by H L Stephens
Famous Last Words
The next few days were a flurry of activity as we set our plans for kicking the proverbial ant hill of the Russian Bratva in New York City. It is a universal truth that if you want to hit a bad guy where it hurts the most; you kick him in the pocket book as hard as you can. If you are wearing steel toed boots when you do it, so much the better.
The key to our success, we hoped, was to take out the guys who protected the flow of money. The protectors were the drones of the nest, and we figured by whittling away at the muscle, we would weaken the nest and draw out the leader in the process.
Since we didn't know the identity of the man behind the organization's might, I suggested we call him "The Big Cheese" or "The Grand Kahuna." Unfortunately, the shadowy figure we hunted already had earned a nickname for himself long before I was ever born. It was Gadyuka or "the Viper". Although it wasn't as catchy as some of the ones I was inventing, it seemed to fit his activities to a tee.
Gadyuka's strikes were fast and deadly like the reptile for which he was named. His moniker dated back to the Cold War era. The fact that no one had ever seen this Gadyuka mattered little. His reputation preceded him wherever he went. From what the crew said, the mere mention of his name in a Russian community was enough to get the door slammed in your face or a curt request for your immediate removal if you had managed to get yourself invited into someone's home. It took a sinister talent and a brutal soul to elicit that kind of terror in people, but such was the case with the man we believed we were pursuing.
The Bratva worked within the darkest shadows of New York's underworld, and it was into this underbelly that we began to crawl. The crew was used to a certain tactical approach when it came to dealing with the worst of the worst. Their methods often boiled down to kill and clean up if need be. The problem was, their missions were generally on foreign soil and involved taking out smaller targets.
Foreign targets were easier in a way because body count didn't matter as much. There was always some group to blame if things got really nasty. Small targets made the clean up process easy. Unfortunately in this case, we were on U.S. soil and the body count promised to be very high. The Brotherhood had a veritable army of muscle-clad soldiers. Killing that many Bratva would draw a lot of attention we could not afford. Not when the battle was in our own backyard. I voiced my concerns one day during one of our tactical sessions.
"Listen guys," I interjected. "I realize I am the newbie here, but I think we are forgetting one very important reality."
"What's that?" asked Avery who was playing with one of his fixed blade combat knives. He was flipping it up into the air, catching it, and hurling it at a block of wood he had set up about 10 yards away.
"Our fall back point, not to mention our headquarters, is just a few miles away from all of the strike points we are talking about," I said. "Don't you think it is a bit ill-advised to start whacking all these people so close to home? It kind of sets a pattern the authorities are sure to pick up on."
Avery's knife struck its mark with a sickening thunk. I kept imaging the target being someone's chest, and the thought made me a little queasy. The idea of killing people didn't sit well with me. It was one thing to get caught in the moment the way I was with Agent Howard, or get mad enough to want someone dead, but to plan someone's demise and coordinate its execution was something entirely different. I might be training to become an assassin, but I wasn't one in the soul. Not yet.
"This was your idea kiddo," Avery said as he worked the knife out of the wood. "It was a great idea, mind you, but yours nonetheless. Don't tell me you are feeling sorry for the ants now. Have you forgotten who we are dealing with here?"
All eyes were on me. I hated getting the disapproving grandparent grimace, like I had just spilled grape juice all over the best white tablecloth. My idea had reinvigorated the crew's case and had given them their first ray of hope in hunting down the person behind the Eastern bloc of the Bratva. It was a big deal, but in their eyes, at that moment, I had suddenly turned into a sniveling little pansy.
I held up my hands in the universal "I am unarmed" fashion.
"Don't wig out guys," I said. "Just hear me out for a second, okay?"
The scowls began to relax a bit, and so did I.
"All I am saying is that we need to be careful in how we take these guys out or else we will have the NSA, Home Land Security, and every other Federal agency breathing down our backs. This is our home base, right? We can't just slash and burn everything around us unless you don't mind destroying and abandoning all of the prototype technology that you use for your missions."
