The Truant Officer v5 Read online

  “I save it for a rainy day,” he said, his face turning serious. “Your money helped me gain office, Viktor, but now I pay for it every day.”

  The perception within Israel was that Kessler was willing to harbor a fugitive like Sarvydas because of his large campaign contributions. Despite Israel’s long history of not extraditing citizens, the polls indicated that the overwhelming majority wanted to make an exception for Viktor Sarvydas. And that was before today’s video-shoot at the Western Wall had infuriated the largest religious sect in the country.

  But what they didn’t know was that Kessler’s support went far beyond money. Their bond was more than brothers—they were vors.

  Viktor’s black market business that arose from his work on the cruise ship as a teen, eventually ticketed him to a Siberian gulag, when he refused to give the Soviets their cut. His time in the gulag was a dehumanizing experience, but also the most important event of his life. It was there he met his future partners in crime, Ati Kessler and Karl Zellen. They were anointed as vors—thieves-in-law—an elite group of Russian criminals whose bond would never be broken, even by bloodshed.

  Zellen was a fervent anti-communist journalist and writer, beaten and thrown into the gulag for his views. He was also a man of rarely matched intelligence. Years later, when Viktor gained power in Brighton Beach, he brought Zellen to the United States. With Viktor’s street-smarts and visionary business savvy, combined with Zellen’s behind-the-scenes strategic plotting, they took the Russian Mafiya from a bunch of local extortionists to an unmatched worldwide syndicate. This included the infiltration into Wall Street, and the legendary gas tax scam in which they controlled most of the flow of gasoline throughout the northeast corridor of North America. And while Viktor was the flamboyant face of the organization, Zellen lived below the radar in Long Island with his wife Paula, and his children. He was a known as a quiet businessman and respected member of the community who avoided headlines. That was, until he was murdered.

  Kessler was born in the Soviet Union, but his family moved to Israel when he was a small child. His Russian heritage, and great distaste for communism, made him the perfect recruit for Mossad, who sent him to spy behind the Iron Curtain. A dangerous choice of profession that landed him in the harshest gulag in Siberia, upon his capture. His well-publicized plight made him a national hero in his home country, where he returned upon his release. On the surface, he dedicated himself to the Israeli intelligence agency and eventually became its leader.

  But as he moved up the ranks of Israeli intelligence, he never forgot his fellow vors. Using Kessler’s underworld contacts and influence, Sarvydas was able to infiltrate everything from diamond mining in Sierra Leone to black market weapons sales throughout Russia and Asia. A very profitable business, to say the least, and Kessler took his share of the pie. Now, decades later, the national hero had been elected prime minister, and a very popular one, at least before Viktor took up residence.

  Viktor never understood why people claimed to want honest politicians, and yet were willing to vote for an intelligence agent as prime minister. They were liars by nature.

  Kessler took a large gulp of the vodka, and said, “Alexei’s trial is only a week away. Is there anything I can do to help expedite his freedom?”

  “You mean so that you can get me out of your country sooner.”

  “That is exactly what I mean.”

  Viktor shook his head. “The trial shouldn’t be a problem. I have it all under control,” he said, thinking of Nick.

  Kessler looked at him searchingly. Viktor knew he needed to address the subject that was hanging over them. They had never discussed it. “I promise you that Alexei did not murder Karl, nor did I order him to do it. Karl and I had our differences the last few years, but I can assure you what the American FBI tells you about Alexei is false. We are vors—that bond can’t be broken.”

  Kessler nodded, accepting the answer. But Viktor felt a certain underlying distrust he’d never felt before. It reminded him once again that he should never trust anyone—family, friends, or vors.

  They quietly ate their meal. When they finished, it was time for dessert.

  Chapter 24

  The lights dimmed and the world’s hottest pop star began her personal concert for two of the most powerful men in the world. She wore the glamorous sequined evening gown that Viktor had provided her.

  She didn’t sing the youthful pop songs she’d become famous for. The prime minister was a much more mature audience. She started with a beautiful rendition of Yerushalayim Shel Zahav—Jerusalem is Gold. Many have sung it since Naomi Shemer penned the song in 1967 just prior to the Six Day War, but Viktor was sure that it had never been done better than it was tonight. Natalie then performed a litany of Israeli favorites. They all captured the raw emotions of the daily struggles of the country and all were built on a patriotic foundation. Kessler was always a sucker for nationalism, while Viktor saw countries as nothing but an impediment to his domination of world markets.

  Natalie’s encore was the David Broza ballad “Yihyeh Tov”—It will be good. A politically charged song that paints an optimistic future. Kessler looked mesmerized. He and Natalie made intense eye contact as she sung the final lyrics about staying with you tonight.

  The song might have been about politics, but by the look in Natalie’s eyes, she had a different interpretation. And the prime minister seemed to embrace her version. All was going as planned.

  Natalie’s voice took Viktor back to the first time he heard Paula sing at Sarvy’s. But even though she wore a replica of the dress Paula wore that night, and despite the eerie similarities in voice, Viktor realized that his powers didn’t extend to being able to recreate the love of his life. Paula was irreplaceable.

