The Versailles Conspiracy

By Robert “Digger” Cartwright

When a city building inspector is murdered, Lieutenant Wickland opens an investigation that stretches from the high society of local country clubs to The Flamingo Beachwear Store, whose Russian owner is suspected of selling counterfeit goods, to a mysterious international arms dealer to the notorious but elusive drug kingpin known simply as Mr. Grey. As the investigation takes them deeper into the backroom deals of the local good old boys and the net tightens around the crafty Russian with a loathing of America, Wickland and his colleague, Doug Graisco, are drawn into a web of international politics, deceit, and danger. As they navigate the complex web of intrigue to decipher who is who, they race against time, political roadblocks, and unexpected assailants to unlock the secrets of the Versailles conspiracy and stop an international incident that threatens global security.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 25, 2010
• ISBN: 9781469122915

Robert “Digger” Cartwright

Digger Cartwright is the author of several mystery stories, teleplays, and novels including The Versailles Conspiracy, a modern day political thriller, Murder at the Ocean Forest, a traditional mystery novel set in the 1940s, The House of Dark Shadows, a psychological thriller, and The Maynwarings: A Game of Chance, a mystery set in the Old West. His latest book, Conversations on the Bench, is an inspirational/motivational novel. Mr. Cartwright has contributed to a number of articles on a wide range of financial, strategic planning, and policy topics. He frequently contributes articles, commentaries, and editorials focusing on current economic and political topics for the private think tank, Thinking Outside the Boxe. Mr. Cartwright is an enthusiastic supporter of local no-kill animal shelters. He enjoys golf, participating in charity golf tournaments, and attending WWE events. He divides his time between Washington, D.C., South Carolina, and Florida.

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The Versailles

Conspiracy

___________________________________

Robert Digger Cartwright

Copyright © 2010 by Robert Digger Cartwright.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2010911984

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4535-5828-7

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4535-3282-9

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4691-2291-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without

permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Epilogue

Prologue

Sergeant Doug Graisco of the Myrtle Beach Police Department solemnly scrutinized the twisted remains of the two automobiles that, upon impacting head-on, had virtually shattered into thousands of pieces, much like race cars designed to break apart for the drivers’ safety. Unfortunately, these cars had not been constructed for such a purpose, and though the safety features were of the highest standard, the sheer force and magnitude of the accident were more than what the vehicles were intended to withstand. The smoldering remnants of one of the greatest inventions of the last century were a silent reminder that even the marvels of modern technology were no match for forces beyond human control and further testified that even advances in science and industry were incapable of providing an escape to that final fate that awaits all.

Graisco bowed his head to conceal a tear that had formed in the corner of his eye, then trickled down his cheek, the moisture against his warm flesh sending a tingling through his body as if a thousand needles were suddenly and inexplicably pressed into his skin. Although he had never been an emotional individual, preferring to maintain his composure behind a stiff upper lip as his British relatives would have it, this tragedy moved him deeply, beyond any other fathomable event in his life since this involved someone very close to him—someone whom he considered closer than his own blood ties. For a moment as he stood at this vile scene with the cool ocean breeze gently caressing him as if to provide some comfort in light of the sorrowful incident, he was enveloped by a silent, terrifying emptiness that sent his stomach churning and propelled him into a void in time that seemed to consume him entirely. This feeling of isolation and hopelessness, however, faded as quickly as it had overwhelmed him, allowing him to take charge of his duties under the facade of a stern composure.

He had been called to the scene of the accident twenty minutes ago as he was just finishing an interview with an unsavory suspect in a recent stabbing at a local discotheque known for its links to the local underworld. Leland, a slow-witted but affable officer who had been with the force longer than just about anyone, called Graisco from the scene only to say there had been a terrible accident involving an intoxicated driver and another vehicle and asked him to get there as soon as possible. Intrigued by the request that a homicide detective come to the scene of what would normally be handled by Leland’s junior colleagues, Graisco ended his interrogation rather abruptly though with a promise to continue their conversation at a more convenient time when the suspect did not have a young woman on each knee. The urgency and perhaps mild trepidation that he had noticed in Leland’s voice inspired him to accelerate his speed beyond the limit and sent a flurry of possible scenarios racing though his mind as to the nature and gravity of the accident.

