by MB Austin
“Breathe.” Maji leaned over by Rose’s ear and breathed steadily in and out, like a birthing coach.
Rose followed, her body relaxing. Then she rolled her ankle and flexed her shoulders. “Wow,” she exclaimed, rolling onto her side to face Maji. “Where did you learn that?”
Angelo interrupted, returning with the towel. He tossed it to Maji, who stood and started to blot her soaked shirt. “I got her now. Why don’t you go change?”
“I wasn’t planning to come to dinner wet,” Maji replied with a prickle in her voice.
“Me either,” Rose said quietly.
Angelo’s head whirled toward her, then tilted back and let out a sharp laugh. Maji just wrapped herself in the towel and padded toward the kitchen. As she passed the grill, Frank opened it to turn the steaks and she stopped, caught by the wafting aroma. Feeling the heat radiate toward her, she stood watching the flames lick at the meat.
“Going to hide upwind, Rios?” She heard the echo of Angelo in Iraq, chiding her by the piles of trash they had to burn routinely, long before the nightmare of Fallujah. Was that out loud? She turned, and he was behind her, watching attentively.
“Stick to your own lane, Benedetti,” she snapped as she brushed past him into the kitchen, leaving him frowning thoughtfully behind her.
Chapter Eight
At the end of training on Friday, Rose closed her locker and sighed.
“Got you hooked, didn’t we?” Bubbles teased, leaning against a locker nearby.
Rose smiled. “I learned so much. Thank you.”
“Nothing like what you’d get out of camp.” Bubbles paused. “You are coming to Shabbat dinner, aren’t you?”
Rose knew it was Friday, and assumed that Hannah was Jewish, but Maji hadn’t mentioned anything. “Not that I know of. Is it a family thing, like Sunday suppers at the Big House?”
“It was, when we were all here.” A shadow passed over Bubbles’s face. “Hang on.” She left the locker room, only to return a moment later with a wide grin. “It’s a family thing. See you at six!”
Maji touched the mezuzah by Hannah’s front door, then let herself and Rose and Angelo in with a key. “Bienvenidos a casa Cohen. And Shabbat shalom.”
Inside, she threw the bolt on the door behind them, inhaling deeply. The house was filled with savory aromas of the promised dinner. Rose felt transported.
Maji looked disconcerted. “Papi?” she called out.
“Aquí, mija,” came a rich voice from the kitchen.
Angelo and Rose followed Maji into the kitchen, where a handsome man in his midfifties stood wiping his hands on a towel tucked into his apron. He smiled warmly, the corners of his mouth lifting a bushy mustache of the same coarse black as his hair, sprinkled with hints of gray.
“Papi!” Maji hugged him fiercely. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”
“Hannah said you couldn’t come to the city for a while,” he said, kissing her forehead. “So the city comes to you.”
“Mom too?”
“No puede. A prior commitment.”
Maji nodded, and let him go without further comment.
After introductions, Maji left Rose in the kitchen with her father and took Angelo upstairs to speak with Hannah.
Angelo screwed up his courage. Telling Hannah was a risk, but he didn’t see pulling his whole plan off without her. “If I could deliver more than what I’ve promised, would you back me?”
“That would depend. What more, and at what risk?”
He had to admire how much nothing her poker face revealed. “Sirko.” Still nothing. If catching Leonid Sirko, the world’s second biggest money launderer, didn’t impress her, he was fucked. “For the balance of power. I mean, if we take down Khodorov, Sirko will just step into the vacuum, right? Interpol might not care, but I sure as hell do.”
“Of course you do. And I agree. But I have two concerns.”
There it was. Hannah’s famous concerns. Well, her ability to think through the downside of any mission plan had saved the team members’ lives enough times. “I look forward to exploring them, ma’am.”
She smiled for the first time. “The colonel’s not here, Angelo. Please relax. And yes, you may call me Hannah, if you don’t forget yourself when we do have oversight again.”
His bark of a laugh brought Maji to the open door frame. “Am I missing happy hour?”
