Celeste Three Is Missing
The world’s first earth-orbit passenger plane, the sensational Celeste Three, takes off from its base in Arizona, also the only place where it is designed land. On a routine flight the craft disappears.
On board is Viktor Karenkov, billionaire oil magnate who has used his wealth to evade prosecution for a murder he committed years earlier. Gregory Topozian, the murdered man’s friend, has been waiting for a chance to bring Karenkov to justice. With dogged determination and considerable ingenuity, he conceives an audacious plan.
Getting the craft down in total secrecy is key. And someone has to pay the huge costs involved.
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An extract from the manuscript.
Context: Early 1990s – Greg Topozian tracks his nemesis, Russian oligarch Karenkov, seeking an opportunity to bring him to justice. He has been contacted by Tadeos Derian, an Armenian who has news.
Gregory Topozian stood at the top of the wide steps outside the Moscow University building. The morning was grey and chilly. He turned up the collar of his greatcoat and took out his fur-lined gloves.
“I’d forgotten how bloody cold it can get here,” he complained. “Sorry you’ve had to come out of your warm office, Tadi.”
Tadeos Derian looked up at Gregory, several inches taller than himself.
“Safer to be in the open when we talk about your friend. Anyway, the office is warm because the heating’s working, for a change.” He rolled his eyes. “Maintenance is terrible, when things go wrong they come in their own sweet time. I tell them that students can’t be expected to concentrate on lectures when they’re freezing but it doesn’t help. Cold isn’t a problem for you, I imagine, living the good life down south. I suppose you’ve been sunning yourself on the beach in Batumi?”
“You must be joking,” Gregory replied. They made their way down the steps. “I’ve just returned from a drilling site in Mexico and there was a backlog of work waiting in my office. It’s taken days to get through it. You have some news?”
“Yes, but you won’t like it. Not something I can put in an email.”
“What’s happened?”
“Karenkov’s been busy recently.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting richer.” Derian nodded towards the pathway. “Let’s walk.”
They were speaking in Hayeren, the Armenian language that was their mother tongue. Gregory was anxious to hear Derian’s news, but as his friend looked weary he let him take his time.
Gregory said, “The way that man operates, he belongs in prison.”
“That’s not going to happen, Gregor. He’s dug himself in at the highest level.”
Gregory snorted, his breath emerging as a visible spurt of vapor. “Maybe I should have gone for him in eighty-nine when he was on the murder charge.”
“No, you’d have been crazy even to try, it was too risky. I’m glad I talked you out of it. He’d bought off the witnesses and you would have risked your life if you’d turned up with your tapes. Believe me.”
“Bought off? Intimidated, more like. You said that he would have found a way to bury my evidence, and me with it.”
“I seem to remember that you took a lot of convincing.”
“I was desperate to get him. I’d already waited years and with him under house arrest it seemed the perfect opportunity.”
They walked unhurriedly in silence for a few moments, before Gregory asked, “Well, are you going to tell me? What’s the news on him now?”
Derian replied quietly, “You know about the Presnensky project?”
“The new cultural centre?”
“Cultural, financial, social and business. Especially business. A vast new development, it’s moved on since it was first proposed last year.”
“What’s it got to do with Karenkov?”
“The state has pledged a lot of money to the city for the project. Since the break-up of the Union, corruption is worse than ever. The mayor is under pressure to ensure transparency when the construction contracts are awarded.”
“Hardly surprising.”
“People were saying that the project is a golden opportunity for some to feather their own nests. But the mayor came up with a plan to deal with that. One of his better ideas.”
“What sort of plan?”
“He decided that every main building would have its own separate construction contract and its own architect. They’re all different.”
“One of Karenkov’s companies is in building; is that how he’s involved?”
“To start with.”
“But surely the mayor’s plan is bad news for the likes of Karenkov? He’d be able to quote for only one. Even then he couldn’t be sure of getting it.”
Derian’s mouth turned down. “His bids are rarely challenged. They’re usually accepted, regardless. And he’s quoting for four of the main buildings. Four, more than enough to make him a fortune.”
“But you said…”
“Yes, I know. Under the mayor’s terms it shouldn’t be possible, but Karenkov owns or controls many companies that inter-trade. He appears to be quoting for only one, but by clever manipulation in reality it’s four. Something else you should know: two key people from companies in competition with him have died in suspicious circumstances, an architect and a civil engineer.”
“What? Was he responsible?”
Derian shrugged. “What do you think? One died in a car accident, the other an apparent suicide.”
“Apparent?”
“Nothing proven, in either case.”
Gregory felt his anger rising. “The bastard. I’m going to stop him, as soon as I can.”
Derian put his hand on Topozian’s sleeve and they stopped walking. His manner changed abruptly as he turned and stared into Gregory’s eyes.
“Gregor, listen to me. You have to give up your crusade against this man. It’s madness. If he gets even the slightest hint of your intentions, he will have you killed, for sure. And he’ll get away with it because you would be murdered by people who do not even know you.”
Gregory was stunned into silence, feeling a confusion of emotions; dismay, frustration and rising anger. After a few long moments he spoke. “I can understand why you wanted to tell me this in person.”
“E-mails have sufficed so far, but this time it’s different. He’s more powerful than ever, and totally ruthless. You have to give up, Gregor. As long as your secret tapes exist, you are in mortal danger.”
Gregory shook his head. “I can’t, I swore to get him and I will,” he said grimly. “But I’ll think about what you’ve said.”
Derian checked his watch. “I have to get back; I have another lecture to deliver.”
They turned to retrace their steps. Gregory frowned. “Where did you get the information about his business dealings? He must have gone to some lengths to cover his tracks.”
“The Armenian circle. There aren’t many of us in this city but we take care of each other.” He grinned. “We’re still regarded as foreigners here, you know.”
Gregory nodded. “Now more than ever.”
Author Bio –
After ten happy years of retirement in rural France, Chris Calder is back in England. He came late to writing novels, penning his first whilst incarcerated in a French hospital following cancer surgery. At the time he spoke little French. Unable to communicate effectively with the staff, he spent his time fleshing out his first novel. Five more have followed; light thrillers leavened with humour. Best of all, the cancer is now history.
Chris knows that readers of fiction expect to be diverted and entertained. He loves feedback and believes passionately that taking on board readers’ views improves what what he does. You can email him at chris@chriscalder.com. Go on, he’d love to hear from you.
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