When he arrived at the scene within minutes of the call, thanks in part to a relatively light volume of traffic on a late spring night, he was absolutely shocked by the severity of the wreck, even though he had seen many others in the past during his beat on the streets and thought he was prepared for this. At first, he seemed to walk through the rummage in a daze as he struggled to comprehend what could possibly have transpired to culminate in such a disaster. The sudden recognition of one of the cars stunned him as if all in which he had believed had unexpectedly been exposed as a vicious circle of lies, and he immediately felt as though he would be violently ill on the spot. The sight before him seemed to fade to black for an instant, and he felt as if he were about to succumb to unconsciousness though the smell of burning fuel and metal that filled his nostrils along with the stark reality pulled him from the edge of the darkness. Now, the grim thought of breaking the news to his best friend penetrated his very mind and soul and besieged him with a flood of emotions ranging from anger to sorrow to despair. Even though he had had the unpleasant responsibility of delivering the news of the often violent death of a loved one to surviving relatives, those past experiences could hardly prepare him for this monumental task at hand. How could he even begin to explain this was the only question that came to his mind at the moment.

The careless actions of a hit-and-run driver seemed to have perpetuated the chain of events that culminated in the wreckage now before them. The only eyewitness was an older woman who had been outside smoking during her break from waiting tables in the quiet restaurant behind them; she stood shivering near the perimeter of the accident with the uniformed officer who had already listened to her story. According to her, a black pickup truck with an extended cab and tinted windows had pulled carelessly from the restaurant’s parking lot adjacent to their current position in the southbound lane of Kings Highway. A small car that looked like a recent model, probably one of those cheap Korean imports she had added with contempt, had been traveling southbound at a moderate speed and narrowly missed the back end of the truck. As the driver swerved to avoid a collision, the car hit the traffic island and flipped into the other lane where it was struck by a linen delivery truck, the driver of which apparently did not have time to react to the obstacle that had suddenly materialized. Everything else was somewhat self-explanatory as the eyewitness could not begin to articulate on the seconds immediately following impact that would undoubtedly remain ingrained in her mind for all time. Unsurprisingly, she had not managed to catch the license number of the pickup truck, given the shock of the events that unfolded before her and an immediate concern for either of the drivers of the automobiles that had collided.

After inquiring in the restaurant, the officers discovered that the bartender had served a man, about thirty-five with thick dark hair and plain features, several mixed drinks that quickly rendered him inebriated. When the bartender refused to serve him another due to his rather unpleasant temper, the customer had become quite violent and verbally abusive, threatening both the bartender and other individuals at the bar, including several young women, with bodily harm. When management suggested, then quickly but politely insisted that he wait for a taxi or the police, the man refused any further assistance and stormed from the restaurant of his own will, shouting a string of profanities at the managers and the young women on his way out the door. Unfortunately though not unusually, the officers received several different descriptions of the man from various customers and employees of the eating establishment, thereby making a positive identification almost improbable as the images of the perpetrator of this crime were so general as to fit most of the transient population of this resort town.

The firefighters had quickly managed to extinguish the burning fuel that threatened to consume the entire remaining wreckage of the small formerly white car whose windshield had been shattered by the impact. The bodies had been ripped from the car and tossed about like dolls across the pavement even though all passengers had been securely fastened with their seatbelts and the airbags had inflated, further testifying to the fact that technology and safety features were still not flawless. Pools of blood that were now beginning to turn dark crimson stains on the road suggested that fatalities were assured, but the events that had unfolded had happened so quickly that their suffering had fortunately been minimal. Even though it had been quick, there was still that moment, however fleeting, of fear just before the darkness came; and the violent nature of the demise with the force alone ripping apart internal organs in the body still made it a horrendous end to a life.

Graisco watched in silent horror as a crew of junior officers slowly cleared away the scene though he was grateful he had been spared seeing the human remains of the passengers of the white car removed in body bags. Soon, the shards of glass would be swept away, and traffic would resume its normal flow along this stretch of highway that proved to be the end of the road for several lives. The entire incident would quickly be forgotten by most and by those who read about it the next day in the Sun News though the suffering for those directly affected by this tragedy and the nightmare of living without their loved ones were only just beginning.

