jack of diamonds

Chapter 17: EVEN SHROUDS HAVE NO LININGS

part iii

“This it?” Chernetsov asked, looking at the rust-stained hulk of the Minotaur sitting in its berth. It was dusk, so there was little more he could see other than a dark silhouette as he listened to the water slapping against the hull as it rested on the tide. Massive tie-up lines wrapped around squat bollards slick with seaweed, the lines running at sagging lengths to the deck above; he could hear the hull scraping up against the berth with every passing wave of the tide.

Not a sight to promote confidence, he thought, walking the length of the ship’s berth.

I shouldn’t even be here.

Every fibre in his being told him he had to get here first though, so he could claim the proverbial high ground—Cherenetsov had always considered information to be power, and going into any meeting blind was not his idea of grasping power—but there was that other part of his mind telling him he shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He’d tried to ignore it, but that had proven impossible. Of course, with Anatoly’s fall, his entire life was about to change—he supposed it was enough to say that his whole life was about to change—but he’d been at the hospital earlier, and he knew nothing was going to keep him from his son’s bedside. Still, there was a part of him that felt he was showing the enemy that his greatest weakness was his family.

But that’s the way it should be for everyone.

He nodded, and Kazakoff turned, looking up the length of the pier where an automobile waited in the distance. There was a light mist forming on the water, hovering, as if waiting for a breeze to rescue it, and Chernetsov thought he could understand that feeling. Kazakoff gave a quick wave of the torch he was holding, and the small group set off into the yard at a brisk pace. Chernetsov was grateful to have Kazakoff with him, willing to take the lead; he had experience in this sort of thing.

Does that make any difference now, he thought?

He couldn’t see any problems, and he thought having asked Kazakoff to negotiate with the foreigners was just common sense. Again, Kazakoff was qualified. Anatoly had no idea how far out of his depth, he’d been, which was why Kazakoff had been put in charge of stealing the guns in the first place. He seemed to have a knack for that sort of thing, Chernetsov admitted. He knew the ins and outs of dealing with police procedures, as well as Army Intelligence, the so-called Committee of Imperial Defence, and he supposed Kazakoff was the reason Anatoly had felt confident enough to pull off such an elaborate scheme in the first place.

And for just a moment—for a brief instant that was gone so fast it almost didn’t register—for the first time, Chernetsov asked himself what Kazakoff stood to gain if he betrayed the entire operation? Was he being too fearful, he wondered? Kazakoff had been with the family in one capacity or another, for more than ten years. Why would he think the man might choose to betray him now?

There has to be loyalty. I’m certain of it.

And what did he stand to gain? Chernetsov played the thought in his mind as they walked the silent pier. There were six of them. Three of them were Michael, Andrew and Anthony, his Footmen, and he wondered if Anatoly hired them for their ability, or simply the convenience?

“Have you ever killed a man, Anthony?” he asked.

“Aye, sir. In the War. Quite a few, I’d say. Gunner, sir, Royal Artillery.”

“A gunner,” he said softly, looking at Michael. “And you?”

“Rifle Man, First Class, sir.”

“Kingsman, sir. Duke of Lancaster Regiment,” Andrew called out.

“And you’re all aware of what may be involved?”

“We are, sir.”

“There could be gunplay.”

“Aye, that there might,” Anthony said softly.

Chernetsov sped up again, catching up to Kazakoff, thinking if he was going to be standing beside anyone, he was going to stand beside the man who was the most qualified among them. It all hinged on the Italians as far as Chernetsov could see. And how Anatoly had convinced them to defer payment for two days, he didn’t know. A part of him told him it was better not to know. But that was out of the question. Kazakoff would know the answer.

“How did Anatoly convince the Italians to defer payment?”

“Excuse me sir, they’re Sicilian. If you call them Italians, they may shoot you just for spite. The Corsicans are just as bad.”

“And Sabini’s Italian?”

“He’s as English as they come, sir.”

“I thought he was Italian.”

“No sir.”

As they approached the automobile three more men stepped out of the shadows. Chernetsov felt a sense of comfort at the sight of them. He had no idea of who they were, or where they came from. He told himself that’s how he liked it; anonymous help from out of town was always the best way to go. There were ways of approaching that sort of people, and Chernetsov was grateful Kazakoff knew those ways.

“When we get inside, Sabini’s man will have the dope in a trunk. The rest of his men will be out of sight, so only we’ll only have to deal with the one man. It’s probably best not to have any of Sabini’s Hammerboys in sight, anyway. The geek he sent is an outsider, but he’s known.”

“Known? And what does that mean?” Chernetsov asked.

“That means the Solomon Brothers have a history with the man. Whether it’s a good thing, or not, remains to be seen.”

“If it’s good?”

“Then we won’t have any problems.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then I suggest you stay close.”