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.
