Crossing the Line (9 page)

Ethan arrived at the FBI field office in North Miami Beach to find he had no security clearance.

“Call Frank Heathcote,” he told the reception officer.

Frank was the SAC, Senior Agent in Charge, of the division dedicated to tracking Eurasian crime and had offered Ethan a job after listening to his talk at a conference in Budapest on combating extortion.

Ethan had his back to the elevator. When he saw the two guards straighten, he guessed Frank had come down. He turned and smiled.

“Ethan, good to see you.” Frank shook his hand and slapped him on the back.

“You too.”

He was a silver-haired, thin-faced man with the kind of expression politicians would purchase if they could, a natural sincerity and warmth that made you want to trust him, give him your last dollar, sell him your soul. Ethan wondered if Frank had spent years perfecting it.

“Don’t tell me you’re bored already,” Frank said.

“Too much sunshine.”

He laughed. Ethan had told him how desperate he was for Florida sun.

“Come on up.”

He led the way back to the elevator. As the doors closed Frank turned to him again. “We weren’t expecting you for ten days. Not taking vacation time is almost unforgivable around here.”

“I figured I’d better start looking for a place on this side of the state. Sanibel’s outside of the allowable commute.”

“More’s the pity. My wife would love a place on Marco Island. I reckon we’ll need to win the lottery. Well, we can get your security pass sorted out and my secretary can help with accommodations. She has a list. Got one for everything, she’s so damn organized. Much better than my last one.”

Frank strode out of the elevator toward his office, pausing only to introduce Ethan to Jack Bosman, coordinator for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime. Frank’s office was accessed through his secretary’s. She was busy on the computer when they walked in.

“Luisa—meet Ethan Roberts. He’s of the sad opinion it’s more fun working than sitting on the beach. He needs a list of accommodations and his coffee…?”

“Black, not too strong, no sugar,” she said before Ethan could answer.

He laughed. “Is that a guess?”

“No, she’ll have checked,” Frank said.

Ethan shook her hand. “I’m impressed.”

She smiled. “Very nice to meet you, Special Agent Roberts.”

Frank beckoned him through to his office and they passed the time talking about football and hockey until the coffee arrived and Luisa left.

Frank leaned back in his chair. “Now why are you really here ten days early?”

“Vasily and Irina Novikov.”

His new boss didn’t miss a beat. “Couple found dead in their house in Fort Lauderdale.”

“We have anything on them?”

Frank shook his head. “Not that I’m aware.”

“My last assignment was to fly from Moscow to Paris sitting next to their niece, Ekaterina Petrovna Mazarov. Calls herself Katya.”

Frank leaned back. “I didn’t need to know until now?”

“It was low level surveillance of more interest to the Russians than us and so a possible bargaining chip for Gerry. I was to check if she was up to anything and inform you if I had any suspicions, but she looked fine.” In more ways than one. “I watched Novikov collect her from Miami airport. She was supposed to be staying with them for a couple of weeks. There’s no mention of her in any news article.”

“Maybe she left early.”

“I hope she did.”

“What’s the interest in her?”

“Several months ago her sister, Galya, was tortured and killed while working undercover for the FSB. The guy she was reporting on is now in Miami. Viktor Petrenko.”

“Nightclub owner.” Frank nodded. “Runs the Apocalypse. The arrogant bastard sent invites to a number of agents for the opening night. I think Rico went. So the FSB think Petrenko had her sister killed?”

“That’s the question. Galya was feeding useful information to the FSB, then turned up dead. Grossly mutilated. A few months later her parents and only living grandparents died when their car went into the river, pure chance Katya wasn’t with them. She refused to accept it was an accident and pestered the police, the FSB, the SVR, anyone she could find. She even came to our embassy because she claimed an official car forced her father off the road. She wanted us to check our vehicles for damage.”

Frank frowned. “Any evidence to support her claim?”

“Her father’s car was crushed and disposed of very quickly.”

“Deliberate?”

Ethan shrugged. “The Russians aren’t normally so efficient. Katya wasn’t the only one making a nuisance of herself. Before he died, her father had been just as persistent, trying to find out who’d betrayed his daughter and why nothing had been done about her murder. Maybe someone decided to shut the family up. Katya told me she’d discovered a vagrant who’d seen the accident. He disappeared. Fairly easy to read conspiracy into this.”

“Or nothing at all.”

“True, but we know she went to the FSB and offered to work undercover.”

“Ah. Their response?”

“’Go away, little girl.’ So they said.”

“How has she ended up here?”

“She’s a talented violinist and applied for a year’s exchange at UM. We didn’t know whether she discovered something about the murder of her sister and the deaths of her family that led her here. The flight was arranged so we sat together.”

“What did you think?”

Oh God. Sexy, sweet, cute…
“Levelheaded. No hint of plans to do any sleuthing, so theoretically, there was no case to open. I’d intended to brief you on her when I started work and possibly keep an eye on her.”
Maybe more than that
. “Now I find her aunt and uncle are dead and she’s disappeared.”

“You think she killed them?”

“Hell, no.”

“Maybe she’s dead too?”

“I hope not.” His stomach churned.

“What do you want to do?”

“Unofficial has turned official. I’d like to look at the crime scene, but I’d prefer this was kept quiet.”

Frank nodded. “I’ll make a call.”

As he reached for the phone the intercom buzzed.

“Yes, Luisa?”

“Special Agent Revnik wants a quick word.”

“Send him in.”

Ethan stood to shake Revnik’s hand.

“Ethan, good to see you again. Nice weather here, eh?” The Russian laughed.

Revnik had changed. His once pallid face was tanned. He was slimmer and wore a well cut suit and expensive shoes.

