FEARLESS FINN'S MURDEROUS ADVENTURE (33 page)

On the way up in the lift Anna explained that the taxi driver told her to use the pre-programmed number in the telephone to contact him. He said he’ll collect us if we need to go anywhere, and he’ll arrange anything we want arranged.

I’d been anticipating some assistance from Uncle Sui’s contacts, but this is way beyond my wildest expectations. Still, never look a gift horse in the mouth….Isn’t that what they say?

Anna has a load of questions, as I expected she would. “Finn, who are these people? What is a Russian-born Chinese man doing in the Irish Republican Army? Who is Uncle Sui? And why are they helping you?”

I appreciate why Anna is so curious about Uncle Sui and his Russian contacts, and I tried to answer her questions.

“Uncle Sui is a very powerful man who’s been asked by my friends to look after me until it’s safe for me to return home.” That seems to satisfy her.

“I hope
home
means
my home
,” she whispered in my ear as we walked along the corridor to our adjoining rooms.

I rang Mac using the American satellite phone he gave Anna when they were in Helsingborg. The signal on the American phone is weak, so I cut the call short.

Mac was impressed by the help on offer from Uncle Sui, but he warned me to ‘row your own boat as long as you’ve a pair of paddles.’ Typical Mac, he never really trusts anyone, and faced with a gift horse he’d probably thump it between the eyes rather than jump on its back. That’s Mac for you.

I want to ring Hong Kong, so I decided to see if Brother Leader Gaddafi’s satellite phone has a better signal. I should explain….I have a set of satellite phones that I
forgot
to return to the stores when I left Brother Leader Muammar al-Gaddafi’s training camp in Libya. I think it’s comical that the Libyan Oil Exporting Corporation pays for these very expensive satellite calls – while the British, Russians, Chinese and Americans listen in. If the calls are ever traced they’ll eventually lead back to Tripoli, and probably no farther.

Brother Leader’s present works perfectly; Gerry answered within fifteen seconds. I can hear him loud and clear…and Nataliya Yelena in the background. “Who is that, is it Finn Flynn? Speak to me Gerry. Is there any…” Gerry must’ve put his hand over the mouthpiece; I can no longer hear Nataliya Yelena’s voice.

I handed the phone to Anna. “Ask to speak with Nataliya Yelena. Try to learn any pet names for Nakita, and the names of her favourite stuffed toys. Get any information at all that will help to convince the child we’re her mother’s friends.” Anna and Nataliya spoke for ten minutes before Anna handed the phone back to me.

“Well, how’s it going buddy? Is everything OK?” asked Gerry.

“The old Chinaman has done as he said he would. I hope to join you for dim sum within a month.”

As I was speaking to Gerry, Anna wrote down the information from Nataliya Yelena on a sheet of Hotel Katarina notepaper. I ended the call and grabbed the paper before Anna could put it in her bag. She’s shocked at my aggression; tears are welling up in her eyes. I realise she has no idea why I did that.

“Pet, we must not carry anything that will link us with this hotel…like that paper I just snatched from you. Our names aren’t on the registry here, so the police have no record of us checking in. We can’t ever have anything with us that will identify where we’re staying. So even if we’re picked up by the police, they won’t know where to look for our belongings, and they won’t discover the photographs of Nakita Sylvina.”

“I understand Finn.”

I kissed the tears from her eyes. She smiled, and my earlier roughness is forgiven.

———

The streets emptied at nightfall, and we decided to look for Nataliya Yelena’s mother’s apartment. Hotel Katarina is a ten minute drive from the Bolshoi Theatre, and the Bolshoi Theatre is within walking distance of the apartment block where Nataliya Yelena’s mother is the resident caretaker. We'll take the metro as far as the Bolshoi.

The wind howling down Shlyuzovaya Embankment must be blowing uninterrupted from the Arctic. It’s chilling every bone in my body, cutting through the heavy woollen fleece I’m wearing underneath the anorak Anna bought for me in Helsinki. Anna, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered by the cold. She's covered from head to toe in animal hides and furs of one sort or another; I can just about see her face grinning at me.

