FROM THE NOVEL PAWNS TO PLAYERS: THE PUTIN GAMBIT
10
PAID PROTECTION
Black Castle
No one in the Bratva – a disparate collection of Russian crime families – was happy about the assassination of Boris Nemtsov. It was too bold. It put a spotlight on Russian crime. It made it more difficult to do business in the Caucasus and across Europe.
Sergey Dvoskin, leader of the all-important Moscow Bratva, resisted accepting a contract to protect the prominent Russian dissident, Alexei Navalny. He was in the business of making money and a great deal of money was offered – five million Euros. No one but peasants and pensioners dealt in rubles anymore. When he hesitated the amount doubled and was deposited in an anonymous account at Deutsche Bank with payments of a half million every six months. Any attempt to determine who established the account or any deviation from expected codes of behavior would result in immediate withdrawal of the offer. There were other players in the arena. There were others who would not hesitate to take the money.
The deal promised lucrative rewards but also involved significant risk. It did not pay to alienate Vladimir Putin. Neither did it pay to alienate the Bratva. Even Putin needed to learn that lesson. Everyone in Moscow knew he gave the order to cut down Nemtsov in the streets with his cameras rolling. The Chechen connection was a ruse.
Putin did not consult the Bratva when he decided to take Nemtsov out. He did not ask them what problems it would present and how they might be mitigated. He did not think it necessary. He knew where suspicion would fall yet he did as he pleased. Dvoskin knew that Putin considered placing the blame on the Bratva. There were rumors he would use the assassination to wipe out the crime families and steal their money.
Who did he think he was dealing with?
It was late at night when Dvoskin decided to take the contract and enforce it as he would any other. Putin would have to move aside if he didn’t want a war. He went to each of the crime families and presented his case. They would share in the profits from the deal though none would receive anywhere near what he would receive. It was a hard sell but he was certain most of them felt very much as he did. Putin was getting too big. He needed to be taken down a notch. They would not take part in any attempt to assassinate the leader of Putin’s opposition.
That left Putin’s security forces. Persuading them to honor the contract would be difficult. They were loyal for a reason. Anyone who defied their leader would face severe consequences, beginning with dismissal from the service. It was a good job in a nation where good jobs are hard to find. In extreme cases, where Putin needed to set an example, a former agent might have an accident – the kind of accident that was easy to interpret. An expert pilot crashes a plane. A master fisherman tips his boat in calm waters. Or one of Putin’s favorites: food poisoning. There are a million ways to die but only a handful have the signature of Vladimir Putin and everyone in Russia knew them.
Dvoskin had ears inside the security forces. He knew when they were planning an action. When they planned to take down Navalny at a political rally in Red Square, he heard about it in great detail. He knew there would be three shooters. He knew where they would be stationed. He knew the precise time the hit would take place, what weapons they would use and who they would make the fall guy.
He could have chosen to warn Navalny but that would not deliver the desired message to Putin. The security forces needed to be warned that there would be a costly war if they chose to execute Navalny. They needed to tell their boss it was not worth it. After all, Navalny was not that great a threat. The people loved Putin despite all his flaws, despite his corruption and his brutality.
His people were prepared. He had three of them posted where the shooters would be. The crowd was still arriving. Navalny had not yet taken the makeshift stage. There was a current of electricity in the air that made Dvoskin wonder if they had indeed underestimated the rebel leader. His supporters were devoted and every one of them knew the risks. The right to assemble in protest is a fiction in Moscow. You had to go through a gulag of paper work and in the end your petition would be declined. The authorities would almost certainly break up this gathering and many of the protestors would be beaten down and detained.
As the shooters took their places in the crowd, an attractive woman edged up to each of them. As the agent glanced at her, a man would approach from the opposite side and inject a serum that put the would-be killer out in less than thirty seconds. They escorted each of the shooters out through the crowd to a waiting ambulance.
When the killers came back to the world they were in a warehouse, tied to chairs, bound and muffled. Dvoskin was seated before them, waiting for each of them to regain consciousness, sipping tea and enjoying a modest lunch of sardines and biscuits. He waited until he was certain they were conscious enough to understand.
“You may not realize it, gentlemen, but on this particular day you are the most fortunate of individuals in all of Moscow. On any other day, you would no longer be among the living.”
The three of them glanced at each other and realized they had not fulfilled their mission. Alexei Navalny survived the day and they likely would not.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Dvoskin.
Each man calculated his response before nodding. Of course they knew. It was pointless to deny it even though acknowledging that reality decreased the probability of survival. Dvoskin would not want Putin to learn of his betrayal.
“You are calculating the odds and you have come to the conclusion that you will not live to walk outside these barren walls, to stroll through Red Square, to taste your favorite meals at your favorite restaurants, to get drunk and make love to your favorite whores. The only question that remains and the one that lingers even now is why are you still here? Why are you still living?”
He saw the collective expression on their faces change and he knew the emotion that registered. It was hope. However faint, however remote, however impossible, hope made an appearance and brightened the darkest hour.
“To come to the point, you are here, gentlemen, to deliver a message.”
He took a deep breath giving the impression that he chose his words carefully and they should measure the gravity of his words and the danger he presented.
“The message is this: Alexei Navalny will not be harmed. You will not assassinate him. You will not poison him. Your will not radiate his dinner or his bathhouse. You will not set his home on fire. Alexei Navalny will live. You may arrest him, detain him, defame him and take his money. It is of no interest. But you will not harm him. Do you understand?”
The men nodded but each managed to convey some level of puzzlement or conflict. One of them finally spoke.
“It is not up to us,” he managed.
“No, it is not. It falls to your boss and this is my message to him. If he gives the order, we will kill the assassin and we will erase the assassin’s family from the earth. Anyone who even considers such a decision should know this. Do you understand?”
The men nodded. Their hope declined like a fish on dry land. Their boss would not receive this message without vigorous objection. He would want his revenge and the messenger would be first to absorb it.
“Tell Vladimir he does not need to bury Navalny. It is unnecessary and unwise. It would start a war that would benefit no one. Do you understand?”
The men nodded.
“Very good. Very good.”
Dvoskin stood and walked in a semicircle behind them. His soldiers stood at the doorway and he beckoned one to light his cigarette.
“If Vladimir doesn’t see the light, if he fails to check his anger and acts out in the spirit of vengeance, he should know: My death will not end the agreement to protect Navalny. The contract passes to one of my esteemed colleagues. If something should happen to him it passes to another and so forth. It will not be allowed to expire.”
“We understand,” said one of the men.
“Good. Very good.”
He took a drag as he strolled back in front of them.
“You’ll like this part. As a measure of good faith, we expect him to leave the three of you unharmed. He will want your blood, of course, or at least your pain. He will want to see you suffer for some transgression or failure you did not commit. If you disappear or suffer some immediate misfortune we will have no choice but to take it as an act of war. We do not want war any more than he does. We have many other matters that demand our attention. In the end he will see that this is right. You will owe your lives and your well being to us.”
He saw hope reappear in their faces and he knew he had them. If he needed them on some future occasion they would be available.
“I believe that concludes our business – as long as we understand each other.”
The men nodded and Dvoskin gave the signal to untie them. They each shook his hand in turn before departing. They were grateful to be alive.
