Frederick Ramsay_Botswana Mystery 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Greshenko is Russian Mafia.”
    “Russian Mafia? I didn’t know Chicago had—”
    “They’re not big here, not yet, anyway. Greshenko is what you might call their advance man.”
    “Russian Mafia. Jesus, what is Leo thinking?”
    “Your boss is dealing with this guy?’
    “I don’t know. I guess he must be.”
    “I’ll send some stuff over to you today. A word to the wise, Mr. Parizzi: give Greshenko a very wide berth. He could be poison.”
    “I’ll be careful. Send the ActiVox file over as well.”
    The board had discussed ActiVox when the revolutionary process had been announced. They had authorized Leo to bid on it when the Australians had indicated a willingness to sell. The chemical leaching process could restore played-out mines, particularly nickel, to profitable production again. To their consternation they were quickly outbid by a Canadian group who, in turn, before Earth Global had a chance to counter, sold it, at an enormous profit, reportedly in the billions of dollars, to a Russian syndicate. Travis knew from Leo’s personal secretary, to whom he paid substantial bonuses, that Leo had not given up on ActiVox. Earth Global had options on several played out mines and controlled vast holdings where they continued mining. They were barely profitable and Travis intended to see them shut down so the company could pour its resources into sectors with a better return on investment.
    But who was Greshenko? More appropriately what was Greshenko, besides a Mafioso? What were Russians who dealt in that business called anyway? Was he the Russian connection Leo needed to close the ActiVox deal? He needed to know more about him. Timing, it all came down to timing.
    ***
    Brenda stared unseeing at Lake Michigan through skeletal tree branches. The sky had turned darker, grayer. It would snow soon. Bobby had gone out, God only knew where, and she had some serious thinking to do. If Farrah had told her the truth, there would be some huge changes if and when the IPO thing went through. On the other hand, if Leo’s heart were to crap out, this time for good, her—well, Bobby’s—options were considerably brighter than she’d imagined. She could raise the money to redeem Bobby’s shares from that slime-ball Travis Parizzi. Frankie at the Golden Cage could arrange for the funds, if she explained it to him right. She’d have to pay a pretty high vigorish to the sharks, probably, but it would be worth it. Anyone wanting a major stake in Earth Global would jump at a chance to buy them out—for really big bucks. But that would have to be before the IPO, or with Leo dead.
    “Income stream,” Farrah had said. Crapola. That might appeal to the congenitally lazy Bobby, but not to her. Leo was a tough old bastard, though. He was just contrary enough to live another ten years. And Farrah said if the wrong people…or was it the right people? If they found out the IPO had been leaked, it might be canceled. She needed to think about that, too.
    ***
    Leo Painter settled behind his desk and steepled his hands. He considered lighting a cigar. Smoking was strictly forbidden in the offices, and by his doctors, but Leo ignored those dicta as he did most others. RHIP, he would say whenever someone called him on it, rank has its privileges. He rolled the cigar, one smuggled in from Cuba, between thumb and forefinger next to his ear. Perfecto. He decided to wait. It would taste better after lunch with his second martini.
    Telling Bobby Griswold about the IPO had been a stroke of genius. When Farrah found out, and he was sure the idiot boy would let it slip eventually, it would give Farrah a double duck fit. The greedy bastard would then have to square it with his new friends, his “partners,” the guys who wanted to take over the company, and then, who knew what the SEC would do if they found even the hint of possible insider trading? Farrah should have taken the early retirement offer, the proverbial “golden parachute,” when