As he bundled up in his leather coat, he took in his surroundings, thinking of what it might be like to just be a guy with a normal life. A couple passed him, holding each other close and avoiding the rain with their large umbrella. They seemed happy. While he didn’t know them, the look on their face portrayed peace. That was something he had been without for most of his life.
Being raised by a mother with trust issues and a father who was by all accounts socially dysfunctional, he had spent most of his life seeking something. Peace was a word that was foreign to him. He had no recollection of what real happiness meant, what really family was supposed to be or what simplicity entailed. His life was a mirage of bad memories, even though he had been the recipient of more money than most and privy to a world that most thought only existed on television. There was supreme nothingness in what he had found. He didn’t belong – not to the Vory, not to the government.
Ducking into a shabby store-front massage parlor out of the rain a few miles away from his penthouse apartment, he took off his jacket and stomped his feet on the mat.
A small Asian woman escorted him through the small lobby lit by red light bulbs and decorated with faux plants to a small room with a massage table. Quietly, she closed the door after him and locked it. Digging into his pocket, he took out a thumb drive and placed it on the table across from him and sat down in the corner on a small stool.
Minutes later, the door in the back of the room opened and a tall Chinese American man appeared. Agent Lee was a middle-aged cynic who lived for his job with a no-nonsense, permanent scowl and a cop-style crew hair cut to match. He locked the door behind him and quickly got to the discussion.
“How was Moscow?” he asked, grabbing the thumb drive and stuffing it down into the inner pocket of his wool coat.
“Cold,” Gabriel replied. “But also productive. I passed the test. I am who I say I am. I’ve got a meeting with the entire Medlov family in Prague at Dmitry’s home in one week.”
“Impressive,” Lee said, sitting across from him. “And what of Anatoly.”
“Oh,” Gabriel smiled. “He hates my guts like we thought he would. The only problem that I can possibly see is Royal. The wife is a real piece of work.”
“How so?”
“Well, she obviously doesn’t trust me. I guess her history with my father doesn’t help. But I have to win her over. I get the feeling that her opinion of me will determine just how long I live.”
“She’s supposed to be dead, you know.” Lee put another thumb drive on the table and slid it across to him. “But she’s small fries. She’s never been involved in anything illegal, but faking her own death, from what I can tell. And it’s going to be nearly impossible to get her back to the states and from under Dmitry’s protection to do anything useful on her. At this point, I would just try to stay on her good side. Any mention of drugs at all?”
“Not one mention of anything illegal, but I’m sure that’s what the meeting is for.”
“How long do you expect them to keep you there?”
“As long as they want. I don’t get the feeling that these men function on the same timetable as the rest of the world.”
“So, how do we keep your cover concrete is the question? Since you left Russia, there has been a serious investigation on all your background with the New York families and inquiries from some of the oldest and more notable mob figures from all sorts of families from half way across the world.”
“What can I say? I’m popular.”
“Let’s keep it that way. We’re wiring more money for you. You need to be a little flashier. We’ve also got a back story for you on a few murders you were involved in last year. You can read through the thumb drive when you get time. Your place has been bugged, tapped, everything else since the break in. You’ll need all new computers and everything. Remember to be extra careful. No communication with anyone who is not involved with the Medlov family and only communicate through me from here on out until you’re pulled from undercover.”
“I know the drill. I don’t think we should treat Royal with kid gloves though. I’m telling you, I have to get her on my side.”
“Well, what would you suggest?”
“I was reading her file, and she’s an orphan right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, since I’m supposed to be an identity hacker, I need to pull a few strings and get some information that would definitely be sealed.”
“Regarding whom?”
“Royal, of course.” Gabriel pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket and passed it to Agent Lee. “This is what I could come up with myself, but I need more.”
Lee looked at the paper and then folded and put it away. “Is this all?”
“This may be what I need to win her completely over and break through the barriers to really get the family to trust me.”
“Or it could prove you’re a cop.”
Gabriel smiled. “I would think that it would prove that I’m the latter. Trust me, I’ll be convincing, but I need it before I go to Prague.”
Chapter Seven
Agosto heard his phone ringing from across the office. Cutting his conversation off with one of his subordinates, he quickly jetted through his door and grabbed the phone from across the desk before it could go to voicemail.
“Lieutenant Agosto, Memphis Police Department,” he said, pulling the phone’s cord towards him to cut the static.
“Hi, this is...well, my name isn’t important, but I have important information regarding Anatoly Medlov for your ongoing investigation, if there is one.”
Agosto looked around his office through the glass doors to make sure that no one could hear him speaking. Reaching his leg out, he caught the end of the door with his foot and closed it. Lowering his voice, he moved over to his seat and grabbed a pen and paper.
“Go head,” he said, waiting for the woman to continue. Whoever was calling was doing so from a blocked number. Dammit.
“You may or may not already know this, but Anatoly Medlov is running a large amount of guns through your city. They are from a big deal that went down in Sochi, Russia during the Olympics earlier this year. And he’s filtering all the money through art.”
