The Suitcase Read online

  The Suitcase

  TV Scribner

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  EPILOGUE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  About The Author

  PROLOGUE

  Russia's history of corruption begins as far back, as the 1700s when the Tsarists took control. Under their rule, with wealth and power concentrated in their hands, the masses struggled. Many countrymen reverted to robbing the few in power, by roaming the countryside and attacking government entities, in order too help the people. They became the people’s champions, literally robbing from the rich and giving to the poor, until the end of the 1800s.

  During the Russian Revolution of 1917, a large group of radicals, called Bolsheviks, led by Vladimir Lenin, ousted the Tsarists. Lenin proceeded to found the Communist Party, during which time, corruption continued, despite his efforts to abolish the criminals, and it even continued to be a problem following his death, in 1924.

  Joseph Stalin, Lenin's Secretary General, became Dictator of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republic, inheriting Lenin's corrupt underworld. Stalin ruled with an iron fist, in an attempt to rid the country of corruption. However, his stringent policies created a man-made famine, killing millions of his countrymen.

  Leonid Brezhnev rose to power, following Stalin's death in 1953, and freed millions of criminals, which Stalin had incarcerated in gulags. Unfortunately, many of the freed convicts joined forces with corrupt government officials, causing corruption to spread even further, in his regime. By the 1970s, when Brezhnev died, illegal activity had increased, and the black market flourished.

  Under the rule of Mikhail Gorbachev, who was Brezhnev's successor, the USSR collapsed and the Mafia took over the struggling economy. Chaos developed in the country, as it attempted to become a democracy, and this served to help the criminal element experience an increase in their profits. The Mafia leaders and their groups organized with corrupt government officials, and eventually managed to export their corruption to many other countries.

  Boris Tazvoshenko, saw an opportunity and capitalized on it. He was born in Dolgoprudny, in a Moscow oblast (a zone or area), about thirteen miles, northwest of the Moscow City Center. Orphaned at a young age, he was put in an orphanage and was treated badly. He ran away from this orphanage, and as a teenager with no place to go, witnessed the workings of the Mafia. Within his first month of freedom from the orphanage, he managed to join one of the large Mafia organizations, and over time, became well-known for his fearlessness, taking on any task assigned to him.

  The leadership skills of Tazvoshenko developed to the point where he managed to form a Mafia organization of his own, in which he held the position of Pakhan—the leader who controls the entire operation. Over the years, he built it into one of the largest Mafia organizations in Russia, and re-located towards the outskirts of Lyubertsy, in a Moscow oblast, approximately fifteen miles southeast of Moscow's City Center.

  To call Boris Tazvoshenko ruthless, did not do justice to the type of heavy-handed violence he meted out to his rivals, or the extent of criminality with which his organization was involved. Its specialties consisted of anything and everything. He dealt with all varieties criminal activities such as, extortion, loan sharking, counterfeiting, auto theft, tax fraud, black mail, assassinations, homicides, kidnapping, racketeering, drugs, gun trafficking, forgery of visas, passports and any other valuable papers needed to travel the world freely, or simply disappear.

  However, Tazvoshenko’s long suit included trafficking in guns and weaponry of all sorts, including larger military weaponry—tanks, armored transport vehicles, even shoulder-fired missiles (MPADS), for major clients, who wished to deal in international weapons. His Mafia organization spread its tentacles into almost every country, including the United States, and offered services to the highest bidders, including Mid-eastern countries, terrorist groups, the North Koreans, South American and African despots, or any other radical militant groups, who might want to buy, what he had to sell.

  However, in 2012, he was onto something very big—bigger than anything he'd ever handled, and his top Brigadier (second in rank), was going to help him acquire what he referred to, as the chemodan. In 2015, he sent his Brigadier to Brainerd, Minnesota, a city in the mid-west area of the state, to focus on this special project. A small cadre of men traveled with him, plus several young recruits, to assist with the acquisition of this item.

  The project would take time, to gather the clues and add them to those he already had, as to the chemodan’s whereabouts. Tazvoshenko relied on his comrades’ area research, to find the final clues, and ascertain the exact location, of that which he sought. When the time arrived to complete the work, his plan included sending extra support to the same general area, to help extract the item. Because of his greed, Tazvoshenko was obsessed with the chemodan, as it would bring in the most money from his buyers, of anything he’d ever procured.

  Chapter 1

  Sunday, May 14, 2017

  Pinecrest, Minnesota

  Gregore Kamorov, was exhausted. It had been a particularly busy afternoon at Ben’s Burgers, due to the fact he’d been out all night Friday and Saturday, drinking with some of his reprobate friends. Today was Sunday and thankfully, he pulled the late afternoon to midnight shift. Even though he arrived for his shift at Ben’s Burgers by 4:00 p.m., his roaring headache was still pounding, because of his debauchery of the last two nights.

