Rise of an Oligarch: The Way It Is: Book One Read online

  Rise of an Oligarch

  The Way It Is: Book One

  by

  CARLITO SOFER & NIK KRASNO

  NEPLOKHO PUBLISHING

  LONDON

  First published in Great Britain in 2014

  By Neplokho Publishing

  Copyright © Carlito Sofer & Nik Krasno 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright owners. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, without the prior written consent of the copyright owners.

  The right of Carlito Sofer & Nik Krasno to be identified as the Authors of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-0-9930827-0-2

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, countries, places, events and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, corporations, organisations, entities, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. This book contains sexual themes, violence, objectionable language and behaviour. If you are UNDERAGE, easily offended, unable to discern the difference between fiction and reality, dislike the use of profanity, are uptight, or righteous to the point where reading this book may pose danger to your immortal soul, then you should immediately cease reading any further. The authors accept no responsibility for any thoughts you may form after reading this book. Caveat emptor.

  To our wives, families and the benevolent people of Ukraine

  CONTENTS

  1 Bullet in the Head

  2 Shattered Lives

  3 The Meeting

  4 The USSR is Dead, Long Live Ukraine

  5 History Repeated

  6 The Land of Milk and Honey

  7 Needle in a Haystack

  8 There’s No Place like Home

  9 No Turning Back

  10 Dreaming Big

  11 Boris

  12 Aim High

  13 The Dark Continent

  14 Business or Pleasure

  15 Family

  16 A Perfect Storm

  17 Here comes Johnny

  18 Crimea

  19 David 007

  20 You and I will Change the World

  21 Going Legit

  22 Wild Boar Hunting

  23 Arthur

  24 The Invasion of Russia

  25 Wedding Bells

  26 Revolution

  27 Football

  28 Johnny

  29 Highway to Heaven

  30 Old Fart’s Deliberations

  31 The Road to Minsk

  32 From the Shadows

  33 Disturbing Developments

  34 Hospitable Welcome

  35 The Pearl of the Black Sea

  36 Friends

  37 The Investigation

  38 The Work of the Righteous is Done by Others

  39 Another Day at the Office

  40 The Assassination

  41 Good Morning

  Epilogue

  1 Bullet in the Head

  The impact whipped the head backwards, hurling the body to the ground. A man stood over the now motionless figure, waving his gun and looking in all directions, while the pretty blonde screamed in terror. The shooter squinted through the telescopic sight and studied where the bullet hit the target. Blood trickled from a wound just above the fallen man’s right eye.

  Commission number 27 was complete. He now had four minutes to disappear without a trace. He disassembled the Dragunov, checked that he’d pocketed his cigarette butts and water bottle, and exited the apartment. The client would be very happy.

  Tel Aviv, 2013

  As dawn approached, the first rays broke through the heavens, streaking the sky with purple and orange ribbons. A faint flickering of lights speckled the horizon, like fireflies fleeing the coming day, as the city began to wake from its slumber. Soon the sun would rise, and the cool breeze that blew from the northwest would carry the early morning scents of shakshouka, rugelach and morning pastries across the flat plains to the medical facility.

  Reached via an unmarked turning off Highway 6 that swept around a vast orchard planted specifically to prevent prying eyes, the private hospital catered only for the wealthiest, most powerful clientele. Usually, at this unholy hour, the building was silent. The private rooms and patient areas lay in relative darkness, the staff areas dimmed to a soft blue hue and a small crew of essential staff saw to the patients’ needs.

  But today was different. The building blazed with light and buzzed like a beehive with excitement and anticipation. Doctors and nurses rushed about in all directions, barking orders to subordinates in readiness for the arrival of the air ambulance.

  At first the patient’s identity was kept secret, but once the medical records started to arrive, some of which surprisingly bore his name, the rumours began spreading at once, filling the hospital with an equal mixture of excitement and disbelief. Everyone had an opinion - some were joyful of his critical condition, while others were excited to get a closer look at such a celebrity and wished him well.

  Two nurses stood outside the entrance smoking cigarettes, making no attempt to conceal their anger and hatred.

  “I knew he would end up like this. They always do,” one of the nurses spat disdainfully.

  “If the rumour is true, I hope he dies before he reaches the hospital. I wouldn’t want to make any effort to save that mafioso.”

  A passing doctor overheard the conversation and stopped in his tracks.

  “Why is that, Nurse?” he asked. “So what if he extorted most of his wealth abroad? He’s done nothing wrong here in Israel. Do you know that our new surgery wing was constructed solely from his generous donations? We must do everything we can to help him whether we like him or not.”

  The nurses looked at the doctor with disinterest, took a puff on their Marlboro’s, and shrugged.

  “The cars are here!” a porter shouted, and the nurses turned to watch a convoy of vehicles pull up by the entrance. A melee of doctors, hospital managers and security people surrounded the vehicles and escorted the visitors inside.