Certainly, Graisco would never forget this fateful evening on which the family of his best friend had perished and become part of the ages. He had known them so long and had become so close to them that he could hardly bear the thought of breaking the news to his friend, whom he knew loved his wife and child more than life itself. Many people, including him, would have gladly taken the place of the woman and child who had perished in the white car. It was incomprehensible to imagine how the startling reality of death would affect that fine family man, whose reason to live had cruelly and suddenly been snatched from him by forces beyond his poor power. Imaginably, his will would dissipate, and he would die a long, agonizing, lonely, and miserable death that could take years to finally come to an end. However, Graisco admitted his friend was strong and understanding and possessed a strong faith that would give him comfort in his hours of need; he knew his friend would not rest until the man who had been responsible for the slaughter of his wife and child, and thereby his own life, was found and brought to the appropriate justice. They would all take pleasure in hunting down this vile criminal and watching the long arm of the law work its course.

Shaking his head sadly, Leland slowly approached Graisco and muttered, Tragic, just tragic.

Graisco responded with a silent nod of his head in agreement.

With his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Leland kicked a shard of glass toward a member of the clean-up crew as if that act enabled him to vent some of his own anger. I would never have thought anything like this could happen. They were so young and healthy, it’s just plain sad. All my years on the force… Words failed him, and a knot suddenly formed in his throat. Tragic, he uttered once again with a crack in his voice.

Sure is, Graisco replied with a sniffle as he thought how emotions displayed in another had the effect of prompting similar emotions in those nearby.

Over his twenty years on the force, Leland had seen many tragedies in the area, especially during the summer tourist season when the roads reached their capacity with drivers accustomed to their own hometown habits. Those accidents, the drownings, and the other deaths were sad but very impersonal; this, however, was of a very personal nature. Nothing like this had ever happened to a fellow officer during his twenty years here; though other officers had died in the line of duty, never had an officer’s entire family been the victims of such a tragedy. All members of the force were family, for they routinely shared time together at cookouts and always competed against each other for bragging rights associated with Bog King, a title bestowed upon the winner of the best chicken bog recipe. When something like this happened, it affected everyone on the force as if the victims had been their own kin.

This’ll tear him up, won’t it? Leland asked the rhetorical question.

If I ever find who did this, Graisco started but did not have the heart to finish his promise.

Leland bit his lip in consternation as he studied his colleague’s profile. The terrible thing is, he said with some reluctance, he was supposed to be with them.

The sting of the comment was immediately visible in Graisco’s facial expression though he appeared baffled as he glanced toward the older man. What do you mean? he asked in order to elicit a more precise explanation.

Looking to the ground momentarily as though he were contemplating whether to continue, Leland swallowed hard to fight back the tears. Well, tonight they were all going out to dinner together. Just as he was leaving the station, he got an anonymous tip on that Mr. Grey that he’s been tracking. He went to check it out, so he told them to go ahead without him. Mr. Grey saved his life in a way.

Still looking at the wreckage that was belching wisps of smoke, Graisco shook his head as an iron veil seemed to fall over his face, masking all emotions and internal strife that he may have been experiencing as a result of the irony of the situation. That will make it even harder for him.

Leland continued talking as a way of keeping his own mind from giving way to emotion and in an effort to comfort them both. Graisco, however, did not hear anything else his colleague had been saying. His mind was somewhere far away, consumed by the devastating nature of the evening’s events. Everything else, including the suspect he had interviewed earlier and that entire case, seemed so irrelevant now that this had happened. The void created by this seemed to suffocate him and place an enormous burden on his soul, for there was no avoiding that which he was obliged to do out of respect and duty. He had to break the news now before someone else did it.

* * *

What did you think you were doing! Mr. Grey shouted furiously with rage in his voice.

The infamous Mr. Grey and his associates were assembled in a decorative suite furnished with heavy dark furniture polished to a shine in one of the more luxurious oceanfront hotels in the city. Upon learning of the accident in which the family of his professed rival perished, he had called this emergency meeting in an attempt to ascertain exactly who was responsible for such an action that he had not explicitly sanctioned. Though he had repeatedly warned his associates not to target or to harm those who pursued him unless otherwise instructed, the advice had apparently gone unheeded by some of those in the organization whose ambitions would challenge his own authority. Mr. Grey had his own way of handling this particular nemesis, and it did not include aiming their assaults at the family of that deviling individual. This news absolutely infuriated him to the point of an apoplectic fit; the veins in his neck bulged as the muscles tensed while he clenched his teeth. His eyes were filled with the removed rage of a lunatic ranting and raving incoherently. The intensity of his anger was beginning to frighten the others gathered in the suite, for they knew that whenever Mr. Grey was angry, he vented his rage on someone.

