THE MISFIT UNIT: 10) APPROVAL?

My Saturday Evening Post: A Serial Novel of Intrigue & Lunacy

18.

The answers and authorizations that Zudex needs arrive from Moscow next morning. 

If there is anything Russia's SVR jumps hoops for, it is the possibility of a defector from the CIA.  And to the SVR’s USA desk, Ralph Serafina looked like a prime candidate for side switching even before he'd walked into Zudex's office.  Serafina had made the SVR's watch list of hard-drinking, high-living, potentially disgruntled CIA officers who could be lured with promises of millions in cash in a numbered Swiss bank account. 

The SVR knew, from experience, money—not ideology—is the only lure for Americans.

The SVR first noticed Serafina in Geneva, a haven for spies.  They watched as he partied late into the night at Maxim's, spending more than he could afford on a government salary for champagne, not only for himself, but for Russian cabaret dancers—strippers later debriefed by SVR officers.

And the SVR also knew that CIA was unhappy with Serafina's lifestyle.  After this officer's return to Washington, the SVR lost track of him, and its trackers assumed he had been reprimanded and sidelined.

And now, here he is, disgruntled, claiming that the CIA had fucked him.  It was almost predictable.  Not that the SVR was smug.  It, too, was sensitive to the planting of disinformation.  Not that CIA deployed such tactics.  Unlike their adversary, false defection was not a game CIA liked to play. Most important of all, Serafina came equipped with alarming information:  That CIA was onto Zudex International.  This, alone, made Serafina irresistible.  Under normal circumstances, more extensive checks would be made.  But this was urgent. Serafina had set a deadline.

So the answer that arrives in Michael Zudex's e-mail early next morning, sent in cryptographic code, is this:  We confirm Ralph Serafina’s status as a CIA officer.  Proceed with recruitment and keep us advised.

Baldy, meantime, had been out and about, doing some checking of his own.  He established that, indeed, a Ralph Serafina was staying at the Fairmont Hotel, had checked in one day earlier with a U.S. passport, having arrived on the Delta flight from New York.  Serafina appeared to have arrived alone, single occupancy, with a two-night reservation.  He had made no telephone calls from his room.  After departing the offices of Zudex International, Serafina had returned to his hotel, changed into casual clothing and strolled through Casino Gardens before dining alone at Cafe de Paris. 

The only real excitement took place after dinner when Serafina climbed into a taxi at the rank outside Hotel de Paris.  One of Zudex's security officers tailed the cab to Stars & Bars, a sports bar on Quai Antoine, where Serafina drank and attempted to chat up various women.  The American returned to his hotel somewhat lubricated but empty-handed.  Baldy assessed that no one else—neither American nor French—had been watching Serafina.

19.

Jeff Dalkin answers his cell phone without checking the incoming number, expecting big news.  "Yeah-what?"

"It's your lawyer," says Bradley Fatwood of Bacon, Hump.

"Oh, you.  I prefer calls that make me rich, not poor.” 

"You've been noticed for deposition."

 "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you are going to be deposed," says Fatwood.  "Plaintiffs lawyers have submitted several dates for us to choose from."

"None of them are any good," snaps Dalkin.

"But I haven't told you the dates yet."

"Doesn't matter," says Dalkin, fully cognizant that Fatwood's next request will be for more brazhort to pay for this deposition stuff.  "Who's side on you on, anyway?" 

Fatwood ignores the slight.  "We are compelled to respond with something."

"Okay, respond with this:  I'm busy."

"If we don't accept any of their dates, we have to propose alternative dates."

"Can you propose something after next Christmas?"

"I could," says Fatwood.  "But they would complain to the judge, and the judge would not be amused."

 "And we wouldn't want to un-amuse a judge—jiggering jerk-off—would we?"

 "No.  You never want the judge to think you're uncooperative. And you can’t call him or her a jiggering jerk-off.”

"That was Tourette’s," says Dalkin. "I can’t help it. Meantime, the whole legal profession expects you to cooperate fully as you are stripped, trussed and made ready for slaughter."

"Your case isn't that bad," says Fatwood.

"It's that bad as long as I'm paying your bills."

"But the plaintiff's actual case, based on the letter of the law, is defective," says Fatwood.  "It's badly written."

"I'll celebrate in a homeless shelter."

"So what about deposition dates?"

"Where does it take place?"

 "Washington," says Fatwood.  "In our offices.  And I need you in the day before to prep for it."

20.

After taking morning cappuccino near the open-air market in Monaco's earthy port quarter, Ralph Serafina returns to his hotel—about 11:30—and checks the front desk for messages.

The concierge produces an envelope.

The note inside from Michael Zudex requests that Serafina please return at 3 p.m. for a follow-up meeting.

Serafina’s reception on his second visit to Zudex International differs dramatically from his first.  The only thing missing is a red carpet.

Serafina is quickly ushered into the office of Michael Zudex, who this time rises to greet him with a smile and a firm handshake.

Baldy is present, too, and again, he moves to the window to glance at the street below.

A secretary asks if Serafina cares for refreshment.  He does not, and she tiptoes out.

"We are interested," says Zudex, "to know more."

"Smart move," says Serafina.  "Your survival may depend on it."