  The nurses studied the scene with little excitement as the scrum of people passed by and entered the hospital. The chain-smoking nurse, a dowdy-looking woman approaching middle age, lit another cigarette with the one she’d just finished.

  “Did you see that Russian whore? She’s going to inherit billions; can you believe it? She’ll probably waste it all on clothes and jewellery, the slut.”

  She turned to a fresh group of nurses who had joined her for a smoke.

  “Don’t be envious, Dana,” another nurse said. “Did you catch a glimpse of that tall dark guy in a white shirt?”

  “I didn’t see a ring on his finger. You might try your luck with him. I’m sure you won’t need to work night shifts in the hospital ever again.”

  Dana turned red, while the other nurses burst out laughing. They needed to relieve the feeling of agitation somehow.

  “Where is the patient?” a young nurse asked. “Who are those people?”

  “Oh Irit, you’re so naive. They’re the bodyguards and associates, checking out everything before our superstar arrives,” Dana sneered.

  ***

  “REVA 101, this is
Ben Gurion. Maintain altitude till marker two, approach is clear to runway two, copy that?”

  “Copy that.”

  “Parking spot twenty is secured, proceed immediately after landing. Ambulance is on site. Repeat...Ambulance is on site.”

  “Copy that, tower. Turning at marker two. Beginning approach.”

  The pilot landed thirty minutes ahead of schedule thanks to a generous tailwind that carried the plane across the Mediterranean Sea to Israel. The pilot smiled to himself - he had earned a $10,000 bonus for the early arrival, as promised before the flight by the man dressed awkwardly in the tieless black suit which failed to conceal his broad shoulders and bulging muscles.

  The crew speculated that the man looked like a Russian gangster from a Hollywood movie and he helped compound the perception by not speaking with anyone the entire flight. Instead, he sat alongside the patient, looking menacing.

  A private air ambulance costs tens of thousands of dollars, so whoever used their services was unlikely to be a teacher or a farmer. The promised bonus was the norm for rich Russian clients; and the norm included not asking too many questions.

  As the plane taxied towards the private gate, Arthur, the Russian muscle in the black suit, fired up his mobile and muttered the only words anyone on the plane would hear.

  “We’ve landed.”

  The phone went back in his pocket, and he returned to his strong, silent-type act.

  Arthur stepped out of the airplane’s doors into the humid Tel Aviv air. He had visited Israel many times before and recognised the familiar scents of the summer Mediterranean climate.

  Within minutes the patient was secured in the helicopter which took off immediately, carrying Arthur and the patient to the hospital. The patient was unconscious but stable, covered in tubes and wires filling him with oxygen and fluids and monitoring his vital signs.

  “Make sure we reach hospital quickly,” Arthur said to the helicopter pilot in thick Russian-accented English. “And you make sure he lives,” he ordered the doctor.

  The doctor looked at Arthur, nodded quickly, and returned his attention to the screens.

  ***

  Masha, the woman referred to as a ‘Russian whore’ waited in what was laughably described as the VIP Waiting Room. It had two brown leather sofas, two arm chairs, and a round white table with some magazines. There was a flat screen TV on the wall and water and coffee machines in the corner. It was a proper coffee machine, not one that makes brown water called ‘coffee’ from a mix of powders. The room wasn’t too fancy, but it was quiet and its soft lighting was much more hospitable than the bright neon lights that doused the hospital’s other areas.

  Masha was in her mid-thirties. She wore tight dark-blue jeans, a light-blue blouse, a white jacket, and clutched a small Louis Vuitton handbag tightly in her lap. She was in best designers from top to bottom. The matching rock-sized diamonds in her earrings and ring could be seen from outer space.

  Her eyes were puffed and red from crying, lack of sleep and stress. It was obvious that she was a fit, gorgeous woman even when she was on what seemed to be the verge of a nervous breakdown. Nevertheless, her lustrous blonde mane and make-up were perfect and her outfit, shoes and accessories were effortlessly matched and wouldn’t be out of place on the cover of Vogue.

  Sat opposite Masha was Boris, a man in his early-sixties, balding, red-faced, above average height with a small belly. He wore khaki trousers, a black polo shirt and a heavy gold necklace around his thick neck. In contrast to Masha, he sat expressionless, focusing all his attention on his smartphone.

  Pacing between the two was David, an elegant forty-something with a tan that hinted at some Middle Eastern blood in his family. He alternated between pacing the room back and forth like a caged tiger and trying to comfort Masha.

  “Mashenka,” David quietly said to Masha as he sat down beside her, “his condition is stable. It has been fourteen hours and he has survived the flight here. These doctors are the best in the world; nobody is better than Doctor Rosen. Our champion will come through this. He always does. It will take more than this to take him down. I promise you, he’ll be fine.”

