by G. K. Parks
“Sir,” Kate looked frightened to be spoken to in such a way by a superior, “it’s not, I mean, yes.” She took a deep breath and started over. “The spending in these accounts doesn’t coincide with the purchases listed.”
“Which means?” Michael asked, giving her his full attention.
“The records are falsified,” Jablonsky responded, shooting an I told you so look my way. “It speaks to Spilano’s guilt.”
“No,” she interjected, correcting herself quickly by adding, “sir.”
“Sit down and take it from the top.” I kicked a chair toward her, and she sat.
“The list of transactions and authorized purchases don’t line up.” Although she was starting over, it still made no sense. “These accounts belong to Victor Spilano, and from this purchase order, we can conclude Spilano made these purchases. But it’s not physically possible that all the account activity was conducted by Spilano.”
“I’m sure he has assistants at the restaurant who have access to place orders.” Jablonsky wasn’t willing to give even an inch.
Carver picked up the paper Kate dropped on the desk and read through it, passing it to me as she continued to explain the situation.
“He’s the victim of identity theft,” I said aloud, dumbfounded. Kate put a finger on her nose and pointed at me, something that started as a joke back in our shared apartment.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Jablonsky grabbed the paper out of my hand and stormed to the elevator. The three of us exchanged looks. I wasn’t about to follow someone who castigated me for conducting a proper investigation.
“Does this change everything?” Carver asked. I looked to Hartley, hoping she could give us an answer. Numbers were a foreign language, and she was our translator.
“It’s possible.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Were those purchases a principal component of the case?”
“No.” Although it was possible Spilano was the victim of identity theft, it didn’t do anything to exonerate him from the weapons charges. Two people pointed the finger at him for being responsible, and no amount of questionable purchase orders affected that fact.
“Our criminal is also the victim of a crime. How ironic,” Michael chimed in, adding nothing useful. “Nice to see you again, Kate.”
“Likewise. I never expected to see the day when Carver and Parker would be working together.”
I glanced at Michael, waiting for him to say something inappropriate or childish. Instead, he showed a level of restraint I didn’t believe him capable of.
“We got partnered together on this Spilano thing. It hasn’t been so bad. Hell, she’s just turned the whole case upside down which means either she’s a genius or she’s going to tank both our careers. Either way, it’ll be one hell of a ride.” He nodded to me. “I’m gonna phone Boyle and ask what he thinks. Your boss doesn’t agree with our supposition but maybe mine will.”
“Thanks.”
He walked into a conference room and shut the door. I closed my eyes and tried to calm the panic away. Jablonsky was furious. Kate’s findings didn’t reinforce my theory; all they did was throw a monkey wrench into the mix.
“Are you okay, Alex?” Her voice interrupted my pity party.
“I’ve never done this before. Those five months at Quantico did nothing to prepare us for this. I’ve been here for seven months, working under Jablonsky, and just when I think I might be turning into an investigator,” I bit my lip and took a breath, “I might have just sabotaged all of it.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“Disobeying my supervisor’s orders, trying to find some reason why a dirtbag isn’t dirty, dragging you into it,” I let out a sigh, “I’d say I’m coming unhinged.”
“Cease and desist,” she offered.
“That’s the problem. I can’t.”
“Why not?” She was staring as if there was something seriously wrong, like I might have sprouted a third arm.
“Do you ever feel like something is off, and it just keeps nagging at the corners of your mind until you figure it out?” She nodded, but she looked confused. “That’s this case.”
Michael came back into the room. From his expression, it was hard to determine if we just got support or a secondary chewing out. “He hung up. Jablonsky just phoned.” The three of us sat in the office, continuing to study the mountain of paperwork in the interim.
The elevator dinged, and Jablonsky came toward us. He looked slightly more controlled. “Well, if Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys are done screwing around, we have to rework the entire case from the bottom up. Let’s get to it.”
Nine
By Monday evening, the powers that be still believed Victor Spilano was an arms dealer. There was no indication otherwise. This wasn’t a court of law, so the general approach was guilty unless proven innocent. The forensic accountants, Kate included, were going over all purchases and charges with a fine tooth comb. Since we didn’t know exactly what we were dealing with, we were told to hold back on the assumption that it might be identity theft. It was possible the out-of-state orders were being made by an unidentified accomplice or associate. We had no right to be privy to the inner business workings unless we had proof of their illegal nature. Nothing Kate discovered was illegal. Honestly, the way Boyle reacted to the situation, I suspected she was being viewed as overzealous, just like me.
“C’mon,” Carver stood in front of my desk, “let’s get out here.”
Jablonsky had shunned me since yesterday afternoon, and the whispers and looks I got from the other agents made my pariah status obvious.
“Don’t stand too close. You might catch leprosy.”
“Alexis,” he was undeterred, “turn off the computer. We have a dinner date.”
“Specialty Vineyard has been shut down since Saturday night.”