  Kamorov’s college computer classes began at eight the next morning, which made him even more anxious, to end his shift. With loads of homework (because of his procrastination over the weekend), it was imperative to finish his shift, so he would have time to study, and pass his finals the next day. As a result of past bad behavior, he was on probation, and his student visa was dependent on his performance in school. Therefore, he couldn’t afford to fail any class, or his visa would be revoked, and he’d be sent back to Russia.

  Six months ago, at the age of twenty-two, Kamorov entered the computer engineering program at Pinecrest College, to get his degree and all required certifications. He’d been a tech phenom when he was younger, and won acclaim from his “so-called” friends, by spending untold hours gaming and hacking into computer systems. During his earlier school years, Kamorov’s objective was to wreak as much mischief and damage as possible, with his amazing computer skills.

  Born in Russia, Kamorov’s parents were murdered in a gang warfare incident, and Kamorov, a teenager at the time, his cousin and only relative, Medved Grinko, was authorized to be his guardian. Even though Grinko belonged to a local Russian Mafia group, the authorities didn’t care, and it wasn’t long before Grin
ko drew Gregore into the Mafia, and its criminal elements. Because of Gregore’s extraordinary computer skills, he was in demand to perform all illegal services needed by the Mafia members.

  Medved Grinko was sent to Minnesota by Boris Tazvoshenko, his Mafia boss, to help an arm of the Mafia group in the Minneapolis area, and Gregore accompanied him, under the guise of attending college on a student visa. Gregore’s antics at school were such that he was put on probation almost immediately, and shortly thereafter, his cousin was killed in a gang fight, in Minneapolis. Rather than return to Russia, Gregore appealed his case, and the authorities allowed him to stay in Minnesota, on one condition—he was to start school in the spring, and find employment.

  He was placed with two fellow Russians, in Brainerd, Minnesota, Yury Panuken (also a student), and Pyotr Zolotov, who would be his sponsor. When Gregore applied for college, he managed to talk his way into the IT program, at Pinecrest College. The authorities allowed this with four conditions: stay out of trouble, attend college, keep grades up and find employment. He applied immediately for a job at Ben’s Burgers, and was hired.

  It wasn’t long before Gregore fell into bad company, because besides computer hacking, his other favorite pastimes were drinking and gambling, which landed him in trouble, again. He was arrested several times, for driving under the influence, and once for petty theft. His employer, Ben Wister, owner of Ben’s Burgers, generously gave him a second chance. Since then, he’d performed his duties diligently, kept his grades up, and Ben rewarded him with the position of night manager. Kamorov told himself he didn’t have to change, he just needed to be more careful in his off-duty hours.

  Because he ignored his own advice, the headache from the weekend’s drinking on his off-hours, still hung on, and as far as he was concerned, midnight couldn’t come quickly enough.

  As soon as the last customer left, he said, to his co-worker, Bill, “You go home early. Only fifteen minutes to end of shift.” Bill, who was used to Kamorov’s Russian way of wording things, hustled to the back room, where he retrieved his jacket and car keys, and waited at the side door, for Gregore to shuffle to the back room and unlock it.

  Gregore let Bill out, then locked the door, and brushing his straggly dark hair out of his face, shuffled back to the kitchen area, and continued performing the remaining tasks necessary to close for the night. Gregore was a slight man with dark, deep-set eyes, set in a round face, with a sallow complexion and thin lips, revealing a gap in his front teeth, if he smiled.

  After Bill left, he entertained himself with thoughts of his well planned scheme, which would facilitate his strategy to ditch the burger place, the town, and the state. He could hardly wait for its implementation. This plan, the best one he’d ever concocted, would make him a wealthy man, and he was just days away from its execution. It excited him to think about it.

  The trash can made a screeching sound across the cement floor, as he dragged it to the back room to be emptied. While heading back to the front, to get the other trash sacks from their containers, he turned off the outside neon lights, then continued to finish the remaining tasks up front. But Gregore was roused from his thoughts, by a light knock on the side door. He stood for a moment listening, and just as he decided he’d been hearing things, he heard it again, rap, rap, rap.

  There it was, and this time, thinking it was Bill who had forgotten something, he jogged back to the side door he’d just locked, took the key ring off the hook and unlocked it again. The door pushed inside causing him to back up, and instead of Bill, he was startled to see one of his so-called friends, an ex-con he’d partied with, over the weekend, along with others. The element of surprise, made it easy for the intruder to brusquely shove his way past Kamorov, and push the door closed, before Kamorov had a chance to react.

  Kamorov said, with his prominent Russian accent, “Hey, what are you doing here? Place is closed. You are not to be here.”