“What kind of drugs. What kind of guns? Who’s the art dealer?” Agosto asked, trying to place the woman’s accent. He wrote down on his pad. Female. Race unknown. Accent questionable. Possibly east coast.
“I’m not sure of what kind. But I think that quantity is important. He dropped off a shipment to a group of Jewish men in Istanbul a few months ago and since then he’s been selling them in bulk to the largest bidder.”
“Where is he housing the guns? Who’s been some of the largest bidders?”
“Not sure,” the woman huffed. “I don’t know much, but I can tell you this. They are in the city of Memphis.”
“Well, the city is pretty big. Do you have an idea of where he might be storing them?”
“No, but I’ll try to find out.”
“Any other information?”
“Not right now. He’s pretty tight-lipped, but I’m telling you, he’s the head of the Medlov family not Dmitry. And he’s right under your nose.”
Agosto looked up from his paper. His suspicions where correct. “How do you know all of this?”
“I can’t give you that either. I’m not trying to be killed anytime soon.”
“Well, why are you doing this?”
“The usual. The whole woman scorned bit,” the woman said in a condescending voice. “The bastard has it coming to him.”
“I hear ya,” Agosto said with a grin. “So, what’s your name? Maybe you can come and we can talk, or I can meet you. Some of the information you’re giving me is out of my jurisdiction. So, I’ll need to pass it on the FBI.”
“No deal. I just want him to know what it’s liked to be caged like an animal. I’ll get you what I can when I can, as long as it doesn’t come back to me.”
“Maybe you can answer one mor
e question for me then.”
“Okay,” she said, holding her breath.
“Is Royal Stone still alive?”
The woman laughed and hung up the phone.
Agosto put the phone down on the receiver and sat back in his seat. Biting his lip, he quickly wrote down more notes on the pad under his pen, scribbling quickly, then pulled the piece of paper off the sheath and put it in his pocket.
A million questions crossed his mind, but in his time on the force, he had learned to still them in order to move from a clue to an actual bust.
There was a knock at his door that interrupted his swirling thoughts. Looking up, he saw Cory. He waved him in and kicked his feet up on his desk.
Cory, a friend and subordinate of Agosto’s and the former undercover for the first undercover Medlov investigation, came in and closed the door behind him. With a file in his hand from his current case, he pulled a seat out and sat down.
“Sup,” Cory said, picking up on Agosto’s far-off gaze. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Agosto gave a devilish grin. “Not a ghost. I think I just finally got a lead on the Medlov’s.”
“What kind of lead?”
Agosto hesitated.
“Oh, come on man. I damned near got killed trying to bring Dmitry Medlov in. How are you going to sit there and hold out on me?” His clever eyes beam in anticipation.
“You were always close but no cigar, Cory. Not worth shit.”
Cory scratched his freckled nose and squinted. “I got closer than anyone else...even you.”
“What the hell,” Agosto said, throwing his concern to the wind. “I just got a call from some woman. I want to say that she was black, who told me that Anatoly Medlov is in fact the new Czar and that he’s housing a shit load of guns here for distribution. Now, we knew that he was the boss, but what we didn’t know is that they were moving any product out of Memphis anymore. The word was that the product went with Dmitry, but this proves otherwise.”
Cory’s face was blank. Blinking his eyes, he finally swallowed and sat back in his seat. “You don’t say. Well, do you have any idea who the woman is?”
“Nope. She called from a blocked number, but she said that she’d call back with more as soon as she could.” Agosto reached down into his side drawer and pulled out the Medlov file. With a quick lick of his thumb, he flipped through the pages and pulled out a lead sheet. “I have to call Sorrello over at the Bureau and let him know.”
Cory silently watched Agosto as he logged the conversation with the mystery woman. “Do you need me to go back under on this? I could.”
Agosto smiled and closed the file. “Nope, I’ve already got someone.”
“Who?”
“You know that I can’t tell you that.”
“But I could help.”
“No, man. Look, you got pulled off this thing over three years ago. Now, my new UC has gone through a lot of training on this and he will get the job done. Trust me. He’s a stand up guy.”
Cory smiled. “So it’s a dude.”
Agosto shook his head. “That’s about all I’ll tell you. Now, get the fuck out of here, and go do some cop work, will ya.”
Cory stood up. “Alright. Alright. I’m out of here. Just remember. I’m your man, whenever your UC fucks this up. And he will.”
“He won’t. Trust me,” Agosto said, sitting back in his seat.
As Cory closed the door, he felt his heart finally start to beat again. He wasn’t getting paid by Dmitry to be the last to know. Shit. He had to get out of the precinct now and get to his other cell phone to let the Medlov family know. Another UC. Another problem. At least, he could inform him that it was a guy. But there was no telling how long he had been under. Hopefully, whoever had been assigned hadn’t been there long.