  So why would he kill her, like some people believe he did? And when he was on the verge of getting her back? It made no sense. He’d always respected Paula’s marriage to Karl. In fact, it was his idea.

  Viktor was married o Trina Miklacz, the daughter of the don of Brighton Beach, with a son named Alexei, when he first saw Paula Branche sing that night. It wasn’t long before they started singing a different kind of music with each other. It was about that same time when Viktor made his move to gain control of Brighton Beach. He organized an ambush of his father-in-law as they entered a Brooklyn restaurant one night. In the hail of bullets, Viktor got enough lead pumped in him that he still can’t go through an airport metal detector, while Trina and her father were killed.

  When rumors began to creep out that Viktor might have been the facilitator of the assault, and not a victim, he knew he couldn’t let Paula be caught in a retaliatory crossfire. He loved her too much, and knew their love was without a future. He also couldn’t risk Alexei growing up knowing his father had his mother killed. So he pushed Paula to marry Karl. The perfect solution to end the speculation

  Karl provided Paula something Viktor never could—a perfect family life. Karl and Paula raised two children, Nick and Sasha, and lived the suburban dream in a large mansion in Long Island. Viktor never interfered.

  It was Karl’s idea that Viktor help to restart the music career that Paula had given up to raise their children. He agreed to help out his best friend, but soon an innocent decision turned into anything but. As they spent time in the studio, Viktor concluded that as much as people try to control their feelings and concoct their own reality, what is meant to be would always win out. That is how Paula Zellen ended up back in his life. She was going to leave Karl to be with him, but he felt it was still too dangerous. And he proved correct.

  Things quickly turned complicated after Karl was arrested. Paula’s children were always the priority in her life, and the arrest had turned their lives upside down. Nick was considering dropping out of NYU law school and Sasha, a junior figure skating champion, and the unbalanced diva of the family on her best day, had stopped eating.

  So Paula flew to Viktor’s Florida mansion, just as she had numerous times the past year
to lay down tracks for her album in his massive recording studio, but this trip wasn’t about music or sex—it was about ending their affair to protect her family.

  Hours later, Paula was murdered in his house. Viktor was also shot—it was done in a way to strategically to inflict maximum pain, yet keeping him alive. His unconscious body was placed in the bed beside Paula’s. It was the same ambush method he used to eliminate Miklacz. An obvious message. He had spent his life protecting her, but in the end all he did was delay her fate. Victor’s revenge would soon be complete, but with the sad understanding that it would never bring Paula back.

  He watched as Natalie belted out a rendition of “Hatikva,” the Israeli national anthem. Her eyes were as beautiful as her voice, but lacked Paula’s warmth.

  After her performance, Natalie joined the two men for the actual dessert—pashka—a traditional Russian cheesecake shaped like a pyramid. With a smile, Viktor indicated to the prime minister that it was okay to inspect the merchandise.

  Trying to banish thoughts of Paula from his mind, Viktor returned to his drug of choice—power. It was exhilarating to know that he took this woman off the street and turned her into the world’s hottest star. Yet with the snap of his fingers, he could make the clock strike midnight and take it all away. What other man could turn the world’s biggest star into his personal whore? That was power.

  With a nod from Viktor, Natalie took Kessler’s hand and led him to one of the many bedrooms in the house.

  Viktor retired to his office. There, he watched another Natalie performance on a secure video feed. This one even more impressive than her earlier concert. When she and the prime minister finished, he took the tape out and put it into his safe for insurance purposes.

  Kessler might have been a fellow vor, but he was a politician now. And Viktor knew politicians were like Russians—they will always lie to get what they want.

  Chapter 25

  Darren didn’t know what to do. He got into his car and began driving aimlessly. He was no longer in control of his thought process.

  His first stop was the scene of the crime. The gas station was back in business like nothing happened. Then, as if in a trance, he drove to South Chandler High, where his wife should have been teaching fifth period English.

  South Chandler High looked nothing like the high school he attended back in Framingham, a blue-collar suburb of Boston. South Chandler was made up of modern buildings built in Spanish Hacienda style. Tanned students mingled around the palm tree lined campus, chatting on the latest-greatest cell phones.

  But upon entering the school, he realized that some things don’t change. It was the smell. The universal smell of all high schools throughout time. A mix of must and memories. Just for a moment, he was taken back twenty years to the delusional idealism of those days. He wondered if maybe that’s what Lilly did. His stomach tightened, and his thoughts returning to the murky present.

  He went directly to the office of Principal Mara Garcia. A secretary tried to stop him, but he had dealt with the FBI this morning, along with that crazy Jessi Stafford, so the secretary was no match.

  Mara was busily working the phones when he barged in. She looked flustered by his presence.

  Lilly had formed a close bond with Mara—they were both educators with a Mexican heritage and a passion for literature, so they had much in common. Mara and her husband, Carlos, had often socialized with Lilly and Darren. The last time they had gotten together was last February when they attended a Phoenix Suns game and then went to a wine tasting bar. That seemed like lifetimes ago, back before Lilly started acting “distant.” As Darren examined Mara’s face, he understood that there would be no more social outings.