We walked hand in gloved hand through the falling snow, towards the Paveletskaya Metro Station. I’m relieved to be going down into the subterranean warmth of a colossal underground tunnel. Anna checked out the route map and we paid our few kopeks for two tickets. We took the train to Teatral’naya metro stop, just off Teatral’nyy Proyezd, close to the Bolshoi Theatre.

Standing in two feet of snow, with wind and snow whipping around us, it’s not hard to imagine the Russian nobility arriving at the steps of the Bolshoi in horse-drawn winter sleighs. The place reeks of grace and privilege. I’m no fan of the Russian Communist Party, but at least they had the good sense to leave this symbol of social disadvantage standing. But we don’t have time to stand around admiring the architecture…no matter how impressive the place is.

We plodded on in search of the apartment block of Mrs. Galina Maksimovna, mother of Nataliya Yelena Maksimovna, and grandmother of little Miss Nakita Sylvina Maksimovna. It took fifteen minutes of trudging through deep snow, battling fierce winds, to make our way up Ulitsa Bol’shaya Dmitrovka. We turned left into Kamergerskiy Pereulok and walked a short distance to find the aptly named Theatre Apartments.

The apartment block is not what I expected. Many of the streets and apartment blocks we passed are run down or derelict. But this block is fairly modern, and from what we can see, it appears to be well maintained.

Anna read a notice-board beside the freshly painted front door. “Finn, this is a block of service apartments rented by the night, week or month!” she yelled against the swirling snow.

Without warning, she rang the doorbell. I walked a few feet away so I won’t be seen by whoever answers the door. When the door opened Anna stomped the snow off her furry boots and entered the building. I took cover from the snow and Arctic breezes in the doorway of the next building, and waited for Anna to reappear….

“I’ve met Mrs. Maksimovna and little Nakita Sylvina,” she announced. “They’re expecting me to book a studio apartment within the week. I didn’t say how long I’ll be staying.” She cocked her head to one side, with a cheeky
ain’t I the clever one
grin on her face, and asked, “Was that OK?”

———

I found Finn in the doorway of the building next to Theatre Apartments, sheltering from the snow and wind. He didn’t answer my question about booking a room, but I spotted a flicker of admiration. I began the conversation again with one of my cheeky statements that I know he loves – although he’d never say so.

“Finn, I’m not really sure if you appreciate how clever I am. Do you?”

“Grrmmph…what did you say love? I can’t hear you with the wind and this scarf wrapped around my head.”

“I was saying, if I move into Theatre Apartments I can talk to Galina Maksimovna about her daughter, and ask Nakita Sylvina about her mother. They believed me when I told them I’m from Murmansk. If I convince Galina Maksimovna that I’ve not been sent from some nosey government department to spy on her, I just know she’ll be delighted to show me photographs and talk about Nataliya Yelena. You know, mother and daughter, grandmamma and granddaughter….How could they not be proud of each other and want to share their pride?”

“Yes, they might want to talk about Nataliya. But we can’t forget that the Soviet authorities take a very dim view of anyone exporting one of their citizens without the necessary paperwork.”

We argued back and forth until, eventually, Finn agreed that I’ll get a room in Theatre Apartments tomorrow.

“OK, but we need to get you an address in Murmansk, and train ticket stubs from Murmansk to Moscow,” he smiled. “After that, there are your Swedish clothes to consider. We’ll have to go shopping at GUM…and hope we can make you look more like a hick from the sticks than a follower of fashion from Stockholm.”

I can’t help giggling when Finn suggests shopping for a peasant disguise.

“Finn…my sweetie…Murmansk, where I’m supposed to be from, is a shipping port just hours from Finland. You don’t seem to appreciate that people in Murmansk can buy all the Scandinavian fashions they want if they have the money. Still, I don’t mind going shopping for clothes I don’t need.”

When we got back to the hotel Finn asked me to ring our helpers. I rang the taxi driver and told him that we need ticket stubs from Murmansk to Moscow and an address in Murmansk, and that we’d like to go shopping in the morning. He said he’ll bring the Murmansk evidence when he collects us outside the hotel at ten thirty a.m.