  Masha didn’t avert her gaze from the floor. Boris looked up from his phone for a second to study this interaction, and then returned his attention back to the screen. He was pleased that David had taken upon himself the job of comforting Masha. While trying to appear empathetic, his mind was racing, calculating the situation’s immediate practical implications. It didn’t look too promising. The deal in Belarus was in danger of falling apart, and he suspected that within the week a battle for control of the business would commence.

  Boris didn’t expect his friend to recover. With a bullet in the brain it didn’t matter which doctor treated you and how much he’s paid, the chances of survival were still slim. He’d been amazed when the message came through that the patient had arrived in Tel Aviv still breathing.

  Boris was surprised that he felt even a hint of sadness for his friend’s condition, and not only because of the threat to the business. He believed that he had lost the capacity to have such feelings a long time ago. This kid had played a major part in his life for the past twenty years. Their relationship wasn’t always smooth - in fact they often argued and disagreed, but Boris knew that were it not for this young man, he would probably be just another grey, alcoholic, retired manager.

  “David, speak with Arthur. Where are they?” Masha said, interrupting Boris’ thoughts.

  “Mashenka, don’t go crazy. It has been only ten minutes since they’ve landed.”

  “Please,” Masha persisted.

  David saw the overwhelming sadness in Masha’s eyes and relented. He hit the speed dial button and called Arthur.

  “He said they’ll be here in around ten minutes,” he reported after he’d returned the phone to his pocket. “No change in his condition.”

  With Masha temporarily placated, David sat back in the chair and tried to relax. He looked over at Boris and realised he was surfing the internet on his smartphone.

  “Probably looking at porn sites,” he thought, suppressing a smile. At least it might help Boris think clearly. Everyone needed Boris to have a clear mind. Soon, they would need to make some difficult decisions.

  Masha returned to staring at the floor, desperately trying to push the assassination attempt to the back of her mind. It was futile - the scene played in a loop no matter how much she tried to suppress it.

  Everything happened so quickly, and yet haunted Masha’s mind like a slow-motion replay. One minute he was kissing her on her cheek, smiling at her with his blue eyes sparkling. The next second his head yanked backwards as his body flew onto the sidewalk.

  Within seconds Boris grabbed her from behind, and pushed her into the bulletproof Rolls Royce. Gun in hand, David towered over her husband, protecting him while desperately looking around for the shooter.

  The next thing she remembered was driving to the local hospital escorted by police cars and motorcycles. Boris was talking to her but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. Oh my god, they shot her husband. The bastards.

  After a consultation with the medics they decided to fly her husband to Israel. The doctors there are the best for treating bullet wounds - people get shot in Israel frequently. That was the best chance of saving him.

  Now, sat at another hospital in Israel, the enormity of events was finally sinking in. She was worried about her husband, about their two young children and about herself. And yet, she knew she had to remain strong as her husband would expect nothing less. She couldn't break down, not now, not here. As always, she had to look her best. People were watching. People were always watching.

  ***

  The helicopter roared as it touched down on the helipad. Instantly an assortment of medical staff surrounded it, detaching and reattaching vital lines and drips. Masha, David and Boris heard the helicopter approach and sprinted out of the waiting room but by the time they reached the roof the patient was
already on his way to the operating theatre.

  “I’m here, darling!” Masha cried as she tried to join the throng of white coats. A doctor blocked her path and said with a practised sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, madam, medical personnel only. Please, return to the waiting room and when we have any news, I’ll come and find you straight away.”

  Masha, Boris and David hesitated, unsure of what to do. They stood there, lost.

  “Stay in the waiting room, try to relax,” the doctor continued. “There isn’t anything you can do right now. Save your energy for later, you’ll need it,” he advised them before rushing off to join his colleagues.

  “Arthur!” Boris called out, seeing him at the back of the group of doctors.

  Arthur jogged over and reported in.

  “The journey was okay,” he informed everyone. “I’ll guard the operating room.”

  And with those few words he left to watch over his master.

  “It’s good that we have Arthur keeping an eye on security,” David offered.

  “Indeed. Soon the news will find its way to everyone. Business associates, business rivals, the media and probably even Mossad will arrive to sniff around. What a fucking mess,” Boris added some words of wisdom, shaking his head.

  “I wish they’d just leave us alone,” Masha whispered almost to herself.

  David overheard the comment and studied Masha closely. She was struggling to maintain her composure and appeared to be on the brink of losing control. He carefully placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled Masha’s trembling body close to his.

  “I’m afraid an attempt on the life of your husband is headline news,” David sympathised. “We’ll do our best to keep the parasites at arm’s length.”

  “I’ll make sure of it,” agreed Boris. “Media interest is inevitable, but we must contain as much information as possible.”

  ***

  The operation lasted for five hours and was a mixed success. The good news was that the bleeding was under control and the patient had survived. The bad news was that the bullet remained in his brain.