The other occupants of the room, all men, were appropriately attired in simple gray apparel in stark contrast to the finely tailored gray silk suit worn by their leader who, it was widely recognized, possessed impeccable tastes despite his dubious reputation. They listened intently to the director of their organization, a man in whom they placed a great deal of confidence and who many feared for his far-reaching power that he wielded in a most effective fashion. Though some of these associates, as Mr. Grey liked to call them, were also vile drug addicts and pushers, they were for the most part a group of highly trained and efficient businessmen who manipulated a network that transacted millions in illicit deals every month.

Mr. Grey’s organization was reputed to be the largest drug network east of the Mississippi and was listed on the Department of Justice’s roster as a dangerous threat to the security of the nation due to their alleged association with the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC) as well as a number of other international criminal rings. The organization certainly fulfilled its reputation, controlling the flow of any and all illegal substances of the highest quality along the entire Eastern Seaboard. Everyone in the underworld was intimately aware of the power and influence of Mr. Grey and his organization, and this reputation as a stern, dangerous, but gentlemanly ruthless businessman prevented anyone from crossing him or his network. Few doubted that the elusive and reclusive Mr. Grey would eventually fulfill his ambition of creating an empire that was able to virtually control all facets of illicit business in America, a utopian country that would provide a haven and refuge for drug addicts and derelicts alike. As outsiders had discovered on a number of select occasions, anyone who stood in the way of his achieving such lofty visions would be quickly annihilated.

A young man of about twenty-five with an unkempt appearance and a proclivity for morphine cowered in fear of Mr. Grey who approached him slowly but toward whom he directed his lambasting for the recent accident. Skip, as this man was fondly known, was reputed to be one of the brains of the organization with his detailed knowledge of computers, the Internet, and high technology providing a valuable resource for the technologically challenged Mr. Grey, who readily recognized the power of the World Wide Web in information gathering and dispersion. Given that everyone informally considered Skip the right hand of Mr. Grey, the responsibility for explaining the situation would now fall upon him, a task that no one envied at the moment. Despite his repeated apologies and desperate pleas, his efforts were to no avail, for the fire still blazed in Mr. Grey’s cold eyes.

But, Mr. Grey, Skip continued in a voice that exhibited some signs of cracking, the organization did not have anything to do with it. His voice quivered at the end of the statement he had reaffirmed since the beginning of their discussions.

Don’t lie to me, boy! Mr. Grey shouted as he struck Skip with the back of his gloved hand, a force that sent the young man toppling sideways in the small chair. I told you to leave him to me! I have my own way of handling that! How many times do I have to tell that to you? Mr. Grey leaned over the startled associate, giving the impression that another assault was about to be unleashed.

Skip caressed his throbbing jaw that was undoubtedly broken, and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. I’m sorry, Mr. Grey, he attempted to mumble.

Mr. Grey reached out as if to strike again, then turned abruptly away as he decided against it. I told you never to lie to me either! he continued with his tirade though the discipline evident in his voice suggested he was beginning to calm. And don’t waste your breath saying you’re sorry again. He clasped his hands behind his back as he stared out the wall of glass toward the ocean that glistened in the sparkling moonlight.

An older man—whose loyalty, sensibility, calm demeanor, and sly mind garnered the respect of the very cautious and suspicious Mr. Grey—stepped forward from the shadows of a potted ficus tree and cleared his throat to catch the attention of their leader. Mr. Grey, he said with a strong Virginian accent that was filled with reverence and humility, he’s telling the truth. We didn’t have anything to do with what happened. His voice was slow and calm, filled with the wisdom that emanates from experience and age. His involvement in the organization often imparted reason and prudence when otherwise there may have been none.