“But Michael Price and Alexandra Riley don’t know that,” he insisted, grabbing the back of my chair and rolling me away from my desk. “You think people are talking about you now, just see what happens when I throw you over my shoulder and carry you from the building.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I snarled, but instead of risking it, I stood and collected my belongings. “Shall we meet there?”
“I’ll pick you up at your place. In the event he spots us, two cars will look suspicious as hell.”
* * *
The investigation was stalled. My hunch didn’t pan out, and unless the accountants discovered something, the raid was a complete waste of time and resources. If anything, we were moving in reverse. Specialty Vineyard closed temporarily after the raid, maybe to try to avoid bad publicity or so Spilano could put his affairs in order and get out of Dodge. I was kicking myself for failing to follow orders and for turning the investigation into a witch hunt. Perhaps I wasn’t cut out for this job.
After arriving at my apartment, I did nothing except stare at my open closet. The clothes I was forced to buy for this operation were hanging, many with tags still attached, taunting my stupidity. There was a knock on the door, and I answered.
“You’re going to need a jacket to hide the shoulder holster and badge,” Michael remarked, entering my apartment. He was dressed in street clothes, a pair of jeans and a button-up shirt, not the more sophisticated business attire I had grown accustomed to.
“Too bad we’re all not lucky enough to conceal our credentials underneath an untucked shirt.”
“Don’t knock the shirt.” He was being playful. Nice, even.
“Am I getting fired?” I asked, trying to figure out why he had the sudden change of heart.
“No. Am I?” He smirked and sat on one of the stools at my counter.
Retreating to my room, I changed into a dark pair of jeans and a black sweater. If he could do casual, so could I. Returning to the kitchen, I put my gun and badge in my purse.
“Did you get any additional instructions, or are we just putting in an appearance and calling it a night?” I inquired since the other
agents were avoiding me.
“The latter.” He followed me to the door, locking it on the way out. “Y’know, it’s a lot more fun to best you when you’re coming at me with your A-game. Right now, everyone thinks I’m brilliant just for being stuck with you. Granted, that is a burden, but not to the extent people believe.” No response seemed pertinent, so I got in the car. Carver cast a glance my way every few minutes but didn’t speak. After he parked the car, he reached for my arm. “None of us know what the fuck we’re doing. So get over it. Do your job. And if you believe in something, don’t back down.”
“Fine.”
“I mean it. I want to kick your ass fair and square to prove once and for all your scores on the exams were a fluke and not actually meant to be two points higher than mine.”
“Cocky bastard,” I retorted, offering a grin.
“Ah, there’s my fiancée. I was beginning to wonder what happened to her.” He opened the car door. “Come on, honey. It’s time for dinner.”
We strolled casually toward the restaurant, but as predicted, there was a notice on the front door. Specialty Vineyard was closed until Wednesday. On the bright side, it was Michael’s gas and quarters that paid for this little venture. I turned back to the car, and something caught my eye.
“What is it?” he asked once he noticed I was no longer next to him.
“I don’t know.”
Veering off the sidewalk, I turned into the alley that ran along the side of the restaurant. Carver’s footsteps were a comforting sound as we tried to act casual in the event we were spotted. The alley contained two dumpsters and not much else. It was narrow and culminated in a dead end. Something had caught the light and reflected it. Kneeling down next to a few wine crates laying next to the dumpster, I still couldn’t determine what I saw.
“Alex,” he flipped the lid on the dumpster and peered inside, “what do you make of this?”
I stood up and looked inside. It was brimming with packing materials covered in Russian mailing labels and writing. My heart sank. Obviously, my insistence that two arms dealers couldn’t be in cahoots was dead wrong. I turned away, and the same shiny glimmer caught my eye again. This time, I spotted the source; there was a single diamond on the concrete beside the crates. Now what did we stumble into?
“Do we call it in?” I asked. After taking a quick photo of the location of the diamond with my phone, I dug out a tissue and picked it up. I doubted it was large enough to provide a usable print, but since I was in hot water, every move I made was going to be by the book.
“And say what? There are some suspicious looking airmail stickers in the garbage outside the restaurant. For all we know, it’s from the caviar.” I held up the diamond for him to examine. “And someone lost the stone on their engagement ring.” He looked skeptical. “Let’s get out of here before we blow our cover. I’ll swing by the OIO, and we’ll give them the heads up.” The unspoken implication was calling in a team to swarm the place wasn’t going to aid my credibility, and it would compromise our fake identities.
Slipping out of the alley as inconspicuously as possible, we went back to the car. There had to be more to the story. Russian shipping crates, diamonds on the ground, and weird purchases on Spilano’s business account, maybe it all added up to weapons dealing. We drove past the alley, and Michael turned down the next street. The restaurant was on the corner, and through the windows, we could see a few men inside.
“Is that Sarskov?” he asked.
“Maybe. It’s hard to tell.” Michael turned at the next corner and whipped the car around. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Recon,” he turned and grinned, “you in?”
“I’m already on thin ice, might as well light a fire while I’m at it.”
“You’re mixing metaphors,” he chastised. Finding a shadowed place on a side road with a decent view of Specialty Vineyard, he parked the car. “I say we stick around and see if anything happens. Anything solid might just be your redemption.”