“Your godmother’s a pistol,” Angelo admitted, sorry he’d assumed Maji had gone downstairs already. “What are you skulking around for?”
She raised a hand and backed out into the hallway. “Just passing through.”
“Bubbles should be here anytime,” Hannah noted.
Maji gave a little faux-salute and turned toward the stairs. “See ya at supper.”
Angelo waited until his friend’s footsteps had faded. “First concern?”
“Ah, yes. When Justice freezes the Italians’ accounts, there will be some shuffling in this region. Nothing too disruptive. But when Interpol ties up business for Khodorov and Sirko, the fighting among the second tier of major players who want to take over will hurt a great number of people, and in the end just put new leaders on the same field, possibly a syndicate or two. Have you thought about this?”
“For years, Hannah. For years.” Since he was eight or nine, in point of fact. Mob politics were woven into Grandpa Stephano’s chess lessons. “What’s number two, then?”
“The obvious. How do you plan to reel Sirko in without Khodorov knowing? Because if he does find out, you know what he’ll do.”
Angelo frowned at the reminder. The thought of Khodorov having every member of his family killed slipped into his mind whenever he slowed down too much, relaxed too much. “I’m thinking Sirko needs to steal the program. But not until it’s ready.”
“Naturally. We can manage the timing, I’m sure.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “But destroying both major players will only break the monopoly. So many would rush forward to try and take their place.”
Angelo smiled wryly. “Yep. We’d still be playing Whack-A-Mole, like we do with terrorist cells. I’m worn out on that.”
“Well, it is the nature of organized crime. A hydra, with no head to cut off.”
“Skip the head. The beast eats money. Cut that off, it dies.” He noted with satisfaction that Hannah seemed intrigued, not skeptical. “I’m working on a sleeper virus, to suck all the funds from their accounts, then go do the same to every account they’ve ever done business with.”
Now Hannah looked worried. Did she think he couldn’t pull that off? “The collateral damage could be enormous,” she said. “Have you thought about how to prevent an economic collapse? Or even just the likely damage to honest citizens who may have unwittingly done business with them?”
She was right. There were trillions of dollars, euros, yen, whatever, involved. Thousands of fronts that provided real services, real jobs. Millions of people could be hurt. Angelo sighed. “So you can see why I’m not floating this idea to JSOC.”
“Indeed. I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended that you shared it with me. You understand the position it puts me in.”
Angelo nodded. “If I can’t convince you that I can do it, and address your concerns, you won’t have to blow the whistle. I’ll drop the sleeper virus and just stick with stinging Khodorov and Sirko. I promise.”
* * *
Rose found herself oddly at home with Maji’s father. While she poured herself a glass of white wine, he hummed to himself, tossing salad in a large wooden bowl. “What smells so heavenly, Mr. Rios?”
“Sal, por favor. Come, taste.” He lifted the lid off a large pot and held a spoonful for her.
Savoring the creamy stew of squash, beans, corn, and tomatoes, she closed her eyes in pleasure as she recognized the dish from her last fieldwork trip. The Quechua women of southern Peru had taught her to make it. “Porotos granados?”
“Claro! A favorite of all true Chileans—and Maji.” He be
amed at her. “Y aquí…” He lifted a second lid with a flourish. She leaned over it, inhaling deeply.
“Mazamorra? Can you get choclo here?”
“Pues, if you know somebody in the city.” He waggled his eyebrows and Rose giggled.
Bubbles and Maji appeared in the kitchen doorway together, playfully shouldering each other to reach Sal first. Maji gave way and Bubbles torpedoed into Salvador Rios, wrapping him in a tight embrace before he could stumble from the force of her enthusiasm. From the way he chuckled fondly as they separated, Rose guessed the friendly ambush was a tradition.
“No Rey?” Rose asked, peering through the doorway to the empty dining room beyond.
“Had to work tonight.” Bubbles frowned. “He wanted to meet you, too. But maybe when you come back.”
Bubbles showed Rose how to set the dining table. In addition to the place settings, they set out little candles in candleholders, and small glasses for the Kiddush wine. Rose counted the chairs.
