A Raging Storm

Petrov laughed. “And so, my friend, you win.” He reached into the jacket of his stylist coat and withdrew a leather wallet. “Unfortunately,” he said, “I never carry money. No British pounds, no American dollars, no Russian rubles. Nothing. Look for yourself.” He opened his billfold, exposing a dozen top-end credit cards but not a single bill. “This is because I have people who pay all of my bills whenever I leave the estate. It is one of the perks of being rich. You never touch cash. I apologize, but you win nothing.”

“Only bragging rights,” said Storm.

“And what would I have won?” Petrov asked.

Storm removed his own wallet. Unlike Petrov’s, it contained a thick wad of bills.

“Ah, you are lucky,” Petrov said, eyeing the cash.

“Not really,” Storm replied. He extracted one of the bills. “Our wager was British pounds against British pounds and all of my currency is U.S. dollars. It appears as if each of us was trying to trick the other.”

“Touché,” Petrov said. He lifted a third glass of vodka and said, “Za vstrechi!”

“It means …” Lebedev said, starting to translate.

Showers interrupted. “To our meet-up.”

“Ah, do you know much Russian, my dear?” Petrov said.

“Just a few words. Enough to be dangerous.”

“Indeed,” Petrov said.

Storm noticed that Nad had not taken a drink. “You don’t like vodka or tea?” he asked. “Perhaps a shot of rakija?”

“Now, that’s a drink that I’m not familiar with,” Lebedev said.

“It’s popular in Croatia, especially in the military,” Petrov said. “Our State Department guest has done his homework.”

“Drinking slows the reactions,” she said.

Petrov said, “My Nad is very, very dedicated.” He glanced at his diamond-studded watch and said, “You have come here to question me about my relationship with Senator Thurston Windslow. At least that is what the BBC reported today.”

He looked at Showers, whose cheeks began to blush.

Continuing, he said, “My lawyer, Mr. Lebedev, has reminded me that I am a British citizen and can claim certain protections as such. But I have nothing to hide, so I am willing to answer your questions.”

“We do have one proviso,” Lebedev announced. “Mr. Petrov’s schedule is extremely hectic today, and as you know, English is not our native language. Therefore, we would like for you to tell us in general what information you require now, and then tonight, perhaps, you could submit your questions in writing? We can reconvene tomorrow.”

As if rehearsed, Petrov chimed in, “I can tell you this. I was not in the United States when this terrible tragedy happened. I also considered Senator Windslow to be a close friend. I had absolutely no reason to wish him or his family harm.”

“I’d like to learn more about your personal relationship,” Showers said. “How often did you get together in Washington? Did you engage in any financial dealings?”

She was being purposely vague. She had no interest in tipping her hand.

“In Moscow,” Petrov said, “we ask direct questions when we want direct replies. You want to know if I paid him a bribe.”

His candor seemed shocking. But was it really? Petrov and his attorney had had plenty of time to plan their defense. Mentioning the bribe was clearly part of their strategy. But to what end?

“There have been rumors,” Showers said, “of a six-million-dollar payment going from your London bank to the Cayman Islands and then to Senator Windslow.”

“We can discuss this tomorrow,” Petrov promised. “However, if that money was withdrawn from my bank, it was not authorized by me.”

“You allow your employees to transfer six million dollars out of the country without telling you?” Storm asked.

Petrov glanced at Lebedev and said, “Only one or two of them. But the point is that I certainly never offered the senator a bribe. We were good friends. And there is no need for good friends to bribe each other. You do favors out of friendship, not for cash.”

Petrov paused and then said, “If you like, I can save you considerable time by exposing the man who committed the crimes of kidnapping and murder in your capital. The man with bloodly hands is Russian president Oleg Barkovsky. He is the villain you should be investigating, not me.”

“Let’s set a time to meet tomorrow,” Lebedev said. “In the morning, Mr. Petrov will be delivering a speech at a student rally in Oxford.”

“You should attend,” Petrov announced. “I will be speaking about the murder of Svetlana Alekseev, the Russian journalist who was found dead in the elevator of her Moscow apartment building last month. She had criticized Barkovsky, and it is common knowledge that he ordered her killed. Just as he had your senator murdered.”

“If you attend,” Lebedev said, “you will see for yourselves how much loved Mr. Petrov is by the British people.”