by Jon F. Merz
I stopped by the security desk and looked at the register of the building. Naturally, the CIA and DIA weren't listed. Instead, they'd come up with cool-sounding names like the Office of International Economic and Political Study.
I smiled and the submachine gun toting guard frowned. "Can I help you, sir?"
"Do they really think that's a good cover?"
He saw where I was pointing and chose not to respond. Smart guy. "I mean, what do you do if someone comes in here and actually requests to go to this office."
"Sir, what is the nature of your business today?"
"Would you ring up the DIA and tell Major Lou Dobbs that Jake Thunder is here to see him?"
"The DIA, sir?"
I sighed. "Look, I know the office is in here. They moved over from the Barnes Building a year back when the Big Dig construction threatened to compromise their security. Now, just ring them up and tell Lou Dobbs that ol' Jake is here to see him."
For a second, I thought I'd get thrown out. Security guards at federal buildings were justifiably skittish in light of recent events. But they got even more skittish when ordinary citizens seemed to know insider secrets.
The guard frowned. But he also reached for the phone.
I sighed.
Whew.
He spoke quietly into the phone and then replaced the receiver. He slid a ledger over to me. "You'll need to sign in, sir."
I signed in and the guard handed me a yellow pass with a giant "V" stamped across it so no one would mistake me for actually belonging in the building.
"Make sure you turn that in when you leave, sir."
I smiled. "What happens if I don't?"
"We shoot you."
"Really."
He just smiled.
I heard an elevator ding at the main bank and looked over. Major Lou Dobbs came walking over dressed in a charcoal suit. He smiled at me like we were long lost Frat brothers.
"Jake, good to see you again."
I'll bet. I grinned. "And you, too."
"What brings you down here?"
"Well, I figured you'd dropped in on me unexpectedly, the least I could do was return the favor."
"Oh, that wasn't necessary."
"Trust me," I said as we moved back toward the elevator, "it certainly was."
Inside, he pressed a button and I watched the door slide shut. He turned to me when the car began to move. "We can't go upstairs to the office. You haven't been cleared."
"Hey, I held a Top Secret clearance."
"Once."
"Only ten years ago."
"We'll go to the lounge instead."
The car stopped on floor twenty and the doors opened to reveal a nice wide-open floor with lots of couches in blue with a maroon carpet. Wide windows offered a panoramic view of the surrounding skyline and a bit of the harbor.
Dobbs pointed toward a deserted corner. "Over there."
I steered myself over and watched him settle down and pull out a cigarette, light it, and flick away the match in one deft motion.
"I thought smoking was banned in all federal buildings."
He looked at me like I'd suggested he might roll over and bark. "I can smoke."
"Fair enough."
"What's this all about, Jake?"
"I need some information."
"I hope you didn't come all the way down here thinking I'd give out classified information. Because I won't."
"Wouldn't dream of asking you for any. As far as I know, I don't need any, anyway. But I do need a better picture of some of the players involved in this thing."
"Like what?"
"Like tell me all about Darmov's business enterprises here in the city. Tell me all about the Pattersons and their businesses as well."
"Are you sure that's really necessary? All I asked you to do was keep the guy from getting killed."
"If I'm going to keep him from getting plugged, you'd better be able to give me some info. I've got a lot of holes in my files that need plugging. Someone is after him and unless I figure out who, it won't much matter what I do to help you."
Dobbs inhaled on his cigarette. "You know, McCloskey told me you were a pushy bastard."
I grinned. "Yeah, Frank's a ball of laughs. You wanna know what he told me?"
"What?"
"Told me you aren't really Lou Dobbs. Told me your name was Dave. Ain't that just a fresh kick?"
"I've never known anyone who really talked like that outside of TV talk show hosts."
"Then Dave, you are having a banner day. Now snuff out that butt and start talking. Time is short."
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. Then he crushed the cigarette and started talking.
Chapter Thirty-Six
"Ilyitsin Darmov runs one of the most well-organized Russian Mafiya syndicates in the US right now."
"Who does he report to back in Russia?"
"That's one of the things we don't know," said Major Dave. "Rumors abound, and one of them has him reporting not to the Georgian Mafia leadership as was commonly thought, but rather to a very well-placed Russian military general able to keep Darmov both supplied and out of trouble at home."
"Convenient."
"It makes him a helluva lot more dangerous than any of his other comrades, yeah."
"So, aside from running babies, what's he in to?"
"A better question might be what is he not into?"
"Either way."
Dave nodded. "The baby racket you know about. Odd thing is that Darmov seems to keep an eye on the kids after he sells them. We think it's traceable back to his own orphan childhood. He makes good money doing the baby racket thing."
"But he makes more doing other stuff, doesn't he?"
"Yep. For a while he was into selling weapons. He sold some here, but he traveled more frequently. He used to run deals over in Yemen and Tunisia. Mostly he was selling off old Soviet surplus, stuff his general guardian angel probably got him access to."
