Vladimir Petrov relaxed poolside at the exclusive five-star, Velvet Shadows Resort in Tempe Arizona, sipping a tall whiskey sour and stewing. He owned the luxuriant spa, so he could do or feel whatever he liked. He had been barking at his staff all day in anticipation of his important meeting with Thomas Stone.
Velvet Shadows was a tasteless version of some mythical Anasazi dreamland, sort of like Mesa Verde meets Millionaires Row. No expense had been spared, from the adobe walls, amoeba-shaped pool, palm trees, waterfalls, wall-sized aquariums, the giant dining room shaped like a hogan, gaudy Kachina paintings and life-size dolls, looted pottery and jewelry, and brightly colored carpeting. It was a modern-day white person’s dream of Indian paradise. There were no Indians around, except the maids and kitchen help.
Petrov ran his right hand through his dark, oily hair as he stared absentmindedly out at the Usery Mountains painted a golden yellow by the sunset glow. The Russian cared little for beautiful sunsets. They were a dime a dozen down in the Valley of the Sun. He drained his glass and barked for another drink. Five waiters all jumped.
Vladimir Petrov had made himself a man not to be trifled with. A midrange Russian oligarch well-connected to the Russian government elite, he had all the trappings of unlimited wealth: mega yachts, houses scattered around the world, mistress models, thoroughbred racehorses, the fanciest cars, diamonds and jewelry. In most countries, he could have anyone eliminated with a single phone call. Vladimir Petrov always got what he wanted.
Petrov’s family had run a large, government-owned box factory south of Moscow. But when the Soviet Union dissolved on Christmas day in 1991, the new leader, Boris Yeltsin, a drunken fool in the pocket of the Russian mob, needed someone to run Russia’s largest box factory, so he sold it to the Petrovs through a sketchy privatization program. They instantly became billionaires. The privatization of former Soviet industries through an unfathomable stock share system created the Oligarch Class, bandits one and all.
Vladimir now controlled the family fortune. He liked building fancy resorts, and when he heard he might be able to develop a resort at the edge of the Grand Canyon and run a gondola to the bottom, he was all in. He didn’t care what it cost, who he had to step on, or who would need to be bought off.
He quickly learned the project would require all his dealmaking skills, connections, and strongarm tactics. And patience, lots and lots of patience.
Grand Canyon was a National Park, arguably the national park in America. The National Park Service limited hotels to only two locations, a few grand historic lodges on each rim, and that was it. This exclusivity was never going to change. But the Grand Canyon was hundreds of miles long, and not all of it was located on national parkland. A large swath meandered through the barren expanses of the Navajo Reservation.
Petrov had never heard of the Navajo before the Grand Canyon Esplanade project. At first, he thought it was some sort of animal, and in many ways, that’s what he still thought about all native people. But when he learned the Indians had the authority to permit a resort anywhere they chose on their land, a resort overlooking the Grand Canyon became his obsession. Nothing was going to stand in his way.
That had been several years ago. A lot of money had been spent and many mistakes had been made along the way. Hiring Thomas Stone looked like the biggest one of all—not that Petrov had made that call. Stone’s firm was supposedly locked into the highest levels of the U.S. government; some said all the way to the president. Stone could grease any slide. That was reach a Russian oligarch understood. Access was power, and power was money.
Stone had been hired by the American investors of the Grand Canyon Esplanade, men who remained silent partners, and Petrov followed Stone’s every instruction. Even his security detail had been put together by Stone, which meant they were undoubtedly working for Stone while Petrov paid their six-figure salaries. That was fine. Petrov had more money than he could spend in several lifetimes.
But the money hadn’t yet bought him the Grand Canyon project, nor was any end in sight. It was one roadblock after another. Stone didn’t seem to care. He routinely assured Petrov that everything was going according to plan. Yet the Navajo seemed no closer to approving his lease or granting the permits for construction. Lately, Indians and wild-haired, lunatic protestors were on the news, screaming that the Grand Canyon Esplanade was the work of the devil. Petrov’s name was now out in the open, which was never a good thing. And the federal regulators were busting his balls about some goddamn fish.
So, when Thomas Stone came strolling through the swinging oak doors onto the pool patio and headed for Petrov’s table with a shit-eating grin on his face, Petrov almost exploded with rage. The nerve of this arrogant American.
“A good day to you, my friend,” offered Stone as he took a seat and motioned to the waiter that he would have whatever Petrov was drinking. “How are you doing on this fine day?”
“How am I doing?” roared Petrov in his thick Russian accent. “I don’t know, Mr. Stone. How about you tell me.”
“All is well and on track,” Stone said. “We got a little off course the other night at the Navajo Council meeting, but it’s all good. Nothing can stop us.”
“Not even the goddamn fish?” spit Petrov. “That fish lady can shut this whole project down. Is that not the case?”
