Zdrok went inside Zabat's, bought an onion bagel with cream cheese, a coffee--black--and paid for it with a five-franc bill. He told the server to keep the change. He did this often and had a reputation in the bakery of being the "generous man in the Brioni suit."
Zdrok returned to the bank, entered the lobby, and nodded to the security guard standing just inside the door. A banking customer was already at the teller window; two more were in the private safe-deposit rooms. As one of the many private financial institutions in Zurich offering numbered bank accounts, the Swiss-Russian, as Zdrok referred to it for short, dealt only with wealthy international clients. In a city where money was the lifeblood, the Swiss-Russian was well on its way to becoming a major player in worldwide finance. The beauty of it was that the bank was small and not very well known. The authorities paid little attention to it. Zdrok made sure that all of its legitimate business was aboveboard and clean so that trouble never came knocking. He didn't want too much circumspection into what really went on behind the scenes of the Swiss-Russian International Mercantile Bank.
Zdrok unlocked the gate that led to the "employees only" area, glanced back into the lobby to make sure nothing was amiss, then entered the conference room, where his three associates were waiting. Not surprisingly, they had also purchased bagels or muffins with coffee prior to attending the meeting.
Anton Antipov was fifty-two years old. A former colonel with the KGB, he had formed a partnership with Andrei Zdrok shortly after the fall of the Soviet Union. He was tall, imposing, and had a reputation for being a sadist. Zdrok had never witnessed anything supporting this rumor, but he had heard plenty of stories. Antipov had been in charge of one of the gulags outside of Moscow during the eighties, and he had connections throughout the underworld and black markets in Russia and Eastern Europe. As Zdrok's right-hand man, Anton Antipov merely had to invoke his name in some circles to elicit respect--or fear.
Oskar Herzog was fifty-three years old and hailed from the former German Democratic Republic. At the time of his country's reunification, Herzog was one of the most dreaded prosecutors in East Berlin. He put away for life or sentenced to death hundreds of alleged political criminals. Associates called him "The Hatchet" behind his back until one day when he heard the nickname. Instead of becoming angry, he embraced the moniker and encouraged others to perpetuate it. He figured it might help instill apprehension in his enemies.
General Stefan Prokofiev was fifty-five years old and claimed to be related to the famous Russian composer that bore his surname. As a high-ranking officer in the Russian army, Prokofiev spent most of his time in Moscow. He made the trip to Zurich only when Zdrok called a meeting, which wasn't very often. Prokofiev had been one of the top military advisers in charge of weapons development while his country was still under Soviet rule. In 1990 he was promoted to general and became the liaison between the military and the physicists who designed and created Russia's modern armaments. Prokofiev had a reputation of being a communist hard-liner, although he had no qualms at all about making the equivalent of forty million U.S. dollars a year in Zdrok's organization.
Andrei Zdrok, the undisputed leader of the quartet, was fifty-seven years old, had the looks of a former matinee idol in his distinguished retirement years, dressed as if he were the richest man in the world, and had an IQ of 174. Originally from Georgia, Zdrok grew up in a family that ran banks for the Soviet Union. He took over the business when he was in his twenties and quickly learned how to make money for his personal use while serving the tenets of the Communist party. By the time the USSR fell, Andrei Zdrok was one of the ten wealthiest men in Russia. He immigrated to Switzerland, set up the Swiss-Russian, brought in as partners the three other men in the room, and proceeded to double his fortune every year. Zdrok had an insatiable appetite for money, and he always managed to find ways to make it--no matter how many lives might eventually be lost as a result of his business.
These four men were the brains behind the Shop.
In Zurich business meetings always began on time. Zdrok noted that he still had two minutes. He sat at the table, took the bagel out of the bag, and placed it in front of him. The other men watched without saying a word. They had already finished their breakfasts.
Zdrok took a bite, savored the flavors that bombarded his taste buds, and then washed it down with a sip of hot coffee.
At ten o'clock sharp he said, "Good morning."
The others mumbled a greeting in return.
"Gentlemen," Zdrok said, "our first order of business is the shipment that was lost in Iraq. What the hell happened?" He looked at Antipov and raised his eyebrows.
Antipov cleared his throat and said, "The Iraqi police stopped the transport and confiscated everything. Stingers and all. It was extremely lucky on their part, most unfortunate on ours."
"Where did it happen?"
"The town of Arbil. It was on the way to Mosul, where our customer would have then distributed the goods as usual."
"Have we heard from the customer?" Zdrok asked.
Herzog answered, "Yes, and he is very upset. He's asking for a refund."
Zdrok rolled his eyes. "Is he mad? He knew the terms. The shipment is under our protection up to a point, but once it's in the customer's territory and in hishands, then it's his responsibility."
"I told him that," Herzog said. "He isn't happy."
Zdrok looked at General Prokofiev and asked, "What do you plan to do about this?"
Prokofiev shrugged. "An offer for a replacement shipment has been made. We can get the arms together in a few days. Because he and his organization have been good customers, I said he could pay upon receipt. He'll have to pay twice, but at least he'll get the goods."
"Did he take the offer?"
"Yes."
Zdrok looked at Herzog. "Make sure you follow up about the payment as soon as the shipment is in his hands."
Herzog nodded and made a note in a pad he had in front of him. "The customer did say that he's going to attempt to retrieve the shipment. His people know where the police are keeping it."
Zdrok said, "Well, that's their business. If they want to try it, they're certainly welcome to do so. Next item. Operation Sweep."
Antipov cleared his throat again and said, "The information on the man known as Rick Benton proved to be reliable, as you are aware. The intelligence we received may prove fruitful in unmasking more American agents. We have several names. Now all we have to do is match each name with the correct person. It shouldn't take too long. We have operatives working on this as we speak."
Zdrok nodded in approval. "That is good news. The Americans have been hovering much too closely to our organization. We must continue to weed out and eliminate their agents. The one that hit us in Macau damaged our Far East operations a great deal. It will take months, maybe years, to reestablish our business in that region. I especially want thatman."
"Vlad and Yuri are on it," Antipov said. "We'll get him and the others, but keep in mind that it's not easy. These agents are called 'Splinter Cells' because they work alone and undercover. Their own government pretends they don't exist. We've taken out two of them so far. We're nearing confirmation on the identity of another one in Israel, and we're getting close to one in America."