Marcus looked at the others and said, "She's got a point."
"We can still hit them and hit them hard, but if we kill off all of the Bratva between us and Gadyuka, it is going to draw serious, unwanted attention. And it may also spook Gadyuka and cause him to go deeper underground."
"What do you propose?" Oz asked.
"Handicap the Bratva we find," I said, "and let local law enforcement do the rest of the work for us."
"How?" Avery asked.
"Well, most of our planned targets involve their drug, weapons, and sex ring operations," I said. "We go in, bust up the rings, shoot every Bratva we come across in the hands and the kneecaps (hence handicap), and then we call in reinforcements. Dollars to doughnuts the DEA, NTSB, or FBI has been trying to catch these guys red handed in their illegal operations. We give the agencies their evidence, and we take the Bratva henchmen out in a way that prevents them from ever being able to work in the Brotherhood business again."
It was Dorthia's turn to challenge my approach.
"You don't think a bunch of maimed Bratva delivered in a nice, neat package to the Feds will draw any attention to us?" she asked.
"Well," I said, "I suppose it will but not as much as a rising body count will. The fewer Bratva we can kill, the better, I think. Maybe the Feds will think it is a turf war."
"I doubt it," Dorthia said. "One thing I have learned in my years of doing this little Jane is turf wars are notoriously bloody. Enemies don't send messages via blown out kneecaps and mangled hands. They throw people off buildings or massacre entire families. It is a tactic you are all too familiar with. Beware of the niceties my dear when waging war with your enemy. Your enemy is not going to be as inclined to reciprocate in a like manner. Having said that, I see wisdom in what you propose, so I think we can try it for a time and see where it gets us. The moment it fails to produce results or the moment it puts any of us into danger, we go back to the old ways. Understood? Now that doesn't mean you must participate, Jane. Though it is your battle as well, you needn't bloody your hands in it."
"Let's just take it one kneecap a time, shall we?" I replied.
"As long as we have an understanding," Dorthia said.
"We do," I said, but with great reluctance.
Dorthia nodded and said, "Let's look at our first target then."
The Bratva weren't just moving drugs; they were manufacturing them in massive quantities and distributing them up and down the entire eastern coast. They were compounding everything from cocaine to meth to bath salts. Word on the street was, they had some badass chemist who could make it all. They were mass producing vats of their product somewhere in the warehouse district. The problem was, we didn't know the exact location of the manufacturing facility yet. What we did know was the location of one nasty Bratva soldier named Vassi Kovalski.
Kovalski was part muscle, part distributor, part upper management within the Bratva ranks. He was known as a drug king pin within the Brotherhood. Two drugs in particular were his calling card. One drug was called crystal crush - a jacked up version of meth that prolonged the "rush" phase from thirty minutes to an hour or more and extended the high from sixteen hours up to a day or longer. The other was a drug called Mad Ma. It was an enhanced variety of Ecstasy or MDMA, hence the Mad Ma moniker. It was very popular with the ravers for making you feel invincible and giving you what felt like a
n endless supply of energy.
Our plan was simple. Catch Kovalski and force him to tell us where the manufacturing facility was. Our big challenges were getting Kovalski alone and overpowering him long enough to get him into our custody. He was a big son of a hell witch who fought dirty and never seemed to lose a battle. His size and skill ensured it.
Aside from his fighting abilities, Kovalski always travelled with a large pack of over-muscled goons who were just as big and mean looking as he was. They looked more like a pack of ravenous wolves than a group of men. Just examining the crew's surveillance photos made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Our plan had to be perfect.
We were in the midst of a round table discussion one day when out of the blue, Dorthia said, "Jane, why don't you go visit your friend Meiqiang. You haven't been back to the restaurant since you first met. I am sure she will be delighted to see you. Besides, you could use a bit more practice with your Mandarin."