Mr. Grey slowly turned his head over his shoulder so that he could barely see the man from the corner of his eye that was filled with a cold fire. I’ll take your word on that, Tom, he said with a flat but stern voice, knowing that he could trust this wise individual whom he was thankful to have as part of the organization. Advice from him had been of great comfort and use at many a trying times. After looking toward the floor for an instant, Mr. Grey walked resignedly to the sliding glass door leading to the balcony. His demeanor had suddenly changed from one of anger and aggressiveness to one of calm and passiveness as quickly as a current in water shifts course. Well, he admitted pleasantly and with a sense of resolute action, if I ever find out that someone in this organization arranged this, I’ll kill all of you.

There was deadly silence as a reply to this most sacred promise. Though they knew he would not commit the vile action himself and bloody his hands, there was no doubt that he would have a hired thug complete the job for him while he watched quietly but confidently from the sidelines. There would be no sedition in the organization, for he would cut off the head of that snake well before it had the chance to strike. He was a man of his word, which was not to be taken lightly, as he had proven on a number of occasions that still struck fear in the hearts of his associates at the mere mention of such actions.

By the way, he asked as he turned to glance around the room, where is she? At first he had not realized that the only female in his organization was missing, but now her awkward absence was quite noticeable. His fiancée was never absent though today appeared to be an exception despite her total loyalty to the organization and to Mr. Grey.

Tom shrugged lightly. I don’t know. She wasn’t at her office, and she didn’t answer her cell phone. He paused to await a response that did not come. Shall I send for her?

Mr. Grey was quiet for several seconds that seemed to last an eternity as he contemplated the options. Though he would like to have had her here so that her presence would give him some added assurance and comfort, he decided that he would not drag her from her peaceful slumber or her late-night movies to join them this evening, especially when the meeting involved such an unpleasant subject. His love for her was complete and wholesome; they reaped the benefits of his endeavors together, and she had been there by his side during some of the most trying times. His only regret was that she had not been there to comfort him and to give him strength in the early stages of building his network; her presence then would have made a tremendous difference in overcoming and coping with some of the setbacks associated with clawing his way to prominence and power. But she was part of his life now, and that was all that was important.

No, he replied softly with noticeable warmth in his voice that brought a small smile to Tom’s face. No, don’t disturb her tonight. The smile that was barely visible in his reflection in the tinted glass contained what some would perceive as a touch of malevolence.

By the way, Mr. Grey, Tom added, seizing upon the moment to deliver a touch of good news, we have a new customer.

Mr. Grey’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of a new client and the benefits that could be derived from yet another member of the network. Though fostering business relationships in this environment was difficult especially since he would never have any direct contact with the client, his talented associates were highly skilled at negotiating terms that would be mutually beneficial. Mr. Grey thought of himself as a rather accommodating individual, for he was willing to go that extra mile needed to win the gratitude and trust of others, a quality that had further solidified his position and his unchallenged reputation.

Who? Mr. Grey inquired as he swiveled to face his associate.

The big fish, Tom replied, knowing how much Mr. Grey had wanted to initiate an active dialogue with this particular individual, whose reputation in various businesses was almost as renowned as his own and whose international connections would provide significant benefits for both organizations. Seeing the look of overwhelming recognition and traces of joy in Mr. Grey’s eyes, Tom nodded in assurance. That’s right.

Mr. Grey seemed to be transported to another place far away from the suite overlooking the beautiful ocean as he considered the ramifications of finally securing such a connection. It was as if he were already mapping out every opportunity that could be seized from such an affiliation. Stratavynski, he whispered the name as he continued to bask in the satisfaction of this new development that could propel him to heights of which he had only dreamed. Everything now seemed within his grasp, leaving him to merely reach out and pluck that which he desired and could use to increase his dominance and his power.

Vladimir Stratavynski, a comrade from the former Soviet Union, had a reputation almost as mysterious and grand as Mr. Grey’s own. Little was publicly known about his background and how he had come to own a number of local businesses including a large beachwear store specializing in local memorabilia and catering to the tourist crowd. Though nothing had ever been confirmed even by the organization’s own sources that were highly informed, rumor had it that Stratavynski’s operations were laundering money for some organization or someone whose influence, power, and businesses were even larger than his own. Stratavynski was known to be a powerful man in the underworlds of both the United States and the former Soviet Union, including some of its allies.

