The Metronome (The Counterpoint Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  “Really? Why?”

  “Going after terror suspects.”

  “Well, that makes sense. Come on, Jack, we are the good guys.”

  “Of course we are. You are a good person, and our waiter is a good guy, and I am mostly good, although my wife sometimes disagrees. Most of the Russians and Chinese and French are good people. Many of the Germans under the Nazis were good, too. Most people are too busy earning a living and taking care of their families to worry about their government’s activities – until it’s too late. Pavel, I think you are missing my point.”

  “What is your point?”

  Jack rattles ice cubes, sips his drink.

  “How do I explain? Only a short time ago, our Secretary of State was telling the whole world that we know for sure that Iraq has weapons of mass destruction. We are in the middle of a hugely expensive war, thousands of lives have been lost already, but we have never found the weapons. You can’t just say ‘we are good’ and stop questioning. You can’t continue giving the state ever increasing power without reservations. It is precisely when we believe ourselves to be incapable of evil that we become most vulnerable to its power. Covertly, we just took for ourselves a major new capability, and we ask the world to just trust us with it. You can’t debate the morality of something that’s shrouded in secrecy. If another country did this and told us to trust them, how would we feel about it? There is a price to everything.”

  He stares at the river, then adds quietly, “The problem is not in getting the state more power, the problem is how to prevent the state from abusing the power it already has. Only too often secrecy becomes the enemy of freedom. The line between protecting people from real enemies and protecting the state from its people is too easy to cross. What will come next? Manipulating markets? Manipulating public opinion ‘for a good cause’? Asking us to give up a bit of our privacy so that they can better defend us? I am afraid that it’s the very idea of America that’s being endangered here – and by the same people that are trying to protect her.”

  I am silent, thinking of Voronezhsky’s document. He proved to be correct on this prediction as well.

  “So, are you going to tell me about your trip?” asks Jack.

  I tell him about my father and about Andrei. He knows I am holding out on him but does not probe.

  I call Jennifer as I walk back. She is worried about me, and I reassure her that everything is fine and I am safe and sound in New York.

  “Have you talked to your grandfather about changing your major?” I ask.

  “Yes, both mom and I did.”

  “And?”

  “He won’t go along with it.”

  We are about to hang up when she says in a small voice, “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think you and mom will ever get back together?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. Perhaps. We need some time to figure things out.”

  “OK.” I hear her cry.

  How do you explain that even when you love each other, all the misunderstandings, hurts and lies of many years crust over you like an impenetrable armor? I did not understand it in my twenties and I can’t explain it in my forties.

  I hear voices in the background, then Jennifer comes back. “Dad, mom heard us talking. She wants to talk to you.”

  “Of course.”

  Karen comes on the line. “Hi, Pavel.”

  “Hi.”

  “I wanted to talk to you and I overheard Jennifer…is now a good time?”

  “Yes.” As much as I expected this, I feel that I have to sit down. There is a small park with a few benches across the street, so I head there.

  “Why is it so noisy?”

  “I am on the street in New York.”

  Karen hesitates, then plunges in. “Pavel, I think we have to accept that this separation is permanent.”

  “Is your father pressuring you?”

  “Somewhat,” she admits. “He wants me in California, close to the kids. Simon really needs me; I worry about our son.”

  I am silent.

  Karen starts sobbing. “You know that I love you, Pavel. But I can’t start over. I need security.”

  “I know, baby. I am sorry, I screwed up.”

  “Pavel, do you have a poem for me? Like the first time we met? A brilliant physicist that reads poetry?”

  I feel mostly sadness, not the overwhelming sense of loss that I had when she left. Now, I understand Karen’s language: this ‘love’ she speaks of is a lingering feeling about the past, heartbreak of what was and what could have been but no longer exists. Twenty years ago we started with Pushkin; it seems appropriate to end with another bad translation of mine:

  I loved you.

  The embers of that love are glowing still.

  But don’t let it trouble you,

  I don’t wish to bring you sadness.

  I loved you quietly, hopelessly,

  Consumed with jealousy and shyness.

  My love was so true and tender,

  I hope you’ll be loved this way again.

  We are both crying, and passersby give me funny looks. I don’t care.

  I rush to the computer when I get home and log into my bank account. Zorkin has delivered, the money has arrived. Not available yet, but that’s OK.

  Sarah is excited to describe her interview, whom she met, the location, the questions. Looks like they may offer her a job. I am happy for Sarah, but my anxiety must be showing. When she asks, I tell her about my friend Jack being fired. I don’t mention the meeting with Voron or the money.

  Tuesday, June 27

  I wake up agitated, go through my routine while inside I am dying to meet them face-to-face. I head to the Carlyle, a luxury Upper East Side hotel a block off Central Park. There is a message for me at the front desk: small envelope, a piece of paper with the room number inside.

  I come to the door, take a deep breath, and knock. The door is opened almost immediately, but I don’t see anyone until I take a couple of steps inside. I recognize both men in the room: One is Greg Voron looking just like his photos in the magazine article and in the graduation book, the other is the man I’ve met as investigator Pemin. Voron is sitting on the couch while Pemin stands at the window looking straight at me. The door closes, and I see a third person, the one that introduced himself as Petr Saratov at the cemetery and later attacked me in Moscow.

