Rasputin's Shadow

57

Miraculously, Thursday night had come and gone without us having to call in another convoy of coroners’ wagons.

I’d made it back from DC on time and spoken to Aparo on my way home. He’d confirmed that nothing noteworthy had happened while I was out of town. He pressed me on how my trip had been and when I was going to let him in on “Whatever the hell it is you’re getting yourself into,” as he put it. I’d said we’d talk about it in the morning and driven home to Mamaroneck, where I managed to grab some quality time with Tess before she glided into sleep and I mulled over whatever the hell I’d gotten myself into.

Then Alex had woken up, just before five a.m., with another nightmare. What frustrated me to no end was that I couldn’t go to him then and comfort him. I was worried it might only make things worse, given what they’d seeded about me in his head. Tess had spent the rest of the night-both hours of it-in bed with him. She was great at calming him down. I was truly lucky to have her in my life.

It was seven thirty and all four of us were in the kitchen, wolfing down pancakes-with slightly more elegance than Kurt had that day at IHOP, I hoped-along with a small mountain of raspberries and blueberries. I glanced at Alex and smiled, and he smiled back like everything was perfect in the world.

And right there, for that brief moment, it was.

A little over an hour later, I was back at Federal Plaza, and the ants in my pants were on tenterhooks, both from the frustration I was feeling regarding our lack of progress on tracking down Koschey and from wondering when I was going to hear from my favorite libertine.

As far as Koschey was concerned, we were at a standstill. Apart from hoping the APB on the van paid off, the only thing we could do was keep monitoring for any relevant chatter or hope for an NSA intercept that could clue us into his current movements. Homeland Security had a major lock on airports, ports, and border crossings, based on the assumption that Koschey had to be getting ready to get out of Dodge, with Sokolov and the van in tow. If not the whole van, then at least whatever it was Sokolov had put in it. But we live in a big country, and it’s not that difficult to smuggle something or someone out of here if you really put your mind to it.

By ten, I needed some air and some decent coffee and Aparo needed to hear what I was up to, so we stepped out of the building, did a pit stop at my favorite food cart, and took a bench across the street by the African Burial Ground monument.

Aparo didn’t take it too well.

“Jesus, Sean,” he said when his blood pressure finally settled enough to allow him to speak coherently. “You could go to jail for this.”

I shrugged. “I know. But what the hell. If it all gets that messy, maybe that’s how I’ll finally get to the truth.”

“You know that’s a pipe dream as much as I do. They can clam up and claim national security and lock your ass up faster than you can say patriot.”

“You have a better idea for how I can find him?”

Aparo frowned at me, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Let’s hope this Kirby really wants to hang on to his wife. ’Cause from where I’m standing, it’s not something I would gamble on.”

I was thinking about what he said when an unfamiliar ringtone warbled in my immediate vicinity. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that it was coming from the prepaid phone I’d bought before flying down to DC, the one I’d purchased specifically so I could give Kirby an untraceable phone.

You work in law enforcement long enough, you learn a few tricks from the criminals you spend your life chasing. Basic, in this case, but handy given my current predicament.

“It’s him,” I told Aparo as I flipped open the flimsy plastic clamshell phone. At least, I hoped it was him and not some CIA security officer calling to get a lock on who and where I was before the troops swooped in.

“You know what you’ve asked for isn’t exactly easy to access,” he said. His tone was hushed and clearly irritated, which was hardly surprising.

“If it were, I wouldn’t have needed you, would I? Do you have the name?”

“Reed Corrigan is mentioned in three case files,” he said. “All three were flagged, but I managed to pull them without tripping anything. Two of them are dormant and one’s active.”

I was crushing the phone with my grip. “His name, Kirby. What’s his name?”

“I can’t access it. These files are redacted. I can’t get to the clean ones without authorization, which means I’d have to tell them why I want them. And anyway, his name wouldn’t be in them. They would only ever mention his code name.”

A charge of fury went right through me. “That wasn’t our deal,” I hissed.

“Hey, nothing was ‘our’ deal,” Kirby shot back. “It was all your deal. It wasn’t open to negotiation, remember? Anyway, this is the best I can do. At my clearance level, anyway. If I get promoted tomorrow, maybe you’d be in with a chance. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

I tried to push back the searing sense of frustration that was engulfing me. “Send me the files.”

“I can’t,” Kirby said. “I can’t take them out of here and I can’t leave that kind of electronic trail. The e-mail would get blocked before it even left our servers.”

“Put them on a USB stick then,” I suggested gruffly.

“Same thing,” he countered. “Any copying is immediately logged by the system. What do you think this is, Dunder Mifflin?”

I was burning up inside. All that effort and risk, for nothing. I don’t know why, but I really wanted the damn files. Even though Kirby had already said they wouldn’t give me Corrigan’s real name.

“The files. Are they paper, or on your screen?”

“Screen. Any old paperwork’s been scanned in.”

“You have your phone with you, right? Use it. Take pictures of your screen. Message them to me.”

“They’re big files.”

“I don’t need all the cross references,” I told him. “Just the main body of each report.”

I heard him let out a long exhale. “Then we’re done, right?”

My turn to exhale. “Yeah. We’re done. But I need those screen grabs now.”

“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “And by the way, you’re a real asshole, you know that?”

I killed the call without replying.

I CAN’T STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER, Shin thought.

He’d been there for more than twenty-four hours. Sticking to the immediate vicinity of the bench, watching life wind down and start off again. Living off any scraps he could find in the park’s garbage cans.

A fucking PhD, he lamented. What a joke.

By this point he was dizzy, tired, and weary. His mind was starting to play tricks on him. One minute, he was imagining men in suits and dark glasses hustling his Nikki from their apartment and doing horrible things to her. The next he pictured her sipping Champagne and laughing it up in a luxurious hot tub with a rich, handsome dude in there with her.

He had to put an end to this nightmare. There was no point in living if it meant living like this.

He decided he’d make the call. An anonymous phone call. Tip the cops off to the Russian bastard’s location. Who knows. If they got him, maybe it would all go away. Maybe he’d have nothing left to worry about.

He’d do it for himself. For Nikki. And for Jonny and Ae-Cha.

He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled off to find a phone booth.

KOSCHEY WAS BY THE door of the warehouse, watching life resume across the industrial park. Today would be a big day. A long one. A challenging one.

He was ready for it. He’d spent most of the night planning the hit. He’d checked the schedule, laid out his timetable, and used the extensive resources available online to research the venue and everything around it. It would be tight, especially on such short notice, but it was doable. And the opportunity was too great to pass up. Besides, he was used to operating under pressure, and quick decisions and swift planning made leaks and last-minute-changes less likely.

He would also be enjoying the benefit of a significant tactical advantage.

He checked the time, then made the call.

The Lebanese car dealer told him his bosses in Tehran wanted to go ahead. Just as Koschey knew they would.

Koschey confirmed their arrangements, asked him to thank his bosses for their confidence, then hung up.

He glanced at the SUV. It was ready. But he’d need to try it out first. Make sure Sokolov had done his work properly.

Once that was done, there’d be no stopping him.

Until the next opportunity arose.