The Venetian Betrayal

“How much do you know about Supreme Minister Zovastina?”

“Enough to know that she’s no friend of ours.”

Her tired mind retrieved Zovastina’s pertinent history. Born to a working-class family in northern Kazakhstan, her father died fighting the Nazis for Stalin, then an earthquake, just after the war, killed her mother and the rest of her immediate relatives. She grew up in an orphanage, until one of her mother’s distant cousins took her in. She eventually became an economist, trained at the Leningrad Institute, then joined the Communist Party in her twenties and worked her way to head of the local Committee of the Representatives of the Workers. She then snagged a spot on the Central Committee of Kazakhstan and quickly rose to the Supreme Soviet. She first promoted land and other economic reforms, then became a critic of Moscow. After independence from Russia, she was one of six Party members who ran for president of Kazakhstan. When the two front-ru

“I learned a long time ago,” Daniels said, “that if you have to tell someone you’re their friend, the relationship’s got big problems. This woman thinks we’re a bunch of idiots. Friends like her we don’t need.”

“But you still have to kiss her ass.”

Daniels enjoyed more of his drink. “Unfortunately.”

“The Central Asian Federation is not something to take lightly,” Davis made clear. “Land of hardy people and long memories. Twenty-eight million men and women available for military conscription. Twenty-two million of those fit and ready for service. About one and a half million new conscripts available each year. That’s quite a fighting force. Currently, the Federation spends one point two billion dollars a year on defense, but that doesn’t count what we pour in there, which is twice that.

“And the real crap,” Daniels continued, “is that the people love her. The standard of living has improved a thousandfold. Before her, sixty-four percent lived in poverty. Now it’s less than fifteen percent. That’s as good as we do. She’s investing everywhere. Hydroelectric power, cotton, gold-she’s loaded with surpluses. That Federation is perched in a superb geoeconomic position. Russia, China, India. Smack between them all. Smart lady, too. She’s sitting on some of the world’s largest oil and natural gas reserves, which the Russians once totally controlled. They’re still pissed about independence, so she made a deal and sells them oil and gas at below-market prices, which keeps Moscow off her tail.”

She was impressed with Daniels’ command of the region.

“Then,” the president said, “a few years ago she entered into a long-term lease with Russia on the Baykonur Cosmodrome. The Russian spaceport sits in the middle of the old Kazakhstan. Six thousand square miles, which Russia now has exclusive use of until 2050. In return, of course, she got some debt cancellation. After that, she stroked the Chinese by settling a centuries-old border dispute. Not bad for an economist who grew up in an orphanage.”

“Do we have problems with Zovastina?” she asked. Again neither man answered her question, so she switched gears. “What does Enrico Vincenti have to do with this?”

“Zovastina and Vincenti are co

She saw that Daniels had read her thoughts.

The president shook his head. “Not here. Not like last time. We’ve checked. Nothing. The Central Asian Federation is their main concern.”

Davis said, “All of the stans were heavy with foreign debt from their Soviet domination and tries at independence. Zovastina has managed to renegotiate those obligations with the various government creditors and a large chunk of that debt has been forgiven. But an influx of new capital would help. Nothing quells progress more than long-term debt.” He paused. “There’s three point six billion dollars on deposit in a variety of banks across the globe, traced to Venetian League members.”

“An ante in a huge poker game,” Daniels said.

She realized the significance, since presidents were not prone to sound an alert based on flimsy suspicion. “Which is about to play out?”

Daniels nodded. “So far, corporations organized under Central Asian Federation law have acquired, or taken over, nearly eighty companies around the world. Pharmaceuticals, information technology, automobile and truck manufacturing, and telecommunications are just a few of the areas. Get this, they even acquired the world’s largest producer of tea bags. Goldman Sachs predicts that, if this continues, the Federation could well become the third or fourth largest economy in the world, behind us, China, and India.”

“It’s alarming,” Davis noted. “Particularly since it’s happening with little or no fanfare. Usually, corporations like to play up their acquisitions. Not here. Everything is being kept close.”

Daniels motioned with one arm. “Zovastina needs a consistent capital flow to keep the wheels of her government turning. We have taxes, she has the League. The Federation is rich in cotton, gold, uranium, silver, copper, lead, zinc-”

“And opium,” she finished.

“Zovastina,” Davis said, “has even helped with that. The Federation is now third, worldwide, for opiates seizure. She’s shut down that region for trafficking, which makes the Europeans love her. Can’t speak ill about her at all across the Atlantic. Of course, she peddles cheap oil and gas to a lot of them, too.”

“You realize,” she said, “that Naomi is probably dead because of all this.” The thought turned her stomach. Losing an agent was the worst thing she could imagine. Luckily, it rarely happened. But when it did, she always had to fight a disturbing mixture of anger and patience.

“We realize that,” Davis said. “And it won’t go unpunished.”

“She and Cotton Malone were close. They worked together at the Billet many times. A good team. He’ll be upset to hear.”

“Which is another reason why you’re here,” the president said. “A few hours ago Cotton was involved in a fire at a Greco-Roman museum in Copenhagen. Henrik Thorvaldsen owned the place and Cassiopeia Vitt helped him escape the blaze.”

“You seem up on things.”

“Part of my job description, though I’m coming to dislike this part more and more.” Daniels gestured with the medallion. “One of these was in that museum.”

She recalled what Klaus Dyhr had said. Only eight.

Davis pointed a long finger at the coin. “It’s called an elephant medallion.”

“Important?” she asked.

“Apparently so,” Daniels said. “But we need your help to learn more.”