill one another.”

“But their rage has to be
correctly
directed, Ire,” said Bork.

“Bork, this isn’t the first time the brotherhood has used the meat.” Wiping his hands with a handkerchief, Ire went up to Bork. “Their rage is totally predictable.”

“The meat is unpredictable in one circumstance only,” Lavu interjected, sorting through his papers. “When it
coagulates
.”

“Right now the meat is peaceful.” Ire sighed, placing his hand on Bork’s chest. “There’s no reason for the Mighty to help.”

“It’s always better to be prepared,” Bork place his hand on Ire’s chest in reply.

“The energy of the Mighty isn’t endless.”

“The energy of the Mighty is needed for the Circle,” Frop spoke up from the armchair.

“The energy of the Mighty is needed for the Circle,” Lavu nodded.

The door opened and two guards entered the office; they lifted the case and carried it out. The door closed after them.

Mer and Tse, who had been frozen in an embrace, shuddered, untwined their arms, and sighed deeply.

“The energy of the Mighty is needed not only for the Circle,” Mer spoke. “The brotherhood doesn’t hide what is primary from the meat. It’s only the
veil
that requires secret layers. The energy of the Mighty supports the veil.”

“
Covering tracks
can be done by a Lesser Circle as well,” Tse finished the thought.

The brothers stood still. They were trying to
understand
this new thought.

“Covering tracks
can be done by a Lesser Circle as well,” Mer
repeated
, looking into Tse’s eyes. “And afterward, ask for help from the Circle of the Mighty.”

The brothers
understood
the new thought. Tse’s heart was stronger than all of theirs. She was able to
know
. The new thought flowed from her strong heart.

Mer was the first to shake off the stupor, and she knelt down, holding out her hands. Tse kneeled next to her and took her by the hand. Lavu came around the table, kneeled next to Tse, and squeezed her fingers. Bork kneeled next to Lavu, Ire next to Bork. Frop rose from the armchair and took his place in the circle.

Everyone’s eyes closed. Their hearts
began to speak.

10:02
,
Office of the Vice President of Tako-Bank, 18 Mosfilmovskaya Street

The long, narrow space of the office, gray-brown walls, Italian furniture.

Matvei Vinogrado
v sat behind a Spanish cherrywood table bent like a wave: 50 years old, small, black-haired, narrow-shouldered, sharp-nosed, thin, a well-tailored suit of lilac-gray silk.

Borenboim sat opposite.

“Mot, for heavens’ sake, forgive me for pestering you so early in the morning.” Borenboim stretched. “But you can understand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Vinogradov, sipping his coffee. He picked up that very same Visa Electron card.

“69,000, is that right?”

“69.” Borenboim nodded.

“And the PIN code is written down. Heavy. This is serious business, Borya. Presents like this smell bad.”

“Very.”

“Listen...and no one’s done anything, called you, threatened you, right?”

“Absolutely.”

Vinogradov nodded.

Sokolova
entered with a piece of paper: 24 years old, slim, in a light green suit, unremarkable face. She handed over the piece of paper. Vinogradov took it and began reading.

“That’s what I thought. You’re free, Natashenka.”

She left.

“An
d
...?” Borenboim frowned.

“They did it the simple way. Completely legal, in accordance with the Central Bank and the Civil Code. Here’s how it goes: the donor applies for the main card using the passport of some front guy, and in the application form indicates he wants to have an additional card issued. In your name. When the cards are received, the primary card in the name of the front guy is confiscated and destroyed. Only yours remains. Finding the front, in your case — Kurbashakh, Radii Avtandilovich, born August 7, 1953, in the town of Tuimaz — would be almost impossible. Only Allah knows where this Kurbashakh abides at present. All in all, it’s smart. Although...”

“What?”

“I would have made it even simpler. There’s a completely anonymous product: Visa Travel Money. There’s no owner’s name at all. Have you used them?”

“No...” said Borenboim grumpily, averting his eyes.

“Any Petrov can get one of these cards and give it to Sidorov. I’ve seen it done. One woman sold six apartments in Kiev, and in order to avoid taking the money through Ukrainian customs, she asked for this Visa Travel Money. But there’s one problem: the limit on individual operations in Russian ATMs is three hundred and forty bucks a day. In a nutshell, this woman milked the ATMs like goats for almost five months, and then it all ended when one of them swallowed her card, and she — ”

“Motya, what should I do?” Borenboim interrupted, impatiently.

“You know what, Borya” — Vinogradov scratched his forehead with an ivory knife — “you need to talk to Tolyan.”

“Is he at home?” asked Borenboim, rocking nervously in the armchair.

“No. He’s swimming right now.”

“Where?”

“At the Olympic.”

“Early morning? Good for him.”

“Unlike you and me, Tolya does everything right.” Vinogradov laughed. “He swims in the morning, works during the day, snorts and screws in the evening, and sleeps at night. And I do everything the other way around! Go on over there. You won’t be able to find him during the day. No way.”

“I don’t know...whether it’s okay. I’ve met him a couple of times. But we aren’t very well acquainted.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a businesslike guy. Mention my name if you want, or Savka.”

“You think?”

“Go on, go right this minute. Don’t lose any time. Your FSB agents don’t know shit. And he’ll explain the whole thing.”

Borenboim got up suddenly, frowned, and clutched his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Vinogradov’s handsome eyebrows knit in a frown.

“Oh...it’s just something...like arthritis,” said Borenboim, straightening his thin shoulders.

“You need to swim, Borya,” Vinogradov advised seriously. “At least two times a week. I used to be falling apart. And now I’ve even stopped smoking.”