LANTAU ISLAND

Earl just called
from Central Pier. He’s getting on the Sea Ranch motor launch in five minutes, and he wants to have ‘a private conversation’. I don’t know what this is all about, but him coming out here is a first…makes me kind of nervous. There better be no trouble with the duck farmers. The last thing I need right now is to have to go to Taiwan to fix a screw-up.

Nataliya’s out on the patio, and I need to get her to go out somewhere. She can meet Earl if it comes down to it, but I get the feeling that he wants to talk to me alone. Why the hell else would he be hauling himself out here?

“Nataliya, sweetheart…what’re you doin’?”

“Nothing my love. Are you hungry? Do you want your lunch?”

“No, no, that’s OK, thanks. It’s just my buddy Earl just called, and…he’s coming over…sorta uninvited. He says we have some business to discuss…if you get my drift.”

“Yes Gerry. I can…how do you Americans say it? Make myself
scarce
?”

“That’s my girl. Earl shouldn’t be here for too long. Give us about an hour. I should have him outa here by the time you make yourself
unscarce
.”

“
Unscarce
? My darling, do not confuse me with your poor American English! But of course, I will be gone long enough for you to discuss your business with Earl.”

“Thanks doll. Hey, you wanna call Rickie for a tennis lesson?”

“No, no tennis this afternoon, Rickie’s busy. I’ll go for a walk…it’s a clear day and I would like to see the monastery on the hill.”

“OK, but don’t go getting all religious on me.”

“Very funny Gerry.”

———

I showed Earl out to the patio and got us two glasses of cold beer.

“Thanks kid.”

“What’s with the
kid
Earl? What’s with all this…you coming over here outa the blue and I ain’t got a clue what about. Is there something I need to know? Should I be worried? Spit it out, now.”

“Yes, Vincenzo…you mind I don’t call you Gerry when there’s no one else around to hear? I prefer to call you Vincenzo, seeing as that’s the name your mother gave you, God rest her soul.”

“What’s going on here?!” I yelled, slamming my beer glass down on the patio table. “What are you saying Earl? IRS, FBI, CIA? Which goddamn one are you? Who sent you?”

“Vincenzo…Vincenzo…calm down. I’m sorry, there’s nothing to be upset over. You have nothing to be worried about. I didn’t mean…nothin’ like that see. I’m a friend of the family, your Uncle Angelo sent me.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about Earl. Angelo disowned me. Everybody knows that. So what gives?”

“Vincenzo, think about it for a minute. You think I’d approach any schmuck I don’t know from Adam and start talkin’ about my business? Huh? You think I’d then go into business with a guy I just met? That don’t make no sense, right?”

“Yeah…well…I suppose. But how come we never met back home in Brooklyn? And you close enough to know my mother…God rest her soul.”

“Yes, I knew your mother. She was a beautiful woman, and I did pay my respects at the funeral. Me and your Uncle Angelo, we go way back, but we don’t socialise too much because we need to be discreet. You understand kid?”

“Yes I fucking understand. So us meeting that first morning on the veranda at the Pousada de São Tiago was no accident. Jesus Christ!”

“No Vincenzo, it wasn’t. Before I go on, is it OK I call you Vincenzo?”

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me Vincenzo. But yeah…go ahead…just when we’re alone,
capisce
? Understand?”

“I ain’t Sicilian like you Vincenzo, but
capisce
, I know. Now, let me explain….Your Uncle Angelo sent me to make sure you were doin’ all right for yourself. You’re still his favourite nephew. He figured you got the smarts to do OK for yourself out here, and…well…he didn’t want the family to miss out on any of that. If you know what I mean.”

“Sure Earl, I know what you mean. Uncle Angelo figured I could make him a few bucks, even though I’m excommunicated….Like he’s the goddamn Pope, huh?”

“Naw…don’t take it like that kid. Angelo wanted someone on the inside of whatever you got going on, to make sure you’re OK…and if there’s money to be made, so be it. I came to you with a solid money-making proposition, didn’t I? See, Vincenzo, Angelo just wants to make sure you’re all right, to ease your way. And if he can make a nice profit at the same time, so be it. You can’t fault a man for that kid.”