  Saratov is the first one to speak. “Mr. Rostin, a small formality.”

  He extends toward me a hand holding a metal wand. I take an instinctive step back.

  Pemin raises his hands palms out toward me. “Pavel, it’s a wire detector, nothing more. We were hoping for a private discussion, without recordings.”

  I give Saratov a dirty look but allow him to buzz me with the wand. He nods, satisfied that I carry no listening or recording devices.

  Pemin continues, clearly he is the one calling the shots. “Allow me to introduce people here. You’ve already met Petr. And with the research you’ve done, you must know that this is Greg Voron, formerly Grisha Voronezhsky. Last time you saw me, I introduced myself as investigator Nikolai Pemin. I apologize for that small but necessary deception. I am Nikolai Nemzhov, colonel in the GRU. Please come into the room, make yourself comfortable. We took the liberty of ordering food and drinks.”

  The suite is not large but nicely appointed. Around a low coffee table, there is a couch where Voronezhsky positioned himself, and three large comfortable chairs. To the side, there is a table with coffee, sodas and water, and an assortment of expensive-looking food – caviar, salmon, meats, fruits. I walk over to the table and pour myself a cup of coffee. I wonder why Nemzhov so quickly showed his cards regarding his real name.

  As I sit in one of the chairs facing Voronezhsky, he smiles and says, “So, did you like my thesis?”

  “You know?” I can’t quite contain my surprise. “Was the document real?” I am feeling like an angry marionette whose strings have been pulled one time too many.
>
  “It is real.” Nemzhov steps away from the window, sits in a chair across from me, leans forward and continues respectfully. “It’s an important document, and we decided that it’s better for you to have it. But before we go any further, I want to say how sorry I am about your father. I swear he did not die by our hand; he killed himself.”

  “Then why did you imply that I am a suspect in his death?”

  “I apologize. It was a complex situation. In a sense, we were testing you and keeping you off balance.”

  “Why did he kill himself?”

  Nemzhov rubs his temple. “I actually would like to ask you the same question. He must have been thinking of protecting you, but I am not completely sure.”

  “What was in the envelope that he…” I point to Saratov lurking by the food table. “…took away from me in Moscow?”

  Nemzhov hesitates. “Oh, what a complex web we weave…Pavel, I wish I had a simple way of explaining, but we have multiple threads intersecting, operations that have gone wrong… Why don’t we start at the beginning? Or, at least one of the beginnings. Perhaps Grisha’s thesis would be a good starting point. Pavel, I promise we’ll get to your question – but why do you think we wanted you to have this document?”

  “I presume it explains the real role of Voronezhsky here…” I nod at the man. “…the Eastern Cottonwood fund, the Birch Grove, and many other financial companies that come up in following the trail of the Treasure Island Partnership that invested in our little fund. I also think that’s why you went after Streltsova, she started uncovering some of the information.”

  “Very good, Pavel.” Voronezhsky nods, smiling.

  “You must have been influenced by the 1998 events in Moscow?” I ask him.

  The smile disappears. “Of course I was! My father killed himself. I blamed Americans for his death. They brought us Brockton and the likes of him. But the paper was not written in revenge for my father; the key parts were finished in late 1997. You know what really made me angry?”

  Voronezhsky pauses until I shake my head to show that I don’t know.

  “It’s the hypocrisy, the constant ‘we are the good guys’ propaganda when in reality it’s just calculated, cynical behavior to perpetuate American power by any means possible. At least Wolfowitz and Brzezinski were open about it.”

  “Pavel, back in 1998 there was still an internal struggle going on in Russia between those that wanted to align with the U.S. and those believing that the U.S. remained the enemy,” chimes in Nemzhov. “I was in the second group, and Grisha’s document was invaluable in both crystallizing our argument and creating a roadmap for the ongoing war. Combined with the mismanagement and predatory oligarchy brought upon Russia by the more U.S.-aligned group, this allowed us to take over, install a president from our ranks, get rid of the worst of the oligarchs.”

  I can’t quite hide my incredulity. “Are you saying that Voronezhsky’s document changed Russia’s policy?”

  “Not quite, not quite.” Nemzhov stops me with a raised hand. “Grisha did an admirable job in gathering the information, presenting arguments, even making predictions – many of which came true. But in reality, it was the U.S. that did it. Brzezinski’s book that came out in 1997 confirmed to us that the U.S. would aggressively oppose Russia and try to take over Eastern Europe and even the Ukraine. I think the history of mankind is a tragedy of self-fulfilling prophecies. The U.S. continued to see Russia as an enemy to be contained, and that’s exactly where we ended up.”

  “Really? Are you telling me that the U.S. and Russia would have been friends otherwise?”

