In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  “I think I should go up there and surprise him,” Jason said.

  “Who, Trey?”

  “Yeah. Damn it, I want to go to the Bacchanal!”

  “No, you don’t. You’d hate it.”

  She was right. He probably would. Still—it was an opportunity for him to prove his mettle not only to Trey, but to Nat as well. “Maybe so, but I want to be more of a brother-in-law to him. I mean, he’s a war hero and all. I really want him to like me, Nat.”

  She lowered her sunglasses with one finger and looked at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I think so. What would he do if I showed up at the cabin?”

  Nat replaced the sunglasses and shrugged. “Not much he could do once you’re there. He’d have to let you join them. He couldn’t very well kick you out and send you home after driving all that way.”

  “That’s what I think. Maybe I should. I could go home right now, pack a bag, and drive up. Can you give me the directions?”

  “No, wait, Sunday is my grandmother’s birthday, and I want you to come with Mom and me to go see her.”

  “Aw, why should I spend the weekend seeing relatives, when instead I could be up in the woods getting drunk as a skunk?”

  Nat sat up and put her feet on the concrete. “You really are serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah!”

  She was silent a moment.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m just thinking … maybe it would be good if you and Trey bonded. It would make our lives easier.”

  “I can always see your grandmother another time. I’m sure she’s going to live to be a hundred.”

  “Hm.”

  “And what the hell, if it turns out to be a disaster, I’ll just write about it. It can be my next book—a comedy about how a knucklehead tries to be as cool as the big boys.”

  That made her smile. She stood, took the empty glass from him, and said, “Let’s go inside. We have the directions stuck to the fridge or somewhere. I’ll find them for you. It’s not like you can plug an address into your GPS. There are a few unmarked back roads. Come on.”

  Before he left the Paley mansion, Jason stopped by the living room to say goodbye to Nat’s mother, but she was no longer lying on the sofa. Instead, Maxim Paley sat in his wheelchair, watching a golf game on the large widescreen television.

  “Hey, Mr. Paley, how are you?”

  The old man’s eyes went to him and twinkled.

  Jason took a moment to sit next to him. “What are you watching?”

  The man’s eyes shifted, as if to say, isn’t it obvious?

  “Oh, yeah, I guess you’re watching golf, huh. Hey, guess what. I’m going up to see your cabin in Michigan.”

  Again, there was a subtle change in the man’s eyes. What?

  “Trey’s up there having one of his weekend soirees, so I’m going to surprise him and show him I can be one of the manly men, too.”

  Maxim Paley moved his hand on top of Jason’s and squeezed it. Hard.

  “Whoa, that’s quite a grip you have there, sir. You’re as strong as an ox!”

  It seemed the man’s eyes were on fire.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  Again, the squeeze.

  Was the old man trying to tell him something?

  Jason’s phone rang. He gently removed his hand from the older man’s grasp and said, “Excuse me a sec, Mr. Paley.” It was his sister, Miranda. “Let me take this.”

  He walked away from the wheelchair. From where he stood, he could see the old man taking the marker off the Velcro on the little notepad in his lap. He started to write something down.

  “Miranda?” There was static on the line, so Jason turned away and moved toward the door. “Are you there?” The line disconnected. He looked at the phone. “Huh.”

  It was either a butt call or the service isn’t good where she is, he thought. He turned back to Maxim Paley and waved. “I’ll see you when I get back, Mr. Paley. Take care of yourself! Enjoy the golf game!”

  With that, he left the house, not noticing the one word the old man had scribbled on the top slip of the pad—

  Don’t.

  Jason arrived at his apartment in Chicago and quickly unlocked the door.

  What to take, what to take …

  He didn’t want to be an idiot. What was it Trey had said he needed? Jason didn’t own a gun, but he had a knife. A Swiss Army knife. Trey and his buddies would surely laugh at him if he brought that.

  Am I crazy for doing this?

  He was setting himself up for ridicule. He’d never live it down. When the weekend was over, Trey Paley was going to tell the world what a pussy Jason was.

  No, he’s not. I’ll show ’em. I can drink as much beer as they can.