Stone nodded, but the smile never left his face. “Yes. The U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service has the authority to reject any proposal which they can prove will irreparably harm an animal that’s on their Threatened and Endangered List.”
Petrov took a long pull on his drink and banged the glass down on the table. “So, what if this fish lady makes such a claim?”
“She won’t,” replied Stone confidently. “We’ve done a great deal of research on Mary Malone, and what we found out is she’s a dedicated scientist. But there’s nothing in her background to indicate she would lead any charge. She will gather the data and present it to her bosses in Flagstaff. It will be up to her superiors as to whether the Grand Canyon Esplanade poses a serious risk to the endangered fish. And our friends in Washington control her bosses. I promise you that none of the people running that agency are going to make such a determination.”
Petrov sighed and his face lit up. “You are sure of this?”
“One hundred percent,” answered Stone as his drink arrived.
Stone raised his whiskey sour in a toast. “To the humpback chub!”
“To the chub!” laughed Petrov as they clinked glasses.
Stone ran his finger along the rim of the glass. “Malone has come to the end of the road. Her fish monitoring days are numbered.”
“You plan to eliminate her?” asked Petrov excitedly.
“No, Vladimir. I’m sorry to say that’s not the way we generally do business here in America. I would prefer not to go into the details. But suffice it to say, her work is through, and the fish are on their own from here on out.”
“That’s welcome news,” replied Petrov. “But what about the Navajo? My resort didn’t get much support at the meeting the other night. A majority of the Council clearly opposes the project. How do you propose to turn that ship around?”
“Relax, Vladimir, we are handling that as we speak. I had a come-to-Jesus meeting with Chairman Greyeyes right after the Council adjourned, and he is still solidly onboard. But these things take time.”
Petrov scowled. “Well, obviously it is not a matter of money because I have paid off that lying sonofabitch and his friends on the Tribal Council more times than I care to remember for the past year, and we have nothing to show for it. It looks like we are in worse shape now than when we started.”
Stone held up his hand. “Slow down, my friend. Trust me. All is not lost. The tide is soon going to turn in our favor.”
Petrov was sweating; his gaudy Hawaiian shirt was soaked. He seemed not to notice as he waved for another whiskey sour. The man could drink like a fish.
“Listen, Mr. Stone, I have very important partners who I must answer to. They call each day and ask how things are going. What am I to say to them? They are deeply concerned about their money and fear that I have mishandled their investment. They, of course, do not know that you even exist, and I do not share the particulars of our relationship. They know that I have enlisted the help of powerful American government operatives, and Russians love such arrangements. It is the primary reason they got involved in this venture. But after so many months and so little progress, they are starting to get rather nervous. When men like this get nervous—well, things can quickly spiral out of control.”
Stone slowly came forward in his chair like a lion getting ready to pounce, his eyes focused squarely on his prey. “I hope you aren’t threatening me, Vladimir. Because that is a game you will never win. Remember that you also have other powerful partners—American partners—and those men eat people like you and your Russkiy buddies for snacks. This is America, not Russia, my friend. You invested your money on our ground, with our rules, and we call the fucking shots. Understand? So, I would stick to what you know best—whoring and gaming. A man who made his money building boxes, and all that man’s little Slavic bully boys, best know their fucking limitations. Are we clear on this?”
Petrov felt a tingle mixed with rage and fear. Realizing he had crossed a dangerous line with Stone, he backpedaled. “I did not mean to suggest anything other than our strong desire to better understand how and when the Grand Canyon Esplanade will finally gain approval from the Navajo and other authorities so we can commence. That seems like a reasonable request.”
Stone slid back in his chair. “And that’s why I personally flew across the country and came down to this sunny playground of yours to tell you in person that all is well. And you will soon be breaking ground on the Grand Canyon Esplanade.”
Petrov’s fresh drink came, and he took a big gulp, chewing loudly on a mouthful of ice cubes. “Everything with the Navajo seems so uncertain.” He let the troubled thought drift off into silence.
Stone looked up at the bruised twilight sky as he considered his response. He hated Russians and wished he had never met this drunken pig of a man. But he had been hired to do a job, and his client had instructed him to handle Petrov with kid gloves and keep the man happy. Stone had dealt with bigger fools than Petrov. And the ultimate rewards would far outweigh minor distractions like Petrov’s incessant whining.
“The Navajo are not supportive of our resort because they believe they do not need us. But if that were to change, then they would come running, begging for us to build a money maker on their land.”
“That would be wonderful,” agreed Petrov. “But how is that going to happen?”
Stone lowered his gaze. “Need to know, my friend. And that’s way beyond your pay grade. But you can assure your friends that there is soon going to be an earth-shattering announcement that will change the whole dynamic. The Navajos will quickly support the project.”
Petrov opened his mouth like a largemouth bass sucking for air. “What news could possibly do that?”
Stone flashed a gambler’s smile. “You just wait and see.”