Chapter 43
Medevichuk hurried back to the office, locked the door, and eagerly retrieved his bank card. He settled onto the sofa, his eyelids twitching with uncertainty, mixed feelings filling his eyes. However, the allure of $300,000 was undeniable. It would be enough to divert suspicion from him in the Tang Dao affair. After all, he wasn't the one who would face the dire consequences.
With determination, he picked up the landline on his desk and dialed an intercom number. After three moments of hesitation, a voice answered, "Hello?"
"Chief of Staff Klitschko," Medevichuk lowered his tone, adopting a humble demeanor. The person on the other end of the line was a prominent figure in the Ukrainian military. He shifted his position, resting his back against the table. "Sir, I need to report an incident. Kalinovka attempted to lead troops in an assault on the Maryinsky Palace..."
"What!"
Medevichuk had the upper hand, catching Klitschko off guard.
The Maryinsky Palace symbolized Ukrainian sovereignty, adjacent to the Verkhovna Rada, Ukraine's parliament. It had international significance since, in 1990, several parties established a democratic alliance there, challenging the ruling party.
"However, I discovered it and dealt with it," Medevichuk deliberately extended the end of his sentence, simulating heavy breathing. It was a tactic he'd used before, conveying not only information but his worth to Klitschko.
Both Medevichuk and Klitschko were part of the Radical Democratic Alliance, often referred to as capitalist interests. Their fates were intertwined, and Klitschko received a significant cut from every dollar Medevichuk made.
Klitschko wasn't naive; he saw the flaws in Medevichuk's story. If Kalinovka intended to attack the Maryinsky Palace, he must have had some strength. If discovered, would he have surrendered willingly? Klitschko knew Medevichuk was lying but decided not to confront him. The commotion in the parliament demanded their attention.
"You've done well. I'll report this to the Ministry of Defense and ensure you're rewarded."
After a moment of reflection, Klitschko spoke deliberately, stretching his words and lowering his voice, "Prepare a formal report on this matter for me."
Medevichuk's lip twitched.
A report?
Nonsense.
He understood Klitschko was requesting a bribe.
Medevichuk possessed the political acumen required in Ukrainian politics. He took a deep breath, hung up the phone brusquely, and settled on the sofa. It emitted a muffled creak under his weight, but he remained unfazed. Crossing his legs, he frowned, then stopped, realizing his back was drenched in sweat.
Edzan's unapologetic expression was etched into his mind, haunting him.
He retrieved a box of Cohiba Siglo VI from beneath the coffee table, a top-tier Cuban cigar costing around $2,000 per box. It was a luxury product. Medevichuk savored the moment, taking a cigar and lighting it. He discarded his military uniform and exhaled deeply. Tobacco helped clear his thoughts.
But as he calmed down, greed gnawed at him. The Asian mentioned consuming Edza's merchandise; was there manipulation at play? Perhaps the inclusion of unsellable old antiques? Storing them in the warehouse seemed wasteful. Why not give them new life?
People were like this; fear fueled their anxiety, while greed pumped adrenaline.
Meanwhile, Andrejevic was taken aback, muttering, "Do you need the An-12 transport plane?"
His voice seemed loud, so he glanced around nervously before lowering it, "These are old Air Force assets; the 24th Brigade doesn't possess them. We do have three An-2 transport planes in logistics. Would those interest you?"
The An-series transport aircraft had been a mainstay of the Soviet era, dominating the nation's transport capabilities. Andrijevic referred to the An-2, the first-generation model. It could carry 12 passengers, possessed moderate cargo capacity, and featured a unique cockpit design for optimal downward visibility. Its maximum speed was 258 km/h, with a payload of 2.1 tons and a range of 845 km. It first flew in 1947 and was produced in over 18,000 units. Its nearly 45-year production span once held a Guinness World Record, with some still in service for specific purposes, although it was no longer suitable for long-distance travel.
"I'm sorry, our company is only interested in the An-12 for now," Tang Dao said, taking a sip of sake. "Sir, do you have any connections in the Air Force? We can offer a substantial commission."
Andrijevic understood that the Asian businessman was generous, far beyond the typical bills concealed in underwear requiring saliva to count. It was hard not to be enticed.
Why were businessmen called businessmen?
Because they never took their eyes off a single coin.
"I can facilitate introductions, but the Air Force expects hefty payments. Given the current scrutiny by the Ministry of Defense, they won't make substantial changes easily. I can't guarantee their cooperation," Andrijevic warned.
"I understand. Regardless of the outcome, your assistance won't go unrewarded," Tang Dao replied with a smile.
He had no intention of letting others control his transportation routes. Mature arms dealers had their means of transportation, either overt or covert. He was confident that the Air Force would be tempted. Who could resist the allure of the dollar? Even the departed had to open their eyes for it. In a past life, he'd heard of a German oligarch buying several frigates from the Black Sea Fleet in Odessa's port. It had been kept secret at the time. Twenty years later, Russian media revealed it, claiming those ships had been spotted in the Gulf of Mexico.
Unbelievable!
Simultaneously, Tang Dao enjoyed a drink with his Ukrainian counterparts, raising his glass in a toast. After a few more rounds, he began to feel the effects of alcohol. Eventually, he needed assistance, and Robert and others helped him to his feet.
Tang Dao awoke in the middle of the night, his mind foggy. He reached for the light switch, splashed water on his face in the bathroom, his eyes still bloodshot.
What a surprise, these Ukrainians could really hold their liquor!