  Jason went into the bedroom and opened the closet. He started to get his carry-on suitcase but put it back. It would look more rugged if he took his old backpack he used in undergraduate school. He dug it out and put it on the bed.

  What do I take to wear?

  He grabbed a few pairs of socks and underwear, a couple of T-shirts and long-sleeved button-downs, a pair of sandals, and a sweater. He found a flashlight in a dresser drawer and checked the batteries—they seemed to be good. Next, he went into the bathroom to grab a toiletries kit and stuffed it with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and some sunscreen.

  What else?

  He opened the medicine cabinet and examined what was available. Some antibiotic ointment wouldn’t be bad, so he threw that in. A bottle of ibuprofen. A few band-aids.

  Stop it! They’re really going to think you’re a major wimp or something!

  Jason took the kit back to the bedroom and threw it in the backpack. He found his cell phone charger and dropped it inside.

  Is there electricity up there?

  Jason pulled out his phone and dialed his parents’ store. His mother answered.

  “Hi, Mom, just letting you know I’m going up to Michigan for the weekend with Nat’s brother, Trey.”

  “Trey? What for?”

  “Just a guys’ weekend out in the woods. You know, some good ol’ male bonding with six-packs, poker chips, and wild animals. It’ll be fun.”

  “Oh, my. Be sure to take some insect repellent. There could be ticks up there, you know. You don’t want to get Lyme disease.”

  “I’m not sure if insect repellent keeps ticks off of you, but that’s a good idea anyway.” He went back into the bathroom and searched the medicine cabinet. There was no insect repellent.

  “When will you be back?”

  It was Thursday. Would Friday and Saturday be enough time? “I don’t know. Sunday night, I guess. Maybe Monday. I’ll call you from there.”

  “All right. Oh, your sister said she was going to talk to you. Why don’t you give her a call? It’s something to do with her work.”

  “She tried to call a while ago but we got disconnected. I’ll call her back. Bye! Tell Dad ‘hey.’”

  “I will. Be careful. Love you!”

  “Love you, too.”

  He hung up and dialed Miranda.

  “Safe Haven, Miranda Ward speaking.”

  “Hey, Sis, it’s me. Did you try to call me earlier?”

  “Yeah, but I hung up before you answered. Sorry. I got another call I was waiting on. Didn’t mean to leave you high and dry.”

  “It’s okay. Mom said you wanted to talk to me?”

  “It was nothing important. I was going to give you a call later when I got off work.”

  “What is it?”

  “You know your friend, the FBI agent?”

  “Annie? Yeah?”

  “Did you ask her if I could call her? I know she works with crimes against women and stuff like that.”

  “What I understand is she works on civil rights crimes. Hate crimes and the like.”

  “Human trafficking?”

  “Yeah, she’s told me a little about all that. I told her you’re starting up a division for human trafficking, and
I did tell her you wanted to talk to her. She said it was fine if you call.”

  “Oh, great. I want to pick her brain.”

  “Here, let me give you her phone number. I put her card somewhere …” He found it on his dresser and quickly read off the number to his sister. “That’s her FBI office number. I think she’d prefer you not share it.”

  “Well, duh. Thanks, I owe you.”

  “No problem. Hey, guess what.”

  “What?”

  “I’m on my way up to the Paleys’ cabin in Michigan. I’m going to hang out with Nat’s brother and some other guys for the weekend.”

  “Really? Are you nuts?”

  “No, it’ll be fun.”

  “You’re lying. Jason, do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you going hunting?”

  “I don’t know exactly what we’ll be doing. Probably just drinking a lot of beer and telling sexist jokes. Hey, I’m just trying to be better friends with my future brother-in-law.”

  “God, be careful. I have to admit I got a very bad feeling about that guy when I was at their house.”

  “I know, he puts off a lot of people. It’s okay. I can handle him. We broke some ice when we went shooting before.”

  “I hope so. Well, uh, have a good time?”

  “I will. Thanks. Talk to you later!”

