Page 22 of The Devil's Ransom

Branko said, “Wow. That must have been some trip.” He dug into his jacket, pulled out a piece of paper, and wrote something down, saying, “This is my email. I’m not kidding. You give me a ring and I’ll show you the town.”

He passed across the slip of paper, and they both heard the clacking of heels down the hall, the sound reverberating against the colossal walls, growing louder. Branko put a finger to his lips, then leaned back and played with his phone. The Russian with the scar appeared and pointed to Ahmad, then waved him forward. Branko looked up for a second, but immediately returned to his screen.

Ahmad followed the Russian down the hallway, passing through an enormous great room with a fireplace the size of a Volkswagen Beetle, and into a smaller study. Behind an ornate desk, the view through the window beyond something from a postcard, sat Andrei Obrenovic. He was a little older, but the same man Ahmad had met in Kabul years before.

If Ahmad could describe Andrei in one word, it would be “oligarch,” one of the famed Russians who seemed to have absolute power without needing a government position, and he looked thepart. A balding head of gray hair, corpulent cheeks saddled with a graying goatee, and a waistline that stretched out enough to make his legs look sticklike, he’d made his money in the burgeoning tech sector just as the Soviet Union was collapsing. Granted multiple licenses by President Putin in 1999, he’d expanded his empire just as other Russians had in the oil, construction, or defense sectors, until the termoligarchhad become almost a definition in and of itself to describe a Russian man of significant means.

At the time, Ahmad knew Andrei was intimately wedded to the infamous Russian Internet Research Agency and its “troll farms” under the sway of the GRU, but that hadn’t stopped President Ghani from asking him for digital support in Afghanistan.

Andrei had offered a suite of banking software solutions that would streamline the payroll for all personnel working within the Afghanistan government, and President Ghani had pushed hard to implement the software in an effort to stem the massive graft of the Afghanistan system. Because of Andrei’s connection to Russian GRU, Ahmad, as the national security advisor, had been tasked as the intermediary.

The deal had never been consummated, primarily because of a little bit of a bait and switch on the oligarch’s part. It turned out Andrei wanted more than simply money. He had plenty of that. A collector of antiques, he wanted some pieces from the Bactrian Treasure, a request that was clearly off the table for President Ghani.

But not for Ahmad, now that Afghanistan had fallen and Ghani had fled.

Andrei stood when Ahmad entered the room, holding his arms wide and saying, “Welcome, welcome.”

The scar-faced Russian took a position next to the door, handsclasped in front of his waist in a position of attention. Ahmad hesitantly circled the chair in front of the desk and was embraced in a bear hug for a moment, then Andrei placed his hands on his shoulders and looked him up and down, saying, “That must have been some trip out of Afghanistan. You look a little worse for wear.”

Ahmad was still wearing the suit he’d worn on his last day of work. The tie was gone, and the shirt and jacket were becoming threadbare, with glaring sweat stains on his back and under his arms.

He smiled weakly and said, “It was a quick trip, as you can imagine.”

“We’ll get you fixed up. Nikita here will take you into town for some proper clothes.”

Ahmad thought,Sohe does have a name,but said nothing, wondering if the conversation was a trick.

Andrei said, “So, besides the clothes, what can I do for you?”

Ahmad wasn’t sure how to answer. They already had the treasure, meaning he had no leverage. He decided to broach that very thing, just to see where it would go. “I remembered you wanted pieces of the Bactrian Treasure for your collection. I brought most of it.”

“Yes, yes. I appreciate it. It is splendid.”

The conversation died into an uncomfortable silence. Ahmad finally managed to splutter, “I was hoping a donation for my efforts would be in order.”

“So you don’t feel my helping you flee was donation enough? If it weren’t for me, you’d still be in Tajikistan, running for your life like that friend you had with you.”

Ahmad said nothing. Andrei continued, circling back aroundthe desk as he spoke, finally sitting again. “But I can see you need a stake to continue on your journey. Clothes alone won’t be enough.” He held up a finger, saying, “Understand, the price I was offering last year in the form of digital infrastructure is no longer on the table, but I can get you some seed money for a new start. Where is it you’d like to go?”

Ahmad realized that was the best he was going to get, and considered himself lucky that the man didn’t simply kill him. He said, “The United States embassy. Take me to the embassy so I can get a visa for onward travel.”

Andrei clucked his tongue, blew out a breath, then said, “That may be difficult. Would you be willing instead to travel to Russia?”

Feeling the sweat beginning to flow under his arms, visions of Soviet gulags flitting in his head, he said, “That is very kind, but the Americans will provide me free passage to the United States because of my position.”

Andrei laughed and said, “So you want to be an Uber driver or run a McDonald’s? Is that it?”

When Ahmad remained silent, Andrei said, “Unfortunately, there is no U.S. embassy here in Liechtenstein, and even if there was, I wouldn’t allow you to go there for obvious reasons. In no way can I be connected to you in Liechtenstein. I can, however, take you back to Zurich, where you’ll have to do the rest by yourself. I believe there is a U.S. consulate in Zurich.”

Ahmad nodded again and said, “That would be fine. Thank you.”

Andrei left his seat, came around the desk, and leaned into his face, his expression turning cruel. He was so close that Ahmad smelled the garlic on his breath and saw the red-lined veins in his eyes.

He said, “But you understand that the method you used to get to Europe is a little delicate—along with the payment for that travel. Correct?”

Ahmad nodded his head furiously, saying, “Of course. I don’t want anyone to know I stole a cultural treasure from Afghanistan any more than you want anyone to know you have it.”

Andrei’s visage relaxed again, a false smile appearing. “Good, good. Return to the foyer and wait for Nikita. I have other business to conduct.”

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