  The man, dressed in black pants, a hoodie and watch cap, slithered to the front of the place, then turned and leaned back against the counter propping himself up, with his elbows. He settled there for a moment sneering, his thin lips stretching across a set of crooked teeth, as he eyed Gregore, with a cocky smile erupting on his face, and said in a raspy voice, “Gregore, my man, we need to have a little talk,” and with a smile more like a grimace, waited for him to reply.

  “I need to close, we talk later.” Gregore brushed him off and resumed his work, dragging a trash bag towards the back room, annoyed with this interruption.

  “No, I think we’re talkin’ right now, my friend,” he said, staring at Kamorov as he walked away.

  Kamorov slowly put the bag of trash down, turned and said, “What is so important it cannot wait?” He could smell the booze from where he stood, as it mingled with the odor of stale burgers. It was then he noticed the wild look in his friend’s dark eyes. Slightly unnerved by his friend’s demeanor, Kamorov tried to shrug him off, “Looks like you are still partying, I’m still hungover from weekend, too. I need to finish work, you go sleep it off.”

  “O-kay,” the man said, as he dragged out the word like syrup slowly running off the sides of a pancake, “have it your way. I’ll get right to the point. I want to go halve-sies on your little scheme—simple as that,” and sat on a stool watching, to see Kamorov’s reaction, after having spilled his purpose into the room.

  Kamorov, trying to ignore him, turned and continued walking, but stopped abruptly and carefully slid back several steps, squinting his eyes as he turned and stared, “What scheme?” Kamorov’s face, was beginning to radiate his irritation. He did not want to have this conversation!

  “The scheme you talked about while you were so drunk-out-of-your-mind last night! That’s what scheme I’m talkin’ about, and it’s all you talked about while I drove you home. Ivan and I both, thought it sounded pretty good at the bar—even better than pretty good!” He leered at Kamorov.

  “No! I remember nothing. I was drunk,” he said defensively, shaking his head and looking at the floor, noticing it still needed mopping. But now, he needed to get rid of his friend—immediately. His headache was pounding even harder, and he still needed to head home to study.

  The friend scoffed, taking a step towards Kamorov, “Well I remember everything! Bragging about how you stole it, and how you have buyers already, and last but, not least, you told us you keep it on you, at all times!”

  Kamorov’s face registered shock, and like a jigsaw puzzle, he put the pieces together, slowly realizing he must have divulged the information last night, and he broke into a cold sweat, “You are mistaken,” and as calmly as he could in an effort to call his friend’s bluff, he said, “I was drunk! I don’t know what you talk about, I don’t know what I say!”

  “How about taking it out, lets’ have a look at it?” Lenny cajoled.

  For Kamorov, there was a moment of clarity, and sensing danger, he began slowly backing away, “No! Go away, or I call police!” Kamorov walked around the corner of the counter into the kitchen area and headed down the hallway, dragging the trash bag behind him to the trash area in the back, where he knew a telephone hung on the wall, just to the right of the restaurant’s cooler door.

  With an abrupt one-eighty in his tone, the man growled, “Come back here, you Russkie! I’m in no mood to play games. We can share this, because I’m sure there will be enough money for two!”

  “Go home! I have work to finish.” Trying not to show panic in his voice, he reached for the phone on the wall.

  His visitor sneered, “And now, guess what? If you don’t cooperate, I’m not even gonna split it with you, I’ll be takin’ it for myself!” He lunged towards Kamorov, and knocked the phone’s receiver out of his hand before he could dial. Giving a hard push to Kamorov, threw him off balance, causing him to fall backwards, landing on his back. Irate, he jumped on Kamorov and they struggled.

  “Tell me where it is right now, and maybe I’ll let you live! Is it in your pockets? Is it somewher
e hidden in this burger place? The freezer maybe? Is that why you ran back here? Tell me!” he yelled.

  Kamorov’s arms were pinned to his sides, “No!” he yelled, and began to writhe, attempting to free himself, as he was being choked, making it difficult to breathe.“Tell me!” the intruder said, in a menacing voice, his anger rising.

  “Did you make a deal with Ivan? That’s it! You and Ivan are working together, aren’t you?” he said in calculated tone.

  “You crazy? I’m not working with Ivan. I never tell Ivan, or you!” Kamorov choked out the words, as his face turned red and his breathing became ragged, “Stop!” His voice gurgled, and was almost inaudible, “I…never…!” Unable to speak anymore, he could only look at the terrifying expression on the face above him and make one last attempt to break free. He could no longer breathe, and became aware, that his life was in the hands of a man crazed with hatred and anger, fueled by drunkenness, and probably drugs. He knew he was dying.

  In a rage, the man lifted Kamorov’s head, and like a wild animal, banged it repeatedly on the floor of the cooler, while continuing to choke him. At last, Gregore resisted no longer.

  Chapter 2

  Monday, May 15, 2017