“Who else is coming?” she asked.
“Nobody. That one’s for Ava.” Bubbles’s face crumpled, and Rose enfolded her, letting her cry. “Sorry,” Bubbles said, pulling away after a moment. “This would have been our first Friday night all together again.” She looked around for a tissue, pulled a handful from a box nearby, and blew loudly.
Sal emerged from the kitchen and put an arm around Bubbles. “He gives and He takes, mija,” he said, his tone tender.
“Well, He can just…go to hell!” Bubbles sobbed, and ran into the kitchen. The back door slammed.
Sal looked mournfully at the empty chair.
“Who’s Ava?” Rose asked him.
“Hannah’s wife,” Sal replied. “She was like a mother to Bubbles.”
Maji stepped out of the little powder room tucked under the stairs. “Something up?”
“Tu hermana. Le duele su corazón.” He tilted his head toward the back door. “Afuera.”
Maji passed them briskly, slowing only to give her father’s arm a squeeze. The screen door banged a second time.
As they filled the serving plates, Rose could hear Maji and Bubbles on the back porch, their voices rising and falling, punctuated by more nose blowing. They came to the table red eyed, holding hands. Hannah led the group through the candle lighting, the Kiddush, the hand washing, and the blessing of the challah.
After a brief silence while everyone tasted the stew, Angelo asked, “Aren’t you supposed to crack the door for Elijah?”
Hannah broke out laughing, wiping her eyes as the outburst subsided. “Oh, she would have liked that one. You’re thinking of Passover, dear. That seat’s for Ava, my late wife.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Angelo looked uncharacteristically nonplussed. “I never heard of that tradition.”
“It’s new to our family,” Hannah replied.
“How long after do you do it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she answered, tears again welling in her eyes. “Until I can bear to stop, I guess.”
Over dessert, Rose asked Hannah about her particular interpretations of the kosher edicts. They exchanged thoughts about fair trade, organic farming, humanely raised animals, and the like, ignoring the rest of the table as they delved into the intersection of traditional food cultures, modern agribusiness, ethics, and theology. When the rest of the table fell silent, they finally looked to their four companions.
“Sorry,” Rose said with a sheepish smile. “Occupational hazard.”
“Guess where Rose did her fieldwork,” Sal said to Maji.
“Peru,” Maji responded, digging her spoon into the cobbler as if it might escape if she paid it less attention.
“And I’m going back next week,” Rose said, ambivalence creeping into her tone. “Maybe you’d like to join us for brunch tomorrow,” she said to Bubbles, “at the Harborview.”
“Um,” Bubbles said, looking questioningly at Maji.
Maji and Angelo started a debate in Arabic.
Rose glared at them. “Both of you, cut it out.”
Bubbles snorted. “She’ll drive you nuts like that,” she assured Rose. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Knowing anything would be a start,” Rose grumbled.
Bubbles gave her a wink. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I know where you sleep,” Maji warned Bubbles, crossing her arms.
“Girls…” Hannah said.
Bubbles mimed holding a phone to her ear and smiled at Rose, who couldn’t help but smile back.
Chapter Nine
Bubbles came waving and smiling toward their table at the Harborview, dodging busy waitstaff at the popular restaurant. As she approached, Frank asked Maji, “You want me to take the door?”
“Nope. Stay with us.”
Rose stood and hugged Bubbles, who whispered, “She’s the boss of him?”
Rose inclined her head as she stepped back. “Frank, meet my friend Bubbles. From the dojo.”
“Right.” He extended a hand and they shook briefly. “Rose says all kind of good things about you.”
“You always fool the nice people,” Maji said to Bubbles. “Even the smart ones.”
Bubbles bumped Maji with her shoulder. “You could too if you practiced. You know, fake it till you make it.”
Seeing the concern on Frank’s face, Rose reassured him, “This is how they show affection, Frank. Like you and Pants Sarcone.”
Maji and Bubbles stopped pushing against one another, stunned into a momentary halt.
“Oh. Sure.” Frank nodded at them. “You two come up together?”