"But, we are in the middle of preparing for our op," I protested.
"We will manage for a few hours without you," Dorthia said. "I promise you won't miss a thing. Besides, this visit is important Jane. Watch your friend. Her mannerisms, her gestures, her every little twitch. By the time you come back here, I want you to be able to mimic them perfectly. This is not just a pleasure trip, Jane. It's an assignment. Just as you have watched Oz and Avery to learn and perfect your martial arts, I want you to learn and perfect how to be Asian. You Jane are going to be our key to nabbing Vassi Kovalski. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
I nodded.
"Good," Dorthia said, "Now go be with your friend for a while. Oh and it is customary to bring a gift to the parents, so take this." She handed me a modest-sized gift basket filled with Huangshan teas, fruits, and yummy looking pastries.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, eyeing her with suspicion.
"I had a few things lying around, and I made the pastries from an Asian recipe I picked up years ago," she said. "Now, off with you." She shoved the basket in my hands and shoved me towards the door. A cab was already waiting to take me to the restaurant. Dorthia tucked money in my pocket and inserted an ear bud in my ear. "Just in case you need us, we will be monitoring."
It was peculiar being bundled off like that to go spend the day in Chinatown in the midst of our planning. It felt like at some point during the day I had inadvertently eaten the magic mushroom and was now zipping down the rabbit hole. I felt as though I should be in the Ops room with the others, strategizing our next move, but apparently the decision was not mine to make.
Meiqiang was delighted to see me. When I told her the basket was for her and her family, I was received by her parents with gracious, open arms. Though they protested at first, I helped clear tables and clean up the restaurant, all the while studying the movements of my new friend.
Every graceful gesture, I tried to memorize and emulate as the day wore on until it felt like I was learning a dance. Meiqiang and I talked and laughed as we worked; all the while I studied my new friend. She helped me with my pronunciations of Chinese words, and I taught her a little English.
I longed for our time together to be just a day of sharing, with no ulterior motive behind it. I thought of Iggie and all the lazy afternoons we shared back in Ironco without a care in the world. The earbud was a constant reminder of just how complicated my life had become in just a short while.
When the day had nearly waned, I said my goodbyes with the promise of returning soon. My arrival back at the warehouse was greeted with applause as the crew congratulated me on my deportment.
"You have impressed her parents, Jane, and that in and of itself is a feat worthy of praise," Dorthia said. "But more than that, we all heard you today, and all I can say is you are a natural mimic. I am astounded by you Jane. Now, would you like to learn why you were sent into Chinatown today?"
"Very much," I said, relieved to learn the purpose to my excursion.
"Vassi Kovalski likes call girls," Dorthia said, "but not just any type of call girl. He likes Asian call girls. He has a taste for Eastern girls that he satisfies whenever he can. You dear Jane are going to be his next little nibblet, and just when he thinks he is going to get his fill of you, we will grab him."
Without warning, Avery exploded at Dorthia.
"You never said we were using Jane as some kind of sex toy bait with Kovalski," Avery bellowed. I swore he grew in size as his voice rose. "You just said she was going to act as a diversion."
It was Dorthia's turn to bristle like a porcupine.
"What did you think she was going to do Avery?" she asked. "Juggle colored balls before Kovalski's eyes? We have one shot at nabbing Kovalski, and Jane is our best asset."
Avery slammed his hand on the table.
"Jane isn't one of your disposable assets Dorthia," Avery shouted. "She is our girl; under our protection, in case you forgot that."
Oz and the others nodded in agreement.
"I don't like the idea of her being anywhere near that monster's bed," Oz said. "She's strong, but she won't stand a chance if anything happens."
Dorthia's face flooded with crimson.
