by Naomi West
"Good."
The agent steps over to me and extends his hand, which I take.
"I'm agent Kent Potter, Federal Bureau of Investigations."
His handshake is soft and cordial, a stark contrast to his harsh appearance.
"Come with me," he says.
"I have to admit, when we first spoke last night, I thought this was some kind of prank," says Agent Potter as we walk down a long hallway, the sun streaming in from the left. "We've been looking for a lead on the Nowak—your family’s—crime syndicate for years. You Nowaks run a tight ship; not a rat to be found."
"My father is …uncompromising when it comes to things of that nature," says Michal.
The tone of his voice and his words suggest that Iwan has disposed of more than one potential traitor in his years.
"I'm looking forward to hearing all about it," says Agent Potter, stopping in front of a light-brown door, opening it, and leading us in.
The room we enter is a large, but simple office; there's a standard wooden desk that's nothing too fancy, a tall potted plant with heavy green leaves in the corner, and a view of the office park from the windows.
"Have a seat," says Agent Potter.
A knocking comes at the door, and Potter calls for whoever is on the other side to come in. Once the door is opened, a pair of men enter, authority exuding from them. The men take a seat on the couch at the side of the room, their eyes locked onto Michal and me.
"Michal Nowak, ah …"
Agent Potter suddenly reveals he doesn't know my name.
"Alina Jurek," I say.
"Yes, thank you," says Agent Potter, his posture becoming stiff. "This is Assistant Director John Saehan and Senior Agent Michal Allende."
The two men both nod slightly.
"Assistant Director?" asks Michal.
"Assistant Director," says the man in question.
I look over at him. He's an older man, appearing to be in his sixties. He's bald, his stomach has a paunch, and he's wearing a simple, but expensive-looking suit. The man to his right is trim, well-built, with a serious, still face, and a head of slicked-back, dark hair.
"I don't get up on a Sunday morning for just anything," says the Assistant Director. "But the son of the largest crime syndicate in the city deciding he wants to enter witness protection is certainly one of those occasions."
The words hit my ear like they've been spoken in a foreign language; I can't believe this is actually happening. I realize that I can take no more. I open my mouth and the words tumble out.
"What's going to happen to Michal?" I ask, my voice trimmed with anxiety.
Michal places a hand on my thigh and looks me in the eyes with a calm expression.
"Well, that depends," says Agent Potter. "It depends on just what Michal is offering us today."
Michal sits straight in his chair, his hand still on my leg.
"I can offer you whatever it is that you'll need to put my father away. I've been at his side, working along with him for years. Drugs, prostitution, money laundering …murder—I’ve seen it all."
"I don't doubt that for a second," says Agent Potter.
"But before I say a word, I need to know that you can keep me and Alina safe."
"You want witness protection," says Agent Potter.
"Yes. And immunity from prosecution."
A heavy silence fills the air. The Agents look back and forth at one another, as if each is making sure the other is aware of the magnitude of what's being discussed here.
"Full immunity," says the Assistant Director. "You've been one of the key men in one of the biggest drug-running and human-trafficking syndicates on the east coast, and you want to walk out of here scot-free?"
Michal stays calm and poised.
"You know as well as I that you're not going to take down my father any other way."
Agent Potter nods slightly, as if conceding the point.
"That may be so, but letting you off the hook completely, without a charge to your name …well, that's asking for quite a bit."
My heart races at this; this means that Michal might be sent to jail after all.
The Assistant Director rises from his seat and walks to Agent Potter's side.
"We have a deal that we're willing to offer you, Mr. Nowak, and here it is. Take it or leave it. You turn state's witness, give us what you know—whatever it takes to break apart your family's business—and testify at your father's trial. Then you do some time."
Some time. My heart races at the words and my blood runs cold.
"Some time'?" I demand. "You want to put Michal away for ‘some time' after he does all of this for you?"
Michal takes a slow breath in through his nose. He's much calmer than I would be in his shoes.
"You can't get off without so much as a slap on the wrist," says Agent Potter. "Letting criminals go like that, even those who do their country a service …that's just not going to play. We can't be sending the message that crime pays, after all."
"How much time?" asks Michal, getting to the point.
"We're thinking two years," says Agent Potter.
I'm shaking in my seat. I can't imagine going that long without Michal, knowing that he's in prison while I'm free.
"And Alina?" he asks.
"We're not interested in the girl," says Saehan. "She's free to go. Though we should be putting her right on the next plane back to Poland."