/div>
Foregoing the elevator, he pushed the door to the stairs open and zipped down the four flights to the back entrance of the police precinct. Within in minutes, he was out at his truck. He cranked it up quickly and pulled onto the streets. By the time that he was at the first light, he was on the phone to Prague.
“Hello,” Dmitry answered his personal cell.
“You’ve got a UC back in the fray and a leak from inside.”
“Start with the UC. Who?”
“Don’t know.”
“Find out. That’s what I pay you for.”
“I’m on it.”
“How long have they been inside my organization?”
“I’m not sure that he’s inside, but I do know that he’s a guy. He’s been trained well, so you won’t recognize him as an outsider.”
“Find out how long he’s been under and find out who it is. Now, what of the leak?”
Cory could hear a child laughing in the background. He pulled over to the side of the street, hands shaking and calmed his voice. “It’s a woman. A black woman. She called and gave information about the guns. She didn’t give enough to be completely useful but she’s looking for more.”
“A black woman?
“Yes.”
“Well, there’s only three, and one of them, I am certain is not your person,” Dmitry said, looking at his wife.
“Then it’s possibly Renee or someone else.”
“Very well.” Dmitry didn’t sound the least bit put off, which scared Cory more.
“I’ll inform my son, myself. But you’ve got to find out who the UC is, I can find the leak.”
“I’m on it.”
“You had better be,” Dmitry said as he hung up his cell.
Cory closed his phone and took a deep breath. He had been warned several times about late Intel from inside the department. Dmitry would only be so forgiving regardless of their past relationship. He had to find out who the UC was. The only thing he could think of was to start hanging out more at the restaurant and clothing store during his time off and when he was supposed to be working these other bullshit cases. Whatever it took, he’d do it.
***
When his father had originally assigned him to the kitchen when Anatoly first came to Memphis many years ago, he felt slighted. What did working in Mother Russia have to do with learning his duties as a Vor? He had never been a cook, never appreciated the fine art of cooking, never wed to learn. But over the years, he figured out that his father didn’t want him to work with him in the kitchen to teach him lessons of the Vor. He had him work there, because it gave them time to do something together as father and son away from their responsibilities to the men and to the organization.
Now with his father many thousands of miles away, when Anatoly really missed Dmitry, when he really needed to work things out in his head, or when he really wanted to get away, he found himself in the kitchen among his workers fixing the meals that he at first thought to be a punishment of some sort.
Today was like any other day for him. Work in his kitchen was going well. He had hand-made the Borscht and cabbage and was carefully preparing the salad and pelmeni. His other workers labored diligently beside him, making sure to move out of his way every time that he passed them.
He worked with his I-pod in his ears, listening to music and thinking about the other tasks before him that would take a great deal more effort than his meals.
Outside the kitchen, the staff put fresh flowers in all the vases and made sure the place was tidy for the lunch crowd.
Vasily sat in the corner, scanning the newspaper and watching the exits for anyone who might enter. As he turned the page of the New York Times, Destiny came in through the front door with a bundle of magazines in her hand.
They made eye contact and he stood. Walking over to her, it crossed his mind that with her hair in a ponytail pulled to the back of her head, she looked like a cop.
“Can I help you?” Vasily asked.
“I’m here to see Anatoly,” Destiny explained with a bright smile.
“I’ll see if he’s available. You can have a seat, if you’d like.” Vasily pointed at the table near the back
of the restaurant.
“Oh, I can wait here for him,” she said, looking towards the kitchen.
“I insist,” Vasily said sternly. “If he’s available, I’ll let you know.” His voice was gruff and thick with his Russian accent. Glaring at her under menacing green eyes, he motioned once more towards the back of the room.
As she turned, a hostess was there to guide her to the back. “Follow me,” the woman said with a smile, looking back at Vasily with worried eyes.
Destiny followed quietly. This wasn’t exactly what she had in mind, but she’d allow it. Based upon her short interaction with his bodyguard, she wasn’t sure that she had a choice. Sit or get out.
Several minutes later, Anatoly emerged from the kitchen in a dark pair of jeans and black t-shirt.
Curly blonde locks danced about his head and his boyish face was unshaven. With a half-smirk, he camto the table, pulled a seat out and sat down.
“Are you looking for a free meal?” he asked, running his hand over the tablecloth.
Destiny smiled. “No, I came to see you.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I wanted to see if you liked my story.”
“It was pretty good. You’re a decent reporter.”
“Wow, is that a compliment?”
“The best one I can give,” he said, looking behind him. “Bring us over some borscht, bread and vodka, Amelia,” he ordered the woman standing only a few feet from them.
The woman bowed and turned to go and get their food.
“Oh, I can’t stay long,” Destiny said, setting the magazines down. “I just thought that you’d like a few copies for the restaurant.”
“You can stay long enough to have lunch with me. You did after all, interrupt me from cooking. It’s the least that you can do.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cigarettes.
Anatoly Medlov: Complete Reign Page 9