“Better than Moscow and it clearly agrees with you,” Ethan said.

“It does.” Revnik turned to Frank. “Sorry to interrupt but I’ll be flying up to New York after all, so I need the dossier.”

“Sure.” Frank handed him a folder from his desk. “Give my regards to John.”

“Okay. I’ll catch you later, Ethan.”

Frank waited until Revnik had gone, then asked, “How well do you know him?”

“We had a small amount of social contact. We never worked together directly. Are his wife and children over here?”

“Still in Moscow,” Frank said. “The wife didn’t want to come. She cares for elderly parents.”

“I was told he was a good, solid investigator. Any reason to think otherwise?”

“No, it’s just he’s rubbed some of the team the wrong way. Could be cultural.”

“I’ll take him out for a drink, have a word.”

Frank smiled. “Thanks. Now let’s go and see if anyone’s in and I’ll show you your office. I bet Luisa already has the current dossiers on your desk.”

Rico Martinez, Tom Davies and Lindy Toomey were in the common room. Frank had warned Ethan that Martinez had hoped for his job so although the guy’s greeting was friendly, Ethan knew he’d have to work hard to get him on his side. While Martinez was dark and sullen, Lindy was short, squat and perky. Martinez had only worked in Miami, but Lindy had cut her teeth in New York.

He’d studied the backgrounds of all the agents, but it was only half the story. Lindy was in her early forties, bright, married to a teacher with twin sons going through college which had to hurt on their salary. Martinez lost his first wife to breast cancer. His second had been a secretary and was now a stay-at-home mom. They had three children under five. Tom Davies was young and new. His wife had recently had a baby girl. Tom hadn’t lost the keen and bright-eyed look that betrayed his inexperience. He told Ethan he was learning Russian.

Ethan spoke to him in Russian.

Tom laughed. “
Privaskhodna
.”

“What did you say?” Lindy asked.

“He wanted to exchange currency—a million dollars—and asked where the laundry was. I sent him to the police station,” Tom explained.

“In a nice accent too,” Ethan said.

A slight blush swept Tom’s face.

“I’m learning Spanish,” Ethan said. “I suppose you’re all fluent.” No denials.

“But we don’t have enough Russian speakers,” Lindy said. “Can you read it too?”

He nodded. He was pretty good with languages.

“Glad to have you here.” Martinez’s eyes said otherwise. “We feel like we’re trying to push back the tide. You name it, the Russians are doing it—extortion, illegal weapons sales, prostitution, drug trafficking, money laundering, election fraud, internet fraud. If it makes money, they’re interested. Whatever it takes.”

It sounded as if Martinez was giving a lecture to high school students.

“Well, we have to believe we’ll win otherwise we might as well get a job selling cars, right?” Ethan said.

“Do you have any particular areas of interest?” Lindy asked.

“Internet fraud, extortion, prostitution and money laundering for the last year. And no, I didn’t make much money from any of them, especially the prostitution.”

An old joke, but it raised a laugh.

“Here we’re all specialists in everything,” Martinez said sharply.

“Glad to hear it.” Whether it was true or not, it made little difference to their effectiveness as an organization. The FBI, along with other government agencies, working individually and in combination, still struggled to make more than an occasional dent in the activities of East European criminals. It was a war and while it wasn’t wise or politic to admit it, the good guys weren’t doing so well.

After he’d chatted individually with each of them, Ethan felt his initial impressions had been correct. Tom was green but willing to learn. Lindy, with more experience, was a dependable, intelligent agent, though perhaps less opened-minded than she should be, but Martinez had a huge chunk of wood on his shoulder. That didn’t mean to say he was less keen, dependable or intelligent, but he thought he knew it all. Ethan let him run through their most important cases, careful not to make any critical comments. Martinez had an excellent grasp of the scope of their problems in fighting organized crime, but like everyone else, could suggest few solutions.

“The biggest threat is from cyberspace,” Martinez said. “The new guys are all computer literate. They come here and get PhDs from MIT, Harvard and Yale. We’re teaching them to fuck us. We stop one scam, and they set up another. Hard not to be impressed with their ingenuity and sheer determination.”

For the first time Ethan warmed to him. “Pity they’re such ruthless bastards.”

Ethan intended to spend the afternoon looking for somewhere to rent but as Frank warned, Luisa had stacked a pile of files on his desk and kept plying him with coffee.

“Have you had a chance to look at the accommodations list?” she asked. “I could drive you around after work if you like. Point out the problems—crack houses, strip joints, Taco Bell, stuff like that.”

“I like Taco Bell,” Ethan said.

“You’ve been out of the country too long. It’s a den of iniquity. How about I take you to my favorite restaurant, show you the sort of food you’ve been missing?”

Ethan knew a line when he heard it. She was bouncy and trim with big eyes and a nice smile. Not Katya, but…

“What do you say?”

“Okay, sure.”

“Great.”

She made certain she showed him her best asset as she walked out of his office in her high heels. Every time he saw her after that, she had the biggest smile on her face. He had a horrible suspicion she was choosing honeymoon destinations.

Ethan wasn’t surprised by the variety of crimes they were dealing with, but once he’d started to read the files, he’d not been able to stop. Successful strikes against the
Red
Mafiya
had plenty of publicity, but Martinez was right, when one scheme was rumbled, the Russians set up another. The old fashioned medical insurance scam in which fraudulent claims were submitted for non-existent treatment still simmered in every state in the country.

Straightforward extortion was as natural to Russian criminals as scratching an itch. If their victims chose not to co-operate, they suffered the consequences and many eastern bloc criminals, particularly the Chechens, were unconcerned about how violent they had to be to achieve their aims. As one policeman commented, they’d shoot someone merely to test their weapon.