With the international exposure that this other recluse could provide and his own savvy, Mr. Grey had the chance in one swift action to form and to lead the largest and the most extensive cartel in the world with operations reaching from the most successful industrialized countries to the poorest third world nations. Perhaps his efforts and his operations could ultimately benefit some of those in poverty-stricken places, and he would, in a very quiet and removed way, be responsible for providing the hopeless and the desperate a way to rise up and take charge of their destinies.

How did you manage? Mr. Grey inquired with the same removed expression as if he were a medium communicating with the spirits.

Tom made a graceful gesture with his hand as if to suggest the monumental task were merely part of any routine. I was at the golf club this afternoon having luncheon with some of my connections in the art world, and he sent a note to me requesting that I meet him in the members lounge at my convenience. When I finished my lunch, I met him, and we had a long conversation. I’m sure he was just testing the waters, but I got a pretty good feeling about things. He assured me that we would be doing a substantial amount of business in the future, and he seemed very excited about the prospect of forging a strong business relationship.

Suddenly returning from his journey, Mr. Grey slowly approached Tom and gripped him reassuringly on the shoulder. Tom, he said with calmness in his voice much like that of a pastor soothing a troubled sinner, good work. You have done a great service for our organization. I shall be grateful for your diligent efforts.

Such gratification was more than Tom expected though it did flood him with a comfort to know that their leader thought highly enough of him to offer his thanks and congratulations—something that was reserved only for the highest and most trusted individuals in the organization. I can hardly take credit for something so small, he offered humbly.

Mr. Grey offered a genuinely warm smile without the deceit and wickedness that so often lay behind the facade. We may be going international soon, thanks to your efforts, Tom. You shall have the country of your choice when we expand.

You are too generous, my friend, Tom said with a slight nod of his head to indicate respect and subservience.

Slowly returning to his position at the window that reminded Tom of Caspar David Friedrich’s painting the Wanderer above the Sea of Fog, Mr. Grey remained silent for several minutes as he evidently absorbed this recent development and continued to formulate his plans. Finally, he asked, What floor are we on? It was a rhetorical question, and everyone in the room realized the implications of such a remark.

Thirteen, Tom replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Like always.

Mr. Grey gave a low whistle. Bad number, wouldn’t you say? He turned his attention to Skip who had resumed his upright position and was clenching his swollen jaw. Skip, he said softly.

The insolent young man swallowed hard and stifled a shot of pain. Yes, sir?

The fear was evident as Mr. Grey looked deep into his eyes; it was the fear that he had seen on so many other occasions when he had been forced to end a threat to his power and to set an example for the others. It was always this way at the end no matter how strong or how courageous the individual. Though he had genuinely had high hopes for Skip, he never really trusted this man the way he had trusted others. The episode that had unfolded here in this well-appointed suite would breed a resentment and hatred in this young man that could ultimately prove a threat to the entire organization and specifically to his leadership. He could take no chances now that they were on the verge of success beyond their wildest imaginings. Nothing could compromise their situation.

Mr. Grey, Skip began to plead. I didn’t lie to you. Please don’t kill me.

Skip, Mr. Grey said as he placed his hand firmly on the injured and frightened man’s jaw, squeezing hard and sending a searing pain though Skip’s face, save me the trouble. He paused for a moment to look the man in the eyes. They never expected what was about to come. After we leave, just jump off the balcony.

And with that, the meeting ended.

* * *

In the mahogany-paneled study overlooking the lush gardens and neatly mowed lawn of his oceanfront estate nestled behind high natural sand dunes beyond which the sea crashed against the beach, Vladimir Stratavynski was seated behind a large Queen Anne desk across which was strewn files filled with documents concerning his latest business transactions. As he studied this particular file relating to the transfer of funds to an offshore account, he leaned forward conscientiously to conceal the paper as if he were being spied upon by imaginary secret agents. The angle at which he positioned himself gave him the odd resemblance of a hunchback, and the dim light casted by a banker’s lamp on the corner of the desk and the two other heavily shaded lamps that resembled Grecian urns situated across the room created heavy shadows that concealed his entire face except for his beady eyes that moved back and forth as he read the document. The heavy drapes prevented most of the moonlight from penetrating the darkness that created an eerie atmosphere in the tiny but lavish room; furthermore, against the dark but flowing backdrop, his form seemed like a demon lurking among the shadows of Satan’s cape, waiting to snatch an innocent soul.