“No,” Maji answered. “But we go back a ways.”
“Maji scraped me off the sidewalk, back in Brooklyn,” Bubbles added. “And pushed me out into the ’burbs.”
A smiled quirked at Maji’s mouth. “You were bringing down the neighborhood.”
They ordered, Maji keeping one ear on the conversation and her eyes on the Glen Cove Marina’s docks. Right on schedule, Uncle Lupo DiVincenzi, Gino’s consigliere, arrived and opened up his motor yacht, the Lucky Lady. Angelo arrived next, followed a moment later by Gino. This section of the marina was private, accessible only to members with a key code for the gates at the top of each dock ramp.
Maji watched Angelo confer a moment with his elders in the Grand Bank’s spacious cockpit. When he hopped back down onto the dock and started heading back to the gate, she picked the binoculars up off the tabletop.
“What are you looking at?” Bubbles asked.
“Shh,” Maji replied. She watched Angelo greet Yuri and Sander Khodorov, and argue politely about the three men with them. The one she recognized as Sergei, the FBI’s informant, followed them to the boat. The other two turned and walked away. She recognized one from Mona’s, and worried for a moment they might decide to come into the Harborview to keep an eye on the Lucky Lady, too. Maji sighed as they turned and headed for the parking lot.
“Are you working?” Bubbles asked as Maji laid the binoculars back down. She didn’t try to keep the disapproval from her tone.
“Just a little surveillance,” Maji replied.
“And you brought her with you?”
“Nothing’s going down in here.”
“Great.” The mimosas arrived for Bubbles and Rose, along with coffee for Frank and Maji. Bubbles lifted her glass, eyeing Maji. “You sure?”
“Yes. Go ahead. You driving?”
“I know my limits. Unlike some people.”
“Watch it,” Maji said with a hint of a smile quirking the corner of her mouth. “Rose still thinks you’re the nice one.”
The server set a lovely omelet in front of Rose and moved back to the tray of entrees for the others. Before her plate had touched the table, Maji pushed back, swearing under her breath. “Excuse me,” she said to the table at large.
Frank looked out the window. “Crap.” He fiddled with something inside his jacket, while Maji simply pressed her watch once.
“Everyone stay
s here,” Maji said, then wove her way rapidly through the tables and disappeared out the front door.
Rose saw the Grand Banks puttering away from its slip and picked up the binoculars. She saw Maji punching buttons on the gate’s keypad and shoving through. After a quick scan of the finger docks, she jogged down one and crouched by a small sailboat.
“What’s she doing?” Bubbles asked.
“I think she’s stealing a sailboat,” Rose replied. She handed Bubbles the binoculars. “See?”
As Bubbles scanned the marina for her friend, Frank said, “Maji says no worries, please enjoy brunch. It’s all good.”
Bubbles turned toward the sound of his voice, caught sight of him magnified, and startled backward. She lowered the binoculars and looked from Frank to Rose. “What?”
“They have ear things,” Rose said. “Comms.”
“She’s really okay out there?” Bubbles asked Frank.
Frank gave her an earnest look that Rose didn’t entirely trust. “She’s just keeping Ang in sight. Nothing to worry about.” His expression faltered. “She can sail, right?”
Bubbles relaxed and almost smiled. “Yeah. And of course she picked a nimble little boat to steal. She can dodge and weave with the best of them.”
The Hobie catamaran zipped out toward the basin, quickly catching up with the leisurely progress of the staid motorboat. On a beautiful Saturday morning in late May, there was plenty of small boat traffic to dodge. Fortunately, most of it was heading toward the marina’s breakwater.
The Grand Banks didn’t seem to have its mind made up, ambling first toward the open water outside of the marina’s protection, and then making a turn inside the basin. Maji tacked to keep from sailing toward it on a collision course. Without any bugs or comms inside the Lucky Lady, the best she could do was guess their intention. Obviously they had left the dock to avoid the possibility of electronic eavesdropping. But now they seemed to be compromising on how far from other boats and humans was far enough.