Zudex grimaces, offended by the cheekiness of this brash American.

"First, my deal," Serafina continues.  "It should reflect the value of what I know and the risk I'm taking."

Zudex nods with apprehension.

"If I'm ever caught, I'll lose my freedom forever—and maybe my life.  There's a death penalty now for this kind of thing.  That risk alone must be counter-balanced by a fuck-load of money.  And I mean money I can spend, not just dream about."  Serafina winks.  "You no doubt already now, I like having fun.  Next:  What I know.  This is not a blackmail situation, but I know enough to have you arrested by the French this morning as an illegal.  Oh, and also for premeditated murder."

Zudex's face twitches.

"And not just that New York Times reporter. Jason Groner.  And those employees of yours in the Ukraine who tried to blackmail you?  CIA is well aware of your money-laundering activities for senior executives of Gazprom.  And the weapons you've been smuggling under the guise of furniture.  Once you know what I know—what other players know—you’ll be able to clean everything up, and when they come calling, instead of them finding what they’re looking for and where they expect it to be, you'll make fools of them.  But most important, I can tell you how CIA knows what it knows." 

"How?"

"Yes, how," says Serafina.  "And in this case, the how is a high-level mole inside the SVR."

Zudex stirs.

Baldy chews his lip.

It is what the old guard at The National Enquirer used to call a Gee Whiz moment.

"So, what is this worth?"  Serafina gazes at the ceiling before looking Zudex straight in the eye.  "The fact is, Mister Ponomarenko, my information is priceless—and you know it.  And if you don’t know, your masters at the SVR certainly do.  So go ahead, make an offer.  I'll laugh, and then we'll talk about a realistic price-tag for the betrayal of my country."

"How much do you need?" asks Zudex.

"It's not a question of need."  Serafina grins.  "It's a question of want.  But you start.  How much do you think I'm worth to you?"

"It is said," replies Zudex, "that Aldrich Ames earns several millions."

Serafina nods.  "Yeah, that's right.  Four million.  Plus a dacha outside Moscow he never saw.  But that was a long time ago and the cost of things has risen. And so have the stakes.  Ames lives a prison cell in at Allenwood in Pennsylvania.  Which reflects one of my points, about risk.  So you tell me, you seem good at numbers, judging by the hundreds of millions of dollars you've been laundering.  How much am I worth?"

Zudex turns away in a huff.  "I must check with others."

"So start checking."  Serafina consults his wristwatch.  "We either have a deal today—or there isn't one."

Zudex return his gaze on Serafina.  "Price depends on what you propose us."

Serafina shrugs.  "If we make a deal, I'm yours to de-brief.  My price-tag covers what I already know and whatever you ask me."  He pauses.  "You'll understand, of course, I'm not ready to retire in Moscow.  Not yet.  Not ever.  Unless becomes an absolute necessity."

Zudex nods, relate to this.  "Five million dollars."

Serafina scoffs.  "Maybe as a down-payment."

Zudex remains impassive.  If he prided himself on anything, it was business negotiation.  "I give you my offer.  It is your turn to tell me your price."

"Okay," says Serafina.  "Here goes:  I'll take that five mil, in a numbered account right here in Monte Carlo.  But I also want a slice of Zudex International, the company whose ass I will save."

"A slice?"

"A piece of the action.  The way I hear it, and I got good sources."  Serafina winks.  "A billion dollars a week is being laundered out of Russia.  Zudex International is handling a chunk of that.  I want a percentage of what passes through Zudex.  In other words, Yuri, I'd be your new partner."

Now Zudex glares at Serafina.  "Is that all?"

"Not quite."  Serafina shakes his head.  "As your business partner, I obviously need a home here.  So I'd like a spacious apartment with a view.  Plus a company car.  A Porsche would be nice."  He pauses.  "A boat, maybe?   Or perhaps I can use one of the boats you already have. Aren't you smuggling tank parts to Iran on one of them?"

Zudex blinks.

"That's it," said Serafina.  "The only part left to negotiate is what percentage of Zudex International I should own.  Oh, and a system for verifying my share of the profits."

Blood had filled Michael Zudex's head and now several veins in his forehead contracted. At least one of them seems on the verge of bursting.  "Your terms are ridiculous," he snorts, cheek a-twitch.

"Really now?" says Serafina.  "Then I guess we've got nothing more to discuss."  He turns to leave.

"Wait!"

Serafina turns around.   

Says Zudex,  "You will entertain counter-offer."

"Is that a question? Never mind.  You make your checks.  I'll stay one extra night here.  You can buy me dinner at Louis XV in Hotel de Paris and we'll celebrate our new partnership, just the two of us."  Serafina throws a sideways glance at baldy.  "We'll meet in the Bar Americain.  Eight o'clock."

"You are not frightened of meeting me in public?" says Zudex.

"As I mentioned when we first met," replies Serafina, "your situation is containable.  Surveillance of you has not yet commenced.  And I’ve always felt the best way to hide is out in the open.”  He pauses.  ”But don't bother meeting coming this evening if you're not prepared to cut me slice of Zudex International.  If I don't see you by 8:15, I'll assume there's no deal." 

Serafina turns his heel and saunters out.