THE MISFIT UNIT: 11) GASTREX

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

21.

Ralph Serafina arrives at the Bar Americain early for a spot of reconnaissance, inside and out.  He does not want his business with Michael Zudex to end badly.  (An invitation to the Zudex yacht, for instance, would most definitely be unacceptable.)

Serafina takes a table near the back, from where he can observe whoever comes and goes.  He nurses a gin and tonic and ignores the babajuan (warm spinach dumplings), preferring to save his appetite for the culinary delights of three Michelin stars next door.  After all, what was the point of betrayal if it could not be executed in style?

At ten-past-eight, Serafina chuckles to himself, much too confident— about himself in general, and his proposal in particular—to think Zudex will not appear.  So when the minute hand of his wristwatch crosses three, he remains smug.

Five minutes later, Michael Zudex appears in the doorway.  Arriving late is simply the Russian's first jab at parameters constructed by Serafina.

Zudex strides over, shakes the American's outstretched hand and sits down. 

"I have counter-offer."  Zudex, clearly, does not deal in pleasantries or platitudes.

"Is that the name of a cocktail?"  Serafina signals a waiter.

 Zudex picks up a babajuan dumpling, chews twice, swallows, and orders Perrier.

"So."  Serafina reclines, arms behind his head.  "Start countering."

Zudex is affronted as much by Serafina’s casual cockiness as his presumption.  "When we hear what you say is important, we give you deal.  You travel to Moscow?"

"No and no," says Serafina.  "I'm not going anywhere and I'm not saying anything more.  We'll make a deal here, based on the verification of me your folks will have no doubt already undertaken."

Had it been Michael Zudex's decision, he would have ordered Serafina terminated, one way or another.  An easy, fast solution to his problem—and take his chances with whomever else knew whatever they knew.  But now his superiors—not that Zudex considered them superiors—the SVR bigwigs were involved, and this recruitment had the personal attention of the chief.  So Zudex has no choice but to placate this smug American.  "I see."  He glares at Serafina.

"Maybe not clearly enough," says Serafina.  "Let's cut through the usual smoke and urinals, so we can enjoy a celebratory dinner.  What percentage of Zudex International are you trading me for betrayal and treachery?"

Zudex nods.  Now he would just follow instructions; instructions he did not like.  "Two percent," he hisses, having already been promised reimbursement from the SVR.

Serafina scoffs. "What a cheapskate you are. Even realtors earn more than that."

Zudex says nothing, keeps his thin lips glued together.

"I’m thinking ten percent."  Serafina winks.

Now Zudex cannot conceal his displeasure.  "But this is crazy!"

"Crazy?  Please.  If we don't deal, your 90 percent will be worth shit-squared.  And you'll end up in jail—or worse," Serafina snickers.  "Moscow."

Zudex stiffens.  "Three percent." 

"Fifteen percent."

Zudex’s eyes bug.  "This is not serious negotiation."

Serafina sighs.  "Okay, let's say we settle somewhere around 7.5 percent..." Zudex opens his mouth to interrupt, but Serafina shushes him quiet, further incensing the Russian. "The next part," continues Serafina, "is verification.  By necessity, I need to be a silent partner, you know, behind-the-scenes.  But I want to be a hands-on silent partner.  That's why I need an apartment in Monaco."  The American looks Zudex in the eye.  "You got that approved, right?"

Zudex nods.

"In addition to everything I know about CIA, I can put my expertise to work for Zudex International."

Now Zudex scoffs.  "What expertise?"

"You probably know by now that I served in Switzerland," says Serafina.  "My job was to liaise with the Swiss service and to combat money laundering.  I know how we in the U.S. intelligence community, and Interpol, and the Swiss, tackle this problem.  And, by extension, I know what areas the intelligence community is either really bad at or cannot do without violating the law.  In other words, I know all the operational loopholes.  I can put these loopholes to the advantage of our company."

Zudex flinches at Serafina’s use of the word our.  But he must admit—if  only to himself—that this American makes sense.  The Swiss—and others, like Liechtenstein and Luxembourg—had been cracking down on money laundering.  It had become a costly nuisance—and that could be softened by Serafina’s inside knowledge.       

Zudex looks both ways (for he does not like public places, especially when discussing intelligence matters).  "We expect you to return to your job, where you can be most effective."

Serafina shakes his head, smirking, a habit he had recently picked up from Jeff Dalkin. "No way," he says.  "You haven't grasped why I'm doing this."  Serafina studies Zudex's eyes. "Aside from becoming very rich."

Zudex cocks his head and locks eyes with Serafina.

"I told you at the beginning, CIA tried to fuck me.  I think I screwed up on a polygraph.  Instead of firing me, they stuck me on a weird planet called southern California, where they assumed I would fade into the scenery.  There's no reason for me to return to California, either for myself, or for the SVR."  Serafina pauses.  "You'll be buying what I already know.  Which is enough to save your ass—and a bunch of other SVR operations.  Once we make this deal, if we make this deal, it is my plan to return to base, gather as much intelligence as possible, and squirrel it away.  Then I'll terminate my employment with CIA, take a long vacation to cover my tracks, and quietly move here—where I'll be able to see your smiling face on a regular basis."

"What if they watch you?"

"Fuck 'em," says Serafina.  "They're so inept, they'd never prove a thing.  And even if they could, they'd never prosecute.  These days, the Justice Department shies away from anything that isn't a roll-over—and that goes for most potential espionage cases."

"We will bring case officer from Moscow," says Zudex.  "He de-briefs you tomorrow."

 Serafina shakes his head again.  "Nyet to that.  Nobody de-briefs me—except beautiful women.  But if your friends want to hear my secrets, they'll have to wait until my money is in the bank, until you and I have a signed agreement regarding my part ownership, and until I've got the keys to my new apartment. And a Porsche.”

"All of this takes time," says Zudex.

"I'm young."  Serafina smiles.  "Time is one thing I’ve got."  He hunches his shoulders and leans forward.  "Here's what I suggest, Mike—I can call you Mike, can't I?  Sure beats Yuri, doesn't it?"  He chuckles.  "I'll get lost for a few days, then I'll return to Monte.  By then you'll have all my ducks in a row, and I'll sit down with my new case officer and start blabbing.  Is that copasetic?"

"What means copasetic?" 

"It's a cool way of saying cool," says Serafina.  "And by the by," he adds, "we're settling on five-percent." 

 With a pained expression, Zudex nods.

 Serafina proposes they move their venue to Louis XV.  But Michael Zudex demurs, producing instead a French over-the-counter medication called Gastrex, which he pops into his mouth in lieu of dinner.