"I cannot believe what I am hearing," Dorthia said. I could tell she was flustered. "Have you all forgotten what we talked about while Jane was gone? Obviously you have or else you wouldn't be treating me like I am some sort of heartless harpy that cares nothing for Jane. You needn't worry about her because we aren't going to let things progress as far as the bedroom, Oz. I would do this myself but the bastard doesn't like dried up old prunes like me. He likes his girls young and fresh. He would never accept me, no matter how good the makeup job was. Jane is the only one of our group who can pull this off. Kovalski is our best hope of hitting the Bratva in a meaningful way as far as their drug distribution is concerned. It makes up a third of their business on the East coast. We are running out of time here if Gadyuka is truly in-county. It may already be too late, but we have to try. I think Jane at least deserves the opportunity to make up her own mind as to whether she wants to do this or not. If she does, she will have the best in the business behind her; protecting her. What could possibly go wrong with us in the shadows?"
I looked at the sea of faces staring at me. Dorthia was the only one who seemed remotely optimistic about my involvement, and she was the only one who wanted it from what I was hearing. I had gone over the scenarios in my head a thousand times as far as Kovalski was concerned. He was the key in all of this if we were going to take out the drug manufacturing facility or have any hope of finding it. If I was the key to cinching the deal with Kovalski, then any reservations I had were mute, regardless of their validity.
"What do I have to do?" I asked.
Those were the six most regrettable words I had ever uttered in my life up to that point.
Innocence Lost
Surveilling Vassi Kovalski was like watching a violent, powerfully built, excessively tattooed, hairless gorilla do nothing but brawl, eat, yell, and poop day after day. He drank like a fish. He fought with everyone who crossed his path. He sprinkled swear words in his verbal communication like others used salt on their food and was, in general, the most unpleasant person who ever walked the earth. The more we watched him looking for his patterns and weaknesses, the less I liked the idea of being alone with him. In fact, I began having nightmares on the very subject - the likes of which I would share with no one.
Oz had encouraged me to study the data they had on Russian criminal tattoos because according to him, each image found within the intricate body murals had significant meaning and could tell me a great deal about the wearer of them. Tattoos could reveal things about a person like their criminal specialty, their number of stints in prison, the length of each prison term, whether they had committed murder or rape, whether they were affiliated with any particular gang, and whether they held some kind of distinction within the organization.
The list of identifiers was endless as far as the crew's database was
concerned, and it was my task to memorize as much of it as I could. After all, I would be in the mix with many of Kovalski's associates, giving me the opportunity to learn things about them on a more intimate level. Things that might not be documented in the crew's current database. My recollection skills would be an asset, assuming I survived the mission long enough to retrieve the data and report it to the others.
With as much skin as Vassi Kovalski was in the habit of exposing, I learned he was not a nice man. If his daily activities of drinking, brawling, cursing, drug dealing, and illicit sexual pursuits were not enough to paint a picture in my mind of who he was as a human being, his tattoos made his blackened character perfectly clear.
Kovalski had the shoulder epaulettes of someone high up in the Russian organization. They were more ornate than any of the images we had on file, which spoke to his great importance in the Brotherhood. He had star tattoos on the front of his shoulders which also indicated his high status, perhaps even designating a rank of captain. His back was covered in part with a cathedral that had numerous cupolas, signifying he had spent many years in prison or had been sent there numerous times. He had a tiger head as well which indicated he had killed a member of law enforcement. He also bore a dagger on his neck, which pointed towards him having murdered someone while being in prison. His chest was emblazoned with a raging bull which meant he was a hitman for hire or at least had been before being recruited for his current role in drug trafficking and distribution.
Kovalski's body was a human canvas of his depravity; announcing to the world every dark exploit he had made over his life. Some images that were incorporated into his body murals were not housed in the database, and I dreaded the idea of what they might represent. I asked Oz about the tattoos when we had a moment alone together.
"What is it with the tattoos, Oz?" I asked. "This just seems a bit excessive to me announcing every evil deed you have ever committed in a permanent mural on your body so the law is aware to watch out for you. Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of being in the underworld if everyone knows everything about you?"