Stratavynski had once been a highly prominent power within the government in his home country when it was still the Soviet Union. He had amassed vast troves of wealth and a large country estate where he often hosted hunting parties for his comrades who, like he, had grown rich from the plight of others. That had been long ago at a time when he and his party had been widely respected and feared for their powers that had ultimately influenced half of a continent and its people. Alas, those days slowly vanished as the Communist Party deteriorated from within, slipping into decline, and the Berlin Wall fell, signifying the end of the Cold War, the end of an era and all the valiant work and sacrifices that had been made for their cause. With the loss of control of the Duma and the rise of Boris Yeltsin to power, he and his comrades lost everything to the new democratic-minded reformists.

At this point, with the party in chaos and Western-style democracy sweeping the land, he and his remaining comrades who were loyal to their cause, their ideals, and who were unwilling to abandon all they had struggled to achieve so long ago formed an alliance that, through a number of channels, both politically and economically managed to virtually control the weakened government of the now fractured union. Using their combined, remaining fortunes, they dictated trade and commerce both within the federation and with outsiders. Their influence managed to temporarily drive the unstable economy that was further weakened by the new government’s policies. With the economy continuing to decline and the threat of a devaluation looming, they regulated the currency though speculative traders and in the process lined their own bank accounts to recoup that which they had risked since the defeat of their party.

In the end, their efforts were in vain, for the economy stagnated and tipped into a depression that sent thousands onto the streets in desperation while many others starved slowly each day. Their black market economy could no longer survive, and in the end, the government defaulted on its debts, sending the ruble plunging in 1998. Though a large amount of their holdings had been transferred from the country to offshore accounts in Switzerland and the Channel Islands, their remaining holdings that they used to support their operations became practically worthless. In a bid to save the remnants of their utopian society, the alliance created a new code of laws that they enforced in their own special way. Again, their efforts to revive their power failed, and they were forced to retrench until they could reorganize and find the perfect opportunity to seize back what had been taken from them.

On the brink of a peaceful revolution, Stratavynski had suggested sweeping changes to quell the angry factions within the remains of the party and its followers. Infuriated by his uncouth yet practical remarks, the alliance immediately froze his assets, pending a full investigation into his behavior that was labeled seditious by the most ardent members of the party who also accused their loyal comrade of conspiring with the West to destroy everything they continued to represent. The heavily biased inquiry resulted in his dismissal from the alliance, thereby stripping him of his power and placing a stigma upon his name that could never be removed. Tenaciously, Stratavynski threatened to use his remaining influence and powers that had not been delegated him by his righteous cohorts to support the revolutionaries in an attempt to overthrow the alliance and install a more modern-thinking leadership that could deal with the world problems of today rather than concentrating their energies on battles and wars that had been fought and lost long ago. In rebuttal, the alliance burned his country estate to the ground while he watched helplessly and confiscated his final possessions, including his private art collection that had been secretly given to his family by the Nazis before the end of the Second World War.

Dejected and indignant, Stratavynski vowed to avenge the atrocities that had been levied against him, but his sullied reputation left him ridiculed throughout the land. Penniless and homeless, Stratavynski sought refuge with a powerful group of investors known as the Flamingo Association, which readily and heartily welcomed him into their secret club that was reputed to possess powers spanning the globe. Their numerous businesses in the United States, among them the legendary Flamingo Beachwear Store chain that dominated nearly every tourist destination in the country, provided sufficient cash flow to sustain their endeavors and the much-needed supply of dollars that made doing business in some countries so much easier. Their holding companies controlled banks with which they financed their other corporations, including their shipping lines that transported their own goods and oil throughout the world. The network was vast and financially sound, and the complex legal structures ensured their anonymity.

Recognizing Stratavynski’s enormous talents provided by his previous experiences and admiring his sprawling visions that were somewhat close to their own, the association readily accepted him into their business family and, after weeks of intensely studying their strategies so that he was intimately familiar with their goals, sent him to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where he would preside over the Flamingo Association’s operations in the United States. His success with their operations was imminent, and he periodically reported on his progress in the attainment of their goals. Finally, after months of satisfactory work during which time he increased their return nearly threefold, he respectfully requested that the association aid him in overthrowing the alliance that had humiliated him some time ago. Now, after what seemed like an eternity, he was still eagerly awaiting their response.