"Who bought from him?"
"Chinese mostly. They wanted the few things they haven't been able to copy over the years. Mostly in the night-vision optics department. Some missile technology, too, however. We're sure of that."
"Great."
"Taiwan flipped out. The latest-generation Chinese silkworm missiles have improved guidance systems thanks to what Darmov sold them."
"Anyone else?"
"Iran, Iraq, Pakistan. Sprinkle in a few terror cells as well. They all had the money."
"You said he used to run weapons. What happened?"
"It got too hot over here for him. He was coming under intense scrutiny every time he tried to enter the country. It almost became detrimental for him to go abroad. Especially since he was still a Russian citizen."
"So now he stays over here?"
"Mostly. Of course now, he's not subject to the same level of scrutiny that he was a few years back when he sold arms."
"Why's that?"
Dave smiled. "Because our illustrious Darmov is now an American citizen."
"What? When did that happen?"
"Didn't your girlfriend tell you? She married him. He became a citizen soon afterward."
The frown on my face must have been evident because Dave shook his head. "No. Frank didn't tell me, if that's what you're thinking."
"It was."
"You've been under surveillance for a while, pal."
"Bullshit."
Dave shrugged. "You don't have to believe me."
"I would have spotted it."
"Not a chance. We used pros."
"I spotted you."
"Only because you were supposed to. I don't like walking into offices where the owner has a gun and isn't afraid to use it."
"Am I under investigation here?"
"Nope. But you have extensive contact with Vanessa Patterson and she's our link to Darmov. So you can bet that we've had both of you under close watch."
"This is getting better by the minute."
"I'll bet
you five bucks you say that again in ten minutes."
"I don't think I'll take that bet."
Davie smiled. "Wise." He leaned back into the couch. "So, we got Darmov selling weapons before. Then he becomes a citizen and switches to babies."
"Anything else?"
"Yep."
"Well?"
"He sells drugs."
"So does everyone else. What makes him so special?"
"How about the fact that they come from Afghanistan? How about the fact that they come from a tribe with very close ties to Osama Bin Laden?"
"I thought you weren't giving up any classified information."
"That sound classified to you? It doesn't to me."
"Okay."
"Naturally, Darmov is our kind of guy given that we'd just love to get our greedy little mitts all over Bin Laden."
"How does such a strict Islamic state reconcile the idea of a bustling drug trade?"
Dave snorted. "Shit, Jake, do I look like a mullah here or what? How the hell would I know. The thing about the Taliban is that their interpretation of the Koran is about as skewed as they come. Most other Muslim nations look at them and wonder what the hell happened. Maybe they think it's part of the Jihad. I don't know."
"So, it's not just that Darmov had experience operating in Afghanistan that makes him so valuable to you."
"He's got direct connections," said Dave. "We want to know those connections. We think he first established contact way back during the Soviet invasion. Back then, Bin Laden was still in college in Saudi Arabia. He was still the heir apparent to a fortune. Darmov forged an alliance with a tribe that controlled the drug trade in the western section of the country."
"How's it come in now?"
"Some of it gets shipped out of Peshawar in Pakistan. Other shipments get trucked overland through Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and even Iran. We think the general helps ensure they stay protected during transport."
"What about getting into this country? How's he manage that?"
Dave shook his head. "You'll love this. Remember how I told you he switched to the baby racket soon after abandoning weapons?"
"Yeah."
"Did you know that Darmov imports a lot more babies than he steals locally?"
"No."
"It's true. He gets them off of poor mothers in Russia and Afghanistan. The babies get brought over into this country and sold to people who are desperate to have them."
"So what? We already knew that he makes money off the kids."
"Nah, you knew he made some money off of the kids. I told you he makes more from selling drugs." Dave paused as a person got off the elevator and then walked further down the other side of the room.
Dave turned back to me. "Darmov conceals the drugs on the babies coming into this country, Jake."
"Shit."
"Aren't you glad you didn't take that bet?"
"So, how come he steals kids over here, too?"
Dave shrugged. "Rumor is he does it as part of his cover. Plus, there's the fact that some people don't want Russian or Afghani kids."
"You're saying he's got couriers coming into the country and the drugs are hidden on the children?"
"Hidden on and sometimes they're surgically implanted inside the children, depending on their age."
"And of course, you guys haven't moved to stop this."
Dave frowned. "I told you we need him for other reasons."
"What about the children?"
"It's tragic," said Dave. "But we're not in a position to do anything about it right now."
I sighed and pressed my hands into my eyes. "How do the Pattersons fit into this shit?"
"Old man Patterson was a traitor. He sold state secrets and the like to the Soviets for years. Some of us think that Darmov's guardian angel was the Control for old man Patterson. When Patterson stopped selling secrets, Darmov's general simply suggested other avenues of income to which Patterson took like a fish to water."
"And Darmov is what Ð supposed to watch over things here?"