  Mara hung up and coldly stated, “You shouldn’t be here, Darren.”

  He couldn’t tell if there was contempt or pity in her voice. “I need answers.”

  “Then you should have been here last period when I had to hold a full school assembly to discuss the situation regarding Mrs. McLaughlin.”

  Mrs. McLaughlin. Situation. Her terminology was formal, alarming coming from a woman who helped him plan Lilly’s birthday party last year. “I need to know what’s going on.”

  “It’s a police matter now, Darren. Perhaps they can give you the answers you need. My first concern has to be with my school, and I must consider the ramifications of talking to you.”

  The tone remained clinical, but the words cut him. Just like LaPoint, she left no smidgen of hope that it was a misunderstanding. His wife had run off with a student. Fact.

  Mara’s look softened as their eyes met. He must have looked as pathetic as he felt, and being awake for two days straight was not helping his situation.

  She got up and softly shut her door. She returned to the chair behind her desk and faced him. He was expecting a look of sympathy, but he got anger. “I put myself on the line for Lilly. There were others with much more experience, and I knew I would take heat for hiring her. But I didn’t think twice about it because I knew she would be an excellent teacher. And I was right—she was damn good. That’s what makes what she did even worse. Not only did she let me down, she let down every teacher in this building.”

  When Mara was done reading him the riot act, she started in on the gory details.

  “The rumors started about a month ago. They began as the typical high school whispers that nobody takes seriously, but when they turned to shouts, I called Lilly in. She looked me right in the eyes and lied.”

  The betrayal in Mara’s voice was unmistakable. Darren wondered why he couldn’t find that same anger to direct toward his wife. He was the one who was truly betrayed. The only emotions he was able to conjure up were disbelief and sadness.

  “Then a few weeks back,” Mara continued, “I asked Lilly to chaperone the senior prom, which she accepted.”

  This was not news to Darren. He remembered how endearing he found it that Lilly was so excited about attending. She never got to attend her own prom and she even bought a new dress for the occasion. He planned to go with her, but a last minute switch of his flight schedule took him away. He offered to tell the airline he couldn’t switch, but Lilly encouraged him to go, and joked that she might take old Mr. Fischer, a science teacher at the school, as her date. But before he left for his flight, Darren bought her a corsage that he pinned on her dress like he was her prom date. He couldn’t get that image out of his mind.

  “The prom took place Saturday night. On Monday morning, I had the police waiting for me in my office. They were investigating a complaint that Lilly had attended one of the post prom parties—not affiliated with the school—and she put on quite a show with a student from this school who was underage.”

  “Brett Buckley,” he uttered in a defeated voice, barely audible.

  Mara nodded with a touch of sadness. “I told them that rumors are as big a part of high school as algebra. I called Lilly in again. She admitted attending the party—called it bad judgment—but denied any inappropriate behavior.”

  “Maybe she was telling the truth,” Darren said. He knew he was grasping at straws.

  Mara shook her head. “The police returned later that week with physical evidence—pictures taken of Lilly at the party.” She then added real slowly so he wouldn’t miss the point. “Pictures of Lilly and Brett Buckley. Together. They planned to arrest her when she arrived this morning. I don’t think it’s a coincidence she failed to show today.”

  Darren couldn’t shake the image of the mature looking kid with the intense eyes. He had to know about this boy who Lilly ripped their life apart for.

  “Tell me about Brett Buckley.”

  Mara looked pained for him. He hated that look of pity. “Don’t make this worse, Darren. Besides, he is the victim, and a minor. I could be fired for even revealing the name to you, whether that reporter beat me to it or not. Go home. The police should have them in custody soon. Then you can talk to Lilly about whatever you need to talk to her about.”

  “I ne
ed to know, please,” he pleaded.

  Mara sighed. “Not much to tell. He moved here around Christmas time from the Seattle area. I think his parents own some sort of software company. He was a good student, no doubt, but like a lot of students who come in the middle of the year, he was sort of detached. No clubs, no sports, not many friends. Seemed like kind of a loner type.”

  Darren thanked Mara for providing him the information, even if he didn’t like the answers, and wandered into the hallway. As he did, a bell sounded and students began pouring out of the classrooms. The students whizzed past him as if he wasn’t there.

  A girl bumped into him, almost knocking him over. Only his sheer size enabled him to withstand the teenage kamikaze pilot, but he lost his balance and was about to fall to the floor. She grabbed him by the arm and steadied him.

  “Hey, watch where you’re going,” she responded angrily.

  “I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind today,” Darren replied, not even looking at her.

  “Are you subbing for Mrs. McLaughlin’s class today?” she asked.

  The mention of Lilly triggered Darren’s alertness and he looked at the girl. “Excuse me?”

  “You look a little old to be a student, so I figured you might be subbing for Mrs. McLaughlin. She’s out today.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I hope she’s not sick. I’m worried that she might have caught something when she was screwing my boyfriend.”

  Chapter 26

  Darren recognized the pink streaks mixed into the girl’s blonde hair. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

  “I’d like to, but I’m one suspension away from not graduating. And then I’ll never get out of this shit-hole.”