His other recent accomplishments, such as acquiring the second largest competitor in their markets in order to solidify their market leadership, should influence the association’s decision favorably given the difficulty of such a monumental task. In addition, the opening of three new restaurants under the Flamingo Grill corporate umbrella in three other popular destinations in the Southeast further expanded their presence in their growing upscale chain. He had also initiated discussions with the infamous Mr. Grey to help improve the turnover of their import and export business that had largely fallen by the wayside. With Mr. Grey’s help, the association could ultimately become the largest, most powerful drug cartel in the world. Then there was the deal he had recently forged with General Almasi, the Iranian shadow Minister of Defense; however, given the sensitive nature of the deal with all its complexities, he had not been comfortable exposing that just yet as he preferred to play those cards very close to his vest until formal negotiations had been completed. With all luck, he could ride his accomplishments here on a wave of success back to his rightful position in Russia where he would reclaim his power and punish those who had disgraced him. His lips stretched into a thin smile as he thought of restoring a monarchy to a revived Russia, one that he would lead back to center stage of world politics where it would be a force to be reckoned with.

As he placed the document which he had been studying atop a stack and carefully selected his next subject of scrutiny, there was a light but firm knock, suggesting authority, on the door. Before he could reply, a young woman in her late twenties entered and closed the door behind her before taking several steps toward the shadowy figure that was seated at the desk and who smiled at her arrival. Though she was of average height, the large and firm muscles in her appendages bulged slightly, giving the appearance that her freshly starched purple shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and her black skirt were two sizes too small. The right side of her face was concealed by her long brown hair with a trace of auburn that reached to just below her shoulders; the left side of her face, though partially obscured by the shadows, was soft but revealed her high cheekbones with a trace of rouge, her lush lips that did not require any makeup to draw attention, and her dark eyes that were offset by the light-colored eye shadow touched with a sparkle that was noticeable even in the darkness. Behind her ravishing beauty lay a cold, calculating mind and a physical strength that was rarely matched by even the strongest of men, for her obsession with physical fitness and her conscientiousness regarding her health drove her to a strict daily regimen of exercise and bodybuilding. More than that, behind her seductive features was hidden the unemotional mind of a femme fatale—a woman willing and able to kill on a whim or at his command. She was Stratavynski’s quintessential modern woman—bold, daring, intelligent, powerful, and commanding. Those qualities were even more attractive than her beauty, a characteristic that would inevitably fade with time, but they were enough to inspire him to betroth her sometime in the future.

Stratavynski immediately recognized his visitor by the smell of her perfume, the sweet but invigorating scent of rose petals lightly dusted with the dew of a spring morning. What is it, Katarina? he inquired with a flat voice that was touched with a weakness that only she could elicit.

Katarina slowly crossed the room, her heels clicking eerily on the hardwood floors and shattering the silence in the room that was interrupted only occasionally by the crashing of a wave against the beach. She perched herself on the corner of the desk and stared unemotionally at Stratavynski. It is done, she said with a heavy Russian accent, her voice strong but still containing the necessary amount of feminine delicacy to remain attractive.

Without giving much attention to her comment, Stratavynski continued reading the financial statements. What is done? he said in a removed fashion.

It is done, she reiterated with a tone in her voice that commanded attention and recognition. She did not like being ignored or being required to repeat herself, two facts that she had made readily known on several occasions so that instances in the future could be eliminated.

Sensing the authoritative tendency in her voice, Stratavynski glanced up from his papers with the implications of her comments finally becoming clear. It was a relief to know that one more facet of the operation was secured. Good work, my love, he said with genuine affection as he lightly kissed the back of her hand, a gesture that he found quite regal in this day and age of the liberated woman who resented chivalry.

Katarina smiled with pleasure at having accomplished a deed that commanded the respect and the affection of her lover, her admirer. Even though she had not been informed of the entire master plan, her knowledge of the operations in which Stratavynski was involved and their implications for the overall future was extensive as she had managed to piece together much of the details through conversations to which she had been privy and through documents she had been permitted to see. There was still a great deal that was unexplained to her, and she desperately sought to place all the pieces of the puzzle together, for she resented being kept out of the loop of her lover’s most secretive dealings, especially since they were going to share a future together.