Glancing at him, I saw an unfamiliar determination. Maybe Carver was more than just an arrogant asshole.
“When the Director’s ripping into both of us, I promise not to throw you under the bus.” It was the only consolation I could offer.
“Noted.” He reached into the back seat and pulled out a camera case. “How illegal is it to photograph someone already under surveillance?” It was a debate from our academy days. He zoomed in, and we had a front row seat to the activities inside Specialty Vineyard.
Ten
Three men were inside. From the way the other two bustled about, it was obvious Ivan Sarskov was in charge. However, there was no sign of Victor Spilano. Maybe he was in the back or out of view. Our angle only allowed us to view what was happening diagonally from the large middle windows.
“What do you think they’re looking for?” Michael posed the question, but I didn’t have an answer.
“Maybe they’re hungry. Who the hell knows?” I sighed. “Where do you think Spilano is?”
“Out back, counting diamonds or packing up a box of AKs,” he kidded, but it made me take pause. There was something to that statement; the gnawing in the recesses of my brain insisted.
“TSA recovered a box of detonator cord. There had been traces of explosive materials on the initial wine shipping box but not a single firearm.” My eyes squinted into the darkness, trying to see something that wasn’t there. “We never found the actual explosives.”
“Shit,” he looked at me, “you think that’s what the Three Stooges are searching for?” We both looked toward the restaurant, but the men were moving out of our line of sight.
“Assuming the diamond in the alley was part of the payment, I’d say whatever they are looking for is long gone.”
We continued to watch as a figure would cross in front of the window, but whatever they were doing, it didn’t appear any headway was being made. The same could be said for us.
A car pulled up and parked illegally in front of a hydrant. Spilano got out, rushing inside. Even though I couldn’t read lips, it was obvious heated words were being exchanged. Spilano was screaming at someone just out of view. Carver decided to try to get a better angle and carefully got out of the car and headed across the street.
Things were going from bad to worse, and I kept my eyes focused on the restaurant as I unzipped my bag and removed my credentials and nine millimeter. I tucked my badge into my front pocket and my gun into the waistband at the small of my back, pulling my sweater down over both. It wouldn’t be prudent to waste time looking for either if the situation required immediate action. Jablonsky’s words about not breaking cover echoed through my mind, and I hoped the jitteriness was a result of my probationary status and never having been in a situation like this before. Innately, I knew better.
Getting out of the car, I looped around to a position on the opposite side of the street from Carver. He cast a glance my way and motioned me over. We were still undercover, and we needed to act like it, especially out in the open. Although dusk had settled and only the street lights provided illumination, the area was still heavily trafficked by both people and vehicles. It was imperative we act with finesse. No one else paid any heed to the closed restaurant, so clearly, our interest was already out of the ordinary.
“Alex,” Michael was trying to downplay his nerves, appearing as always completely macho and in control, but I noticed the slight tremor in his hands, “any ideas?”
“We’ve got nothing concrete. Jablonsky warned us not to blow it prematurely.”
“I’ve never had that problem. I don’t think I want to start now.”
“Then we wait it out.” It was the right call, but it wasn’t an easy one.
The nearby bus stop provided a perfect angle to Specialty Vineyard and a feasible cover. We sat down, and Michael turned to face the restaurant, once again forcing me to lack a decent angle to watch what was happening. Thankfully, he still had the camera on, and he flipped the viewfinder arou
nd so I could watch on the screen as he feigned interest by scooting closer and caressing a strand of hair that framed my face.
He leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “Maybe you were right all along.”
My eyes remained cast downward as Sarskov stepped into view. His posture was intimidating, possibly even threatening. Spilano cowered slightly but refused to meet Sarskov’s demands. He gestured emphatically to the door.
“Looks like a standoff,” I muttered as Michael pulled me into an embrace. His breath hitched, and I felt the sudden exhale on my neck, causing a chill to travel down my spine.
“Someone’s called in reinforcements.” As he continued to watch, I heard three car doors slam in a chorus of impending doom.
“How many?” They were parked across the street from Specialty Vineyard and out of sight of the small screen I was monitoring.
“Three. I can’t be positive, but I’d say one of them is Sarskov’s brother, Sergei.” Do we wait? It was the only question on my mind. “The other two might be his enforcers.” Michael swallowed.
“Call for back-up.” I pulled back and looked him in the eye. Without further instructions, the previous stipulation that I was in charge still held true. “I’m going to gather more information.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Absolutely.” Taking a deep breath, I stood up. “Call it in. Ask for advice and wait for instructions.”
Striding across the street, I wanted to look like I belonged. Alexandra Riley was an employee of P&P, just down the street, and she was a constant frequenter at Specialty Vineyard. There was nothing abnormal about going to the restaurant and knocking on the door. I repeated these facts as I approached the restaurant. Despite my attempt to remain in character, my internal voice was being pessimistic by explaining the precise reason why two new agents were never partnered alone together. We had our training and muscle memory to rely on, but we lacked previous experience.
