“Fred, I want you to do me a favor.”
“Sure. If I’m ever in Chicago, will you fix my traffic tickets?”
“I’m serious.”
“Shoot.”
“I want you to check on a Russian who came over here six months ago.”
“Wait a minute. You’re talking CIA, aren’t you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know anyone at CIA.”
“Neither do I.”
“Fred, if you could do this for me, I would really be grateful.”
Tyler heard a sigh.
“Okay. What’s his name?”
“Dmitri Kaminsky.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I know someone at the Russian Embassy in D.C. I’ll see if he has any information on Kaminsky. If not, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
That evening, Tyler had dinner with his father. Subconsciously, Tyler had hoped that his father would have aged, would have become more fragile, more vulnerable with time. Instead, Harry Stanford looked hale and hearty, in his prime. He’s going to live forever, Tyler thought despairingly. He’ll outlive all of us.
The conversation at dinner was completely one-sided.
“I just closed a deal to buy the power company in Hawaii…”
“I’m flying over to Amsterdam next week to straighten out some GATT complications…”
“The secretary of state has invited me to accompany him to China…”
Tyler scarcely got in a word. At the end of the meal, his father rose. “How are you coming along with the servant problem?”
“I’m still checking them out, Father.”
“Well, don’t take forever,” his father growled, and walked out of the room.
The following morning, Tyler received a call from Fred Masterson at the FBI.
“Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“You picked a real beauty.”
“Oh?”
“Dmitri Kaminsky was a hit man for polgoprudnenskaya.”
“What the hell is that?”
“I’ll explain. There are eight criminal groups that have taken over in Moscow. They all fight among themselves, but the two most powerful groups are the chechens and the polgoprudnenskaya. Your friend Kaminsky worked for the second group. Three months ago, they handed him a contract on one of the leaders of the chechens. Instead of carrying out the contract, Kaminsky went to him to make a better deal. The polgoprudnenskaya found out about it and put out a contract on Kaminsky. Gangs have a quaint custom over there. First they chop off your fingers, then they let you bleed for a while, and then they shoot you.”
“My God!”
“Kaminsky got himself smuggled out of Russia, but they’re still looking for him. And looking hard.”
“That’s incredible,” Tyler said.
“That’s not all. He’s also wanted by the state police for a few murders. If you know where he is, they’d love to have that information.”
Tyler was thoughtful for a moment. He could not afford to get involved in this. It could mean giving testimony and wasting a lot of time.
“I have no idea. I was just checking him out for a Russian friend. Thanks, Fred.”
Tyler found Dmitri Kaminsky in his room, reading a hardcore porno magazine. Dmitri rose as Tyler walked into the room.
“I want you to pack your things and get out of here.”
Dmitri stared at him. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m giving you a choice. You’re either out of here by this afternoon, or I’ll tell the Russian police where you are.”
Dmitri’s face turned pale.
“Do you understand?”
“Da. I understand.”
Tyler went to see his father. He’s going to be pleased, he thought. I’ve done him a real favor. He found him in the study.
“I checked on all the staff,” Tyler said, “and…”
“I’m impressed. Did you find any little boys to take to bed with you?”
Tyler’s face turned red. “Father…”
“You’re a queer, Tyler, and you’ll always be a queer. I don’t know how the hell anything like you came from my loins. Go on back to Chicago with your gutter friends.”
Tyler stood there, fighting to control himself. “Right,” he said stiffly. He started to leave.
“Is there anything about the staff you found out that I should know?”
Tyler turned and studied his father a moment. “No,” he said slowly. “Nothing.”
When Tyler went to Kaminsky’s room, he was packing.
“I’m going,” Kaminsky said sullenly.
“Don’t. I’ve changed my mind.”