Blackmail

10 ZAPORIZHIA, UKRAINE

From across the crowded street, Randy Guimond watched a dark gray sedan grind to a halt along Lenin Avenue, stopping in front of Korchma, a quaint restaurant specializing in traditional Ukrainian food. From the sedan stepped a middle-aged man, who, after a quick glance in both directions, entered the small restaurant. The man had a lot to learn about surveillance, Guimond thought, although his own knowledge of the profession would have been a surprise to his co-workers at Metinvest, an international Ukrainian mining and steel holding company; Guimond’s public identity and employment with Metinvest was a front. His real employer was the SVR, better known as the successor to the KGB.

Guimond waited a moment, then returned the carved wooden jewelry box he’d been examining to a disappointed shopkeeper and headed across the street. Upon entering the restaurant, he paused briefly, taking everything in: staff dressed in authentic Ukrainian clothing, four couples to the right, a family of six to the left. The interior of the restaurant was decorated with trinkets and heirlooms reminiscent of a rural Ukrainian village, but what interested Guimond most was a small room in the back, closed off from the rest of the restaurant. He nodded to the hostess as he made his way to the door, knocked, then entered.

Although the windowless room could seat twenty guests, only Alex Rudenko was present, sitting at a table with a menu in his hands. Guimond took a seat opposite him as a waiter entered, then departed after both men placed their order. When the door shut, Guimond turned to business.

“We’ve been given authorization to proceed,” he said.

Rudenko, a Ukrainian of Russian descent, shot an uneasy look toward the door, then focused on Guimond. “I cannot agree without assurance.”

“You won’t be killed,” Guimond replied, failing to divulge the most important detail. “However, the others on the podium…” He trailed off before continuing, “There will be several deaths. This we cannot avoid. I suggest you carefully consider who will accompany you.”

Rudenko nodded. “I have already decided.”

“Good, then,” Guimond said, pushing forward even though Rudenko hadn’t formally agreed. He was part of the conspiracy now. “We need the event scheduled quickly. Well publicized; a major announcement forthcoming, perhaps.”

“Yes, yes,” Rudenko replied. “I have a plan. Covered by all the media outlets.” Rudenko fell silent as the door opened and the waiter entered, depositing their drinks before exiting.

“The second event?” Guimond inquired.

“Not yet planned,” Rudenko said, “but it won’t be a problem. It’ll be a large gathering, well attended by the media again.”

“Excellent,” Guimond said.

Rudenko asked, “How do I inform you once the events are scheduled?”

“It won’t be necessary. We’ll be following your activity. It would be best if there was no further contact between us.” Guimond withdrew his wallet, tossing one hundred hryvnia onto the table as he stood. “This should cover my meal.”

Rudenko grabbed Guimond’s wrist. “My reward? Has the Kremlin agreed?”

“Yes, Alex. The Kremlin has agreed to your request.”

A smile creased Rudenko’s face as he released his acquaintance’s wrist.

Guimond returned a warm smile as he slid his wallet into his pocket. The required events had been arranged. Whether Rudenko fully understood what would transpire wasn’t his concern.