“Because we came to the conclusion that sooner or later, Mr. Putin was going to get around to purifying us. We knew too much. We had family members—Aleksandr and Nicolai—who had, Vladimir Vladimirovich could reasonably argue, already defected.”
“I don’t think Vladimir Vladimirovich, if he could get his hands on us, would have actually fed us to starving dogs or thrown us off the Kremlin wall,” Aleksandr Pevsner said, “but keeping us on drugs in a mental hospital for the rest of our lives seemed a distinct possibility.”
“What did he have… does he have… against you?”
“You didn’t tell them, Charley?” Pevsner asked.
Castillo shook his head.
“Would you have told them if they asked?” Pevsner asked.
“If they had a good reason for wanting to know, I would have.”
“You really have the makings of a good Oprichnik,” Pevsner said. “Well, now there is that reason, so I will tell them.
“In the former Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, I was a polkovnik—colonel—in both the Soviet Air Force and the SVR. I was in charge of Aeroflot operations worldwide, both in a business sense and in the security aspect. These duties required me to travel all over the world, and to make the appropriate contacts. My cousin Nicolai was my deputy in both roles.
“When the USSR collapsed, the SVR—which is to say Vladimir Vladimirovich—learned the new government had the odd notion that the assets of the SVR should be turned over to the new democratic government.”
“What assets?” Torine asked.
“Would you believe tons of gold, Jake?” Castillo asked.
“Jesus Christ!” Torine said.
“Now that was blasphemous,” the archbishop said.
“I’m sorry, Your Eminence,” Torine said.
“You need Our Savior’s forgiveness, not mine.”
“Plus some tons of platinum,” Castillo said, chuckling. “Not to mention a lot of cash.”
Pevsner, his tone making it clear that he didn’t appreciate contributions from others while he was explaining things, then went on:
“As I was saying. When Vladimir Vladimirovich was faced with the problem of not wanting to turn over the SVR’s assets to the new democratic government, he turned to me. Nicolai and me. He correctly suspected that we would know how to get these assets out of Russia to places where they would be safe from the clutching hands of the new government.
“At about this time, Nicolai and I realized there were some aspects of capitalism we had not previously understood. As Ayn Rand so wisely put it—she was Russian, I presume you know—‘No man is entitled to the fruits of another man’s labor.’
“So Nicolai and I told Vladimir Vladimirovich we would be happy to accommodate him for a small fee. Five percent of the value of what we placed safely outside the former Soviet Union.”
“Jake,” Castillo said, “you’ve always been good at doing math in your head. Try this: In 1991, when the USSR collapsed, gold was about $375 an ounce. How much is five percent of two thousand pounds of gold, there being sixteen ounces of gold in each pound?”
“My Go— goodness,” Torine said.
“‘Goodness’ being a euphemism for God,” the archbishop said, “there are those, myself included, who consider the phrase blasphemous.”
“Again, I’m sorry, Your Eminence,” Torine said, then looked at Castillo. “And you said ‘tons of gold’? Plural?”
“So now you know,” Castillo said, “where ol’ Aleksandr got the money to buy Karin Hall, and all those cruise ships, and the Grand Cozumel Beach and Golf Resort, et cetera, et cetera.”
“We started out with a couple of old transports from surplus Air Force stock,” Pevsner said. “We flew surplus Soviet arms out of Russia, and luxury goods—Mercedes-Benz automobiles, Louis Vuitton luggage, that sort of thing—in.
“Mingled with the arms on the flights out of Moscow were fifty-five-gallon barrels of fuel. You would be surprised how much gold one can get into a fifty-five-gallon drum. That, unfortunately, is how I earned the reputation of being an arms dealer; but regretfully that was necessary as a cover. No one was going to believe I prospered so quickly providing antique samovars and Black Sea caviar to the world market.
“But turning to Vladimir Vladimirovich, who is really the subject of this meeting…”
“I’m so glad you remembered, my son,” the archbishop said.