The Troika Dolls - Miranda Darling [75]
‘A Ukrainian? What’s his real name?’
Maxim shook his head and drew heavily on his cigarette. ‘His name is Felix Dragoman.’
‘Thank you, Maxim,’ Stevie whispered, and began to reach for a towel. But Maxim didn’t move.
‘Because the dog Henning saved was my favourite—had it been any of my other dogs . . . I will give you some advice from the heart, Stevie Duveen. Stay away from this. Dragoman has very close ties to the siloviki.’
Stevie’s reaching hand froze in mid-air; she drew it cautiously back in. ‘I thought they were a myth, a conspiracy theory touted by fugitive oligarchs in London.’
‘Ha! So you have heard of the siloviki.’
Stevie paused; this was a dangerous subject. ‘The story I know is of a secret power circle within the Kremlin dedicated to keeping the president and his men in power. As I understand it, the siloviki are basically waging a black-ops war against all dissent and opposition. Some of the members are ex-KGB and they’re rumoured to have been behind some of the wilder poisoning and assassination cases abroad, as well as numerous deaths and disappearances back home.’
‘Have you noticed the shift, Stevie Duveen?’ Maxim lifted his goggles and stared right at her. ‘There have always been too many homicides in the new Russia, only today, the guns are being pointed more and more at high-profile journalists, politicians and bankers—people of strategic importance.’
‘You think the siloviki are behind the new wave of violence?’
Maxim shrugged. ‘I can only tell you it is not the mafiya making the orders. The government has re-empowered the security service to get the gangs under control. The Federalnaya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti— FSB—has been flooded with cash; senior members of the intelligence community have been placed in positions of great power, in business, the Duma, other political posts. The president knows he can count on their loyalty, and they will support his use of strength—what is the West calling it now? Democratic fascism?—to pull our country together.’
Stevie had seen the homicide figures and Maxim’s theory would explain the shift in targets. While organised crime gangs killed to protect their turf, advance their business, or for revenge, the FSB were motivated by ideology. They had the interest of the Russian state, and the politicians they served, firmly at the forefront of their minds.
Maxim stubbed out his cigarette and reached for the Kalashnikov. ‘The murders are political.’
Stevie’s eyes blazed now, as she put the pieces together in her mind. ‘And the siloviki fund their operations by joint ventures with organised crime—meaning the funds to wage their secret war are completely invisible and deniable. Is this how Felix Dragoman is involved?’
Maxim downed his glass and nodded. ‘Dragoman makes “gifts” in return for political favours—blocking particular government legislation, pushing arms contracts his way, turning a blind eye to triple billing on these contracts. He in turn makes the siloviki directors of his companies, or consultants, and pays them exorbitantly. The right hand washes the left and everyone is clean.’
‘And you say this circle of siloviki really exists?’ Stevie’s green eyes were wide. ‘It’s always fervently denied whenever anyone dares to bring it up.’
‘Denied probably by the very people who belong to it. It exists—I know—and it is very powerful. The siloviki are dangerous.’
Stevie sat back. ‘Coming from you, that’s . . .’
‘Stevie Duveen, I have nothing on their ruthlessness and power.’
Stevie chanced a hand on Maxim’s arm. ‘Please, Maxim, where can I find Felix Dragoman?’
But Maxim shook his head and held up his hand. The conversation was over, the debt to Henning had been repaid.
Safely back in her hotel, Stevie sent a message to Josie at Hazard: Who is Felix Dragoman, The Man from Chernobyl? Then sat in the lobby and waited anxiously for Henning. When he finally appeared, Stevie’s stomach turned over: a huge red-and-purple welt throbbed on the side of his face, disfiguring his right eye. It was caked with dried blood.