"One of Patterson's most valuable contributions was the fact that he owns several security companies who previously had the contracts for gate security at Logan International Airport. Patterson was able to guarantee that the babies wouldn't be stopped at the gates."
"There's no guarantee they would have gotten through Customs, though."
"Patterson had his greenback hooks into plenty of people. Getting couriers past those secure areas during baggage checks and searches was easy work. A lot of the couriers simply dressed as baggage handlers and helped offload and onload the bags."
"What'd they do with the kids?"
"Some of them went right into luggage. Most of the time it was temporary."
"Most of the time?"
"He lost one child. Darmov killed the baggage handler who was responsible for it."
"Quite a guy. On one hand he protects these kids but on the other he uses them like mules." I sighed again. "This still doesn't clue me in on why someone would be trying to topple Darmov. What are the rival gangs like in this area now?"
"From what we know? Not much of anything. Darmov operates the only Russian Mafiya gang in New England. It's small but it's very profitable. Being low-profile helps ensure its survivability."
"Not much longer if this keeps up."
"None of the other gangs know shit about it. Darmov ships the drugs into the city and through an extensive network of cutouts, he sells to the other gangs. They don't know where it comes from or who controls it ultimately. Darmov sells to them at a very good price. They buy wholesale and mark it up retail."
"Nifty."
"Anyone trying to get at Darmov has got to be coming from the Patterson organization. Word was old man Patterson was getting tired of being under the thumb of someone ten thousand miles away."
"So they killed him?"
"Nah, he died of emphysema," said Dave lighting another cigarette.
"So, if old man Patterson controlled certain aspects of the baby trade, wouldn't it stand to reason that they'd be in jeopardy right now?"
"Could be. Unless someone is trying to resurrect them or keep them operational. If that happens, they might be very interested in cutting out the middle man and going direct to the source."
"Darmov being the middle man."
"Yeah."
"But they wouldn't have the same connections to the Afghani tribes."
"Shit, since when has logic ever affected the criminal mind? People get it into their heads they can take stuff over, that's just what they're apt to believe, reality be damned."
Dave crushed his cigarette out. "Really gotta quit this crap."
I guessed our meeting was over. I wheeled myself back to the elevator. "I appreciate the information, Dave."
He turned and we got onto the elevator. "I'd deny it if you ever try to bring it back on me, you know that?"
"I know it. It's all off the record."
He nodded. "So, what do you think: can you keep him alive for us? You know, do your country a favor?"
"I don't know that a man like that deserves to live."
"Well, it's either him or that Bin Laden puke. And Darmov is a lot easier to find than Bin Laden is. We get done with him, who knows Ð we might just give the go ahead to take out Darmov, too."
Somehow, that thought did little to comfort me.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Neal Thompson actually sounded happy to hear from me. Brenda had taped his message to my Rodney Dangerfield picture, knowing I'd notice it there a helluva lot faster than I would anywhere else. I called him back as soon as I got back from my meeting with Major Dave.
"Mr. Thompson, I think we've got something you just might be interested in."
His voice sounded hushed but excited. The number must have been his work phone. "Can you give me details?"
"It's a newborn."
"How new?"
"A day."
"Oh my."
"Does that work for you?"
>
"Absolutely. Same price as before?"
"Let me check and get right back to you. You'll be at this number for another few minutes?"
"Yes."
"Call you back."
I hung up and got Darmov on the phone. He sounded scratchy when I called. He must have had his office phone forwarded to his cell phone.
"It's Jake."
"Do we have an interested buyer?"
"We do."
"That's good news."
"He wants to know if the price is the same. Also, I'll need the location details."
"The price is the same. As far as the transaction point, do you know where the old Forest Hills bus yard is?"
"Of course I do. It's in my neighborhood."
"I figured that would be easier for you to get to."
"A helluva lot easier than Black Falcon Terminal."
"Least I could do, Jake. You've been very understanding throughout all of this."
"Mr. Darmov, you should know that the MBTA cops patrol that place pretty heavily."
"Not tonight they won't be."
"Why, do you have someone on the inside?"
He laughed. "You know, actually I don't. I haven't been able to find any policemen who could be corrupted on their force."
I wondered how hard he'd looked. "So, how can you guarantee there won't be any of them around?"
"By diverting their attention elsewhere. Don't worry about the details. Leave that to me. Just have your buyer in place for nine o'clock tonight."
"All right."
I called Neal Thompson back and gave him the details. He hurriedly agreed to all the conditions and then proceeded to thank me again.
I hung up and felt like shit.
I punched the intercom button on my desk.
"Brenda?"
"Unless you hired someone else who'd waste their time sitting out here."
"How'd you make out on that research? Any luck so far?"
"Actually, yes. I've got some very detailed information for you. You want me to bring it all in or just leave it out here."
"Leave it for now. I'll pick it up off your desk later." I paused. "Does it, you know, look promising?"
"It's very new. Maybe the last three years or so. But yes. It's very promising."