  “No, Pavel, that’s not what I am saying either.” Nemzhov is very patient with me. “I don’t know whether the U.S. and Russia could have become friends. I can’t tell you what would have been in an alternate history. In this history, the one we are living, the U.S. embraced doctrines where Russia is an enemy. In this history, the U.S. broke the promises made to the previous Russian government and encircled us with NATO bases right on our borders. Look at the facts: We have practically no troops abroad, while U.S. soldiers surround us on all sides. In this history, the U.S. promoted principles of unilateralism and pre-emptive intervention. Do you need more proof than the invasion of Iraq despite a complete lack of UN support? Yes, we Russians are paranoid, but then history has taught us to be. How many horrific invasions have we suffered over the years? So when the U.S. self-declared itself an imperial power that alone decides what’s right and what’s wrong, the cast was set.”

  Nemzhov gets up and pours himself a glass of water.

  “Pavel, I am sorry I have gotten somewhat excited here,” he continues. “Somewhere deep inside, I wish it was not this way. We’ve been humiliated. For two centuries, the U.S. lived by the Monroe Doctrine, declaring that moving foreign troops anywhere near the U.S. would be an act of aggression. How do you think the Americans would have reacted had we put military bases in Canada and Mexico? If the U.S. government tried to understand the Russian perspective, perhaps things could have been different. Instead, they kicked us while we were down. And they openly stated that they intend to keep us down. That’s why we are enemies. They are anti-Russian, so I am anti-American. Americans think that in aligning with China we are being a jilted lover, trying to get the U.S. back to the altar. That’s not the case at all. We are weaker, but we have our weapons. That was the main achievement of Grisha’s thesis: to focus on the American vulnerabilities, their weak points, to help us develop a plan.”

  “And who is ‘us’?”

  “You know that St. Petersburg State University is now the ideological brain center of our government. Much of the political elite, starting with Putin, were educated here. We get this cross-pollination of knowledge and ideas.”

  “Was the Palmer testimony correct?” I ask.

  “I told you he’d figure this out!” Voronezhsky beams, as if I am his pupil that solved a difficult problem.

  “Yes, Grisha, you were right,” Nemzhov compliments him. “Palmer was largely on point, but he significantly underestimated the resources involved.”

  Now this shocks me because the amounts mentioned were in hundreds of billions.

  “Underestimated?”

  “Yes…” Voronezhsky jumps up in excitement. “…over a trillion dollars have been transferred between 1986 and 1991. Real money, eh?”

  Transferred? They were stolen from the people of Russia! I keep my mouth shut.

  “The money was quite significant,” confirms Nemzhov. “And kept hidden away, with very few people having any knowledge of it. Remember, originally it was intended to provide a safety net for the high-ranking members of the Party and security services. But by 1999, as we came back to power, a new line of thinking emerged: This money could be pressed into the service of our national interests, to become our secret weapon in a guerilla financial warfare.”

  “All these funds with tree-sounding names, the Birch Grove, Kedr, others – they all come from the original movement of assets out of the Soviet Union in the late 80s?” I state more than ask.

  Chimes in Voronezhsky, “Yes. They’ve been moved and recycled many times so the origin can no longer be found. But we became a lot more aggressive in utilizing these resources. We set up new financial companies, we invested in critical technology areas, we have taken advantage of the opportunities that the U.S. financial system provided to increase our leverage. We are using America’s financialization to our benefit.”

  “So the mortgage lender, the home builder…all these companies you bought—”

  I don’t have a chance to finish, Voronezhsky enthusiastically takes over. “Is this not a beautiful thing? We keep making these real estate loans as fast as we can and sell them to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. We don’t care that the supposed buyers never pay a penny; all the risks go to the U.S. taxpayers. We launder some of the money back into Russia by paying above-market prices for timber and other construction materials. When we sell a house for a million, most of that
million ends up laundered away, and the U.S. holds the bag of a useless mortgage. And then we make even more on packaging these loans into these wonderful ‘synthetic’ debt obligations that Wall Street invented…”

  “But the fraud will come out! You are selling houses that have not been built yet to people that never saw them!”

  Voronezhsky laughs. “What do we care? When it comes out, perhaps some low-level locals will end up going to jail. Nobody above will be touched. Wall Street is making billions and transferring the costs to the taxpayers; do you think anything will happen to them? Meanwhile, we made over $10 billion last year just with the companies you mentioned. And there are quite a few other such operations that we are running.”

  Nemzhov laughs and waves his arms to get our attention. “OK, we wanted Pavel to get the larger context here, but you two financial wizards are putting Petr and me to sleep. While Grisha is quite excited about the money-making process, this is simply manufacturing more weapons for the coming war. It’s just that the weapons are numbers in bank accounts, not tanks or airplanes.”

  “You are not going to bring the U.S. down with your little operation!” I blurt out.

  “Of course not. We are just profiting, same as big U.S. banks, positioning ourselves for the future. Money corrupts, and we want to help the process. Pavel, the bottom line is, we are aggressively building and deploying our financial resources for the eventual end game. But we have more ground to cover, and I am sure you have other questions as well.”

  I go get a bottle of water, trying to gather my thoughts. I attempt to change the subject and take Nemzhov by surprise. “Who was the intended target in Santa Barbara – Brockton or Streltsova?”

  Nemzhov does not skip a beat. “What do you think, Pavel?”

  He is smiling as I find myself on the spot. I take a deep breath, I badly want to hit Nemzhov and wipe the annoying little smile off his face.