The Nameless Ones by John Connolly
Chapter LXXIII
Hannah Kauffmann contacted Frend just as he was returning to his hotel. He tried to force Pia from his mind so he could concentrate on what Kauffmann had to say.
‘You’ll have the passports tomorrow morning,’ she said, ‘but I may have underestimated the price.’
‘That is very unlike you,’ said Frend.
‘Your clients’ prospective new home is a peaceful Caribbean nation with a low international profile, and would like to stay that way. Unfortunately, its sugar industry is also in need of investment. Somewhere between those two competing pressures lies a way forward for you, but the risk factor requires payment of a premium to a new Sustainable Education Fund.’
‘And who is being educated,’ said Frend, ‘or is it impolite of me to ask?’
‘The children of the man who will sign off on the passports. He believes his offspring might benefit from studying in Switzerland. They want to learn to ski.’
‘How much?’
‘A quarter of a million euros per passport,’ said Kauffmann. ‘If it helps, that includes my fee.’
How, Frend wondered, would the world function without greed? Nothing would ever get done, or nothing worth doing.
‘It won’t be a problem,’ he said.
‘You’re certain? There might be repercussions if payment is not immediately forthcoming.’
‘Is that a threat, Hannah?’
‘All I’m saying is that it would be out of my hands, Anton. I’m simply the intermediary. This is a delicate system on which a small number of very powerful individuals have come to depend, some of them in the same line of work as your clients. Complicating factors push up costs for all concerned, as well as attracting the kind of attention that leads to temporary restrictions on the flow of documents. There is a reason you approached me and not one of the more, um—’
‘Scrupulous firms?’ suggested Frend.
‘I prefer the term “established”.’
‘You would. Where will we meet?’
‘Do you really have to ask?’
‘Let me guess,’ said Frend. ‘Among the nameless ones.’
‘Exactly. I’ll see you there at six a.m. Try not to be late.’
She hung up. Frend immediately emailed Radovan Vuksan, asking for a call back on his most recent number. It came within minutes.
‘I’ll be collecting the documents early tomorrow morning,’ said Frend.
‘Where?’ said Radovan.
‘Outside the city, but the price has gone up.’
‘How much?’
‘One million euros for all three passports, including the agent’s fee.’
The lie came easily to Frend, as all lies did, but he would have need of more money soon. Kauffmann had been right after all, for Frend’s time in Vienna was drawing to a close. Soon he might well have cause to seek her services for himself, and it would be for him to choose a sanctuary in which to live out the rest of his days.
‘Zivco will bring the money,’ said Radovan. ‘I’d also like him to be in attendance for the handover.’
This was a complication Frend would have preferred to avoid. With Zivco Ilić present, Frend’s deceit might be revealed. His intention had been to collect the cash from Ilić, skim the excess, and deliver the rest to Kauffmann as agreed. He couldn’t very well do that with Ilić hovering over him.
‘Why?’ said Frend.
‘While you may be a very good lawyer,’ said Radovan, ‘your experience as a cash-in-transit security guard is limited. This money was difficult to amass, as you’re surely aware, and will be impossible to replace should it be lost or stolen. Plus, Zivco can do the lifting. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one million euros in fifties, but it equates to almost twenty kilos in a twenty-liter bag.’
Frend couldn’t row back now. He would have to call Kauffmann and inform her that she would be receiving more money than anticipated, some of which was his. If he was lucky, she might only impose a handling charge, or perhaps she might be convinced to take it in lieu of a fee for securing one further passport at a small discount.
‘Does this mean you’ve convinced your brother to leave?’
‘Spiridon’s future does not lie in Europe,’ said Radovan.
‘That’s all very well to say.’
‘Soon,’ said Radovan, ‘he’ll understand.’
Frend poured himself a drink from the minibar before making a call of his own. He was forced to leave a message, as always, but he made it clear that he wasn’t prepared to wait long for a reply or there would be repercussions. His phone rang just as he was making a second drink.
‘I’m not sure that I liked your tone,’ said Teodora Ćirić.
Unbeknownst to the Vuksans, the channel of communication between their lawyer and the Serbian liaison officer in Vienna had been open for years, but the benefits to Frend had been minimal – unless one counted staying out of jail, which was, he had to admit, an undeniable boon. Back in 2006, Ćirić had presented him with documentary evidence of activities upon which the Austrian authorities might have looked askance, all of them connected to the Vuksans. In return for her silence, Frend was required only to offer occasional updates on the Vuksans’ activities and plans. They were small betrayals, and had not damaged his clients, or so Frend had told himself. But they had accumulated until finally, he now believed, they might have led to the death of Nikola Musulin and the Vuksans’ relegation to the status of quarry.
‘I don’t care if my tone gave you hives,’ said Frend. ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for twenty-four hours. Your actions have endangered my safety. You never told me you were planning to seize the Vuksans’ funds.’
‘If I had, what would you have done? Tried to move some of them, probably, which would have defeated the purpose of the exercise.’
‘I thought we both wanted the same outcome,’ said Frend, ‘which is a peaceful resolution of this crisis. That requires money.’
‘We may both want a resolution,’ said Ćirić, ‘but I’ll take permanent over peaceful.’
‘What about Belgrade? I barely escaped from the city with my life.’
‘Who do you think warned your driver? Don’t be naïve, Anton. I looked after you, just as I’ve always done.’
Frend wasn’t so sure of this. Teodora Ćirić looked after herself first, and everyone below her survived on whatever scraps she saw fit to scatter. Frend suspected that his share was particularly lean, but common sense dictated that he should hold his tongue.
‘I apologize,’ said Frend.
‘And I accept,’ said Ćirić. ‘Now, what do you want?’
‘The passports are on the way. The Vuksans will be leaving Europe.’
‘I know all that. I met with Radovan.’
‘You what?’
‘He made the approach, and I agreed to talk.’
Frend recovered himself.
‘What did he ask for?’
‘Money: the unfreezing of assets.’
Which was the same reason Frend had called her. He had to be sure that the funds were available for the passports. Depending on how he chose to handle the threat to Pia, they might never be used, but a wise man prepared for all eventualities.
‘And?’
‘It’s being facilitated.’
Some of the tension eased from Frend.
‘Good,’ he said.
‘Was that all?’
As this piece of the puzzle clicked into place, the larger picture became clearer to Frend, and the best plan of action became manifest – for him and his daughter, if not for the Vuksans.
‘I have one more question,’ he said.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Who else knows about our relationship?’
‘You make us sound like lovers,’ said Ćirić.
God preserve me, Frend thought, that I should ever be so desperate.
‘Our agreement, then.’
‘Only you and I, although some in Belgrade may have their suspicions.’
‘When this is over—’
‘You want me to destroy those documents relating to your past transgressions, right? You dislike having a sword hanging over your head.’
‘I’d prefer you to hand them over to me,’ said Frend.
‘I can do that. With the Vuksans gone, what use will we be to each other?’
‘Exactly my reasoning.’
‘That would seem to conclude our business,’ said Ćirić, ‘although I’ll leave you with one question of my own.’
Frend waited.
‘With the Vuksans gone, Anton,’ she said, ‘what use will you be to anyone at all?’