He turns towards me with a harsh, chiding stare. I feel small beneath his gaze.
"And I want my assets unmolested," says Michal.
"Done," says Saehan. "Though I wouldn't recommend sticking around in that big house of yours; Philadelphia's about to get very inhospitable for you and her."
"And all of this in writing," says Michal.
"Naturally."
"So, he does two years, testifies, and he can go free?" I ask, wanting to make sure that I've heard everything correctly.
"That's the long and short of it," says Saehan.
I turn to Michal, tears forming in my eyes. I know that this is for the best, but the idea of being without him for two years is enough to make me want to burst into tears right then and there.
"You …can't …" I say, stammering like a little girl.
Michal takes my hand into his.
"This is all for you," he says. "Once the two years are up, we'll be together again. We can go wherever you like and we can live a life free from all of this."
A tear runs down my cheek, and Michal quickly wipes it away.
"We're going to need a yes or no on this," says Saehan. "We've been keeping tabs on your father and he looks to be getting ready to leave town."
"You give a yes," says Potter. “Then we snap him up. Sooner we get started, the sooner your sentence is done."
Michal turns back to the men.
"Put this in writing, call my lawyer, and once he gives the okay, you have my cooperation."
Potter slaps his hands together in satisfaction, clearly happy to finally be able to take down the Nowaks.
"We'll get it in writing now. In the meantime, I want you to arrange a meeting with your father."
"What?" demands Michal.
Saehan holds up his hands, as if imploring him to calm down.
"You don't need to actually meet with him. Just tell him that you want to talk to him and that he needs to meet you at a restaurant—someplace public. Then you come with us, confirm it's him, and we make the arrest. Simple as that."
Michal is clearly uncomfortable with the arrangement, but knows that it's simply part of the deal.
"Fine," he says. "I'll arrange a lunch meeting; he's been wanting to speak to me about my role in the family."
"Perfect," says Saehan. "Call your lawyer and let's get this going. And, ah, you might want to figure out where your little lady is going to be for all of this."
Michal turns to me, and I can barely open my mouth to speak.
"Stay at the hotel; you don't need to be around for
any of this."
I shake my head in steadfast refusal. "No. If you're going to be putting your life on the line for me, the least I can do is be there while you do it."
He realizes by my tone that he's not going to be talking me out of this.
"Fine," he says. "You stay with the agents."
He calls his lawyer, and we're sent to a small waiting room while we wait for him to arrive. I can barely think straight through the whole process. Once his lawyer shows up and gives the okay on the deal, everything is inked, and as I watch Michal sign the agreement, I realize that his signature means that he's just given up two years of his life—two years of his freedom—for us. Tears in my eyes, I wrap my arms around his neck and weep into his shoulder.
Thank God he's strong for the both of us.
"Now time to give pops a call," says Agent Potter.
Michal's lawyer nods, and Michal slips his phone out of his pocket and dials in the call to set up the meeting. I can barely listen to the conversation, knowing that each word out of Michal's mouth is a line, and that not only is he giving up his freedom, he's betraying his father, criminal though he may be.
Soon, the conversation is over, and Michal tosses the phone onto the gray, plastic table in front of us.
"It's done. We're meeting for lunch at downtown in one hour."
"Now, you know you don't need to be there while we make the arrest, right?" asks Potter.
"I know. If I'm going to be betraying my father, the least I can do is look him in the eye while I do it. I'm not going to hide in the shadows."
I can understand Michal's motivation, but all I can imagine is Iwan pulling a gun and killing him right then and there.
"Please," I say, grabbing onto his arm. "Just let the agents do their job; you don't need to put yourself at risk.
"No," says Michal. "This is what I must do."
I lower my head; it appears that he's done enough negotiating for one day.
"One hour, huh?" says Saehan. "That doesn't give us much time to get the operation together."
"Figure it out," says Michal, his gaze fixed on the Assistant Director. "I've done my part."
"That you have. If it's any consolation, you're doing a great service by getting Iwan off of the streets. He's ruined more lives than you'll ever know."
Michal nods, but the words don't seem to have much effect. They do on me, however; if it weren't for Michal, I'd likely be dead by now.
Rising from his chair, Michal's eyes flick from one agent to the other.
"Let's get this over with."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Michal
I'm sitting in the restaurant, waiting for my father. He's uncharacteristically late, and I find myself wondering if he's somehow aware of what awaits him. I toss this thought away; there's simply no way he could know. Before me is a glass of white wine that I ordered against my better judgment. I knew that I should be as clear-headed as possible for what lay ahead, but knowing that, if all goes according to plan, two years of prison await me, I find myself getting in my last tastes of the luxuries that I'm about to be denied.
I check my watch again; my father is fifteen minutes late. My eyes flick around the spacious restaurant, the early afternoon sun streaming in through the windows. A half-dozen FBI agents are seated at various tables, and in the parking lot, I can see the brown van of the surveillance team, the vehicle painted up to resemble a locksmith company.
I sigh and take a sip of my wine, wanting my father to show. My stomach is tight with anxiety, and I'm doing my best to keep my mind focused on why, exactly, I'm doing this.
Think about her, I tell myself.
Soon, I see my father arrive. He hands his coat to the hostess and walks over to me with long, aggressive strides, a serious expression on his face, his mouth a tight line amidst his gray beard.
"Michal," he says, arriving at the table and waiting for me to rise.
I stand, give him a quick, tight hug—a hug that I realize will likely be the last time that I ever touch him—and sit back down, my father taking the seat next to me.
"A vodka," he says, getting the attention of a passing waitress.
Settling into his seat, he finally speaks.
"So, I trust that you have important business to discuss if you're calling me to lunch on such short notice?"
"What, a son can't simply enjoy time with a parent without there being some sort of ulterior motive?"
A sardonic expression crossed my father's face; I do my best to not look at the agents around us.
"Well, of course," he says, taking a sip of the vodka that's just been placed in front of him. "I simply figured that with all that's going on, you'd have news to report."
My eyes fall onto the wine glass, and I'm reminded of the signal.
"Drink your wine. Enjoy it," Agent Potter had said. "Then, when the glass is empty, knock it over. That'll be our sign to move in."
The glass is about half-empty. I consider knocking it over now just to put an end to all of this, but I think better of it.
"Same situation with the Donahues," I say.
My father's mouth tightens.
"I expect to hear better than that in the next few weeks. We've got a bulls-eye on Eamon, and I want him dead before the year is out."
He takes another sip of his vodka.
"Who knows—maybe when he's out of the picture that little woman of yours will be there for the taking. Though, who knows if she'll be as pretty as she was once Eamon's done with her."
My hands clench into fists under the table. I use all the restraint I have not to simply leap over the table and throttle my father.
"Why you became so fixed on that girl, I have no idea. Even when your mother was still with us—God rest her soul—I still knew the importance of keeping my priorities straight."
I continue to say nothing. My father lifts his drink from the table and prepares to take a sip. But before he does so, he looks away in consideration.
"A good lesson for you, I suppose—never put women before family and the business. Women are fickle, even stupid. They will distract you and demand your attention."
He laughs and sets his drink down.
"One time I made the mistake of telling your mother about an important negotiation I had coming in a few days—this was years and years back, mind you—thinking that her knowing about something like that would send the signal to, well, ease off of me for a time and let me get my head straight for what was to come. And it worked, for a time. The remainder of that day, exactly. Then, when the next day arrived, it was as if I hadn't told her anything; she complained about this, she complained about that, and when I reminded her of what I had told her the previous day, she had the gall to accuse me of whining! Imagine that!"
He shakes his head and takes another sip of his drink.
"That's women for you. So, it's good that you learn this now. If you fall in love, you put everything at risk. Wait until you are older and more settled, then simply pick whichever of these girls we bring in who catches your eye. Good genes—that’s what you want. Then keep her in expensive clothes, throw her the credit card, and forget about her. Women are happy as long as the shopping trips never end."
I’m growing weary of the cynical line of conversation.
"And Danica?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Waiting in the wings. Waiting for you to fuck up," says my father. "And that is why I'm not going to be waiting around for you to make the right decisions. I want blood, goddamnit. I want you to bring the war to the Donahues. We're strong now, stronger than ever before, and this is the time for you to prove yourself as my heir."
I take a sip of my wine, the glass now empty.
"And if it kills you in the process, then so be it. I'd rather have a son who died fighting for his family than one who shirks his responsibilities behind a woman's dress. Now is the time for you to show me what you're really made of."
You have no idea how right you are, I think.
> Then, with a soft tap on the side of the glass, I knock it over, the empty glass falling to the table with a soft thud.
The next few moments are a blur.
Men burst from where they sit, rushing toward my father and I. There's crashing of glasses and plates, yelling and barking of orders, and the feeling of rough hands on my arms.