  He hung up and decided he was ready. Jason looked around the room one more time and then down at his feet. He didn’t own hiking boots—just the kind of heavy boots for winter in Chicago. Those surely wouldn’t be appropriate. He decided to keep his tennis shoes on.

  Anything else?

  He saw Annie’s business card on the dresser and decided to enter her phone number into the contacts on his cell phone. As he picked up the backpack, ready to leave the bedroom, he stopped. He turned, opened a dresser drawer, rummaged around, and found the Swiss Army knife.

  Screw ’em.

  He stuck it in his pocket and left the apartment.

  27

  The email from Colin Clark in Russia arrived that afternoon as Annie was assembling all the pieces of the puzzle that she had thus far. Opening it, she read—

  Agent Marino—

  Autopsy report on Fyodor Utkin is attached. Further investigation by St. Petersburg has shown that Utkin was in the country from May 27. He owned an apartment in the city which was found to be ransacked. Files and other personal documents had been taken from a desk, whereas clothing and other items were left alone.

  Our financial investigators have discovered that Utkin kept money in Karpovka River Bank—surprise, surprise—and that a sizable deposit had been made last April 5 of a little over US$100,000. We are gathering evidence and will send you complete reports ASAP.

  As for Greg Paley, we have his Russian entry/exit information. He has visited Russia twice since January 1, three times last year. Paley owns an apartment in St. Petersburg in a nice section of the city (see attached documents for address and photos). He was in town when Utkin was murdered, but there is nothing that ties him to the crime. I have forwarded the photo of him to our investigator in St. Petersburg, who is still attempting to identify the American who was at the restaurant with Evgeni Palit and Fyodor Utkin. So far, though, Paley checks out clean as a whistle and is likely not involved.

  In the meantime, I am attaching in a separate email documentation on several missing Russian women. Your information on Irina Semenov checks out. We are attempting to locate another woman, Yana Kravec, whose parents say she left their home some time ago and was living in St. Petersburg when she vanished. ICE has confirmed her entry in the US on June 28, but there are questions about her admittance. Proper procedure was not followed. ICE is interrogating the Customs official who stamped her passport and visa.

  Palit Wool continues to be a dead end in the investigation. Evgeni Palit is scheduled to be interviewed by St. Petersburg police in the next few days. My investigator will report on what they learn.

  Yours,

  Colin

  Annie studied the attachments and read the reports. The photo of Yana Kravec struck her as important. Could she be the “Nadia” that Tiffany Vombrack had claimed to see at the Den? The woman who had been shuttled away by Makar Utkin? Of course, Yana Kravec could be anywhere in the United States. After coming into the country through the Port of Newark, the funnel could have led to a million different places. Annie’s instincts, however, told her differently. The woman was Russian, she had seemingly been admitted into the country under questionable scrutiny, and she was now off the radar. It sounded too much like Irina Semenov’s situation.

  As for Fyodor Utkin’s deposit of $100,000, why would he deposit it in Russia and not in his US bank unless it was dirty money, income that he didn’t want to declare to the IRS? It was entirely possible. According to Sally in Financial, his American records were clean. It made sense to do the money laundering in Russia as it was probably easier and less likely to be noticed.

  Clark’s assessment of Greg Paley was comforting, but his son was a different story. It was beginning to look like Trey Paley might be a senior manager of the operation, especially since Utkin was dead. Greg Paley’s face had revealed genuine concern when she had emphasized the connection between him and Makar Utkin. Did the father suspect his son of being up to something unlawful—or immoral?

  She dialed Trey Paley’s number again. Annie had been trying to reach him since her conversation with his father. She got the same voice message—“This is Trey. Leave a message.” BEEP. Annie hung up without leaving one. She then dialed Greg Paley’s office. If the man truly wanted to help, he’d get his son to talk to her. She reached his secretary, the woman he called Dorrie.

  “Is Mr. Paley in?”

  “No, he’s in New Jersey at our warehouse. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Tell him that Special Agent Marino called and that I’d like him to phone me, please.” She gave out both her cell and office numbers. “When do you expect him back?”

  “It’ll be a few days. He’s supposed to be back on Monday, but you never know.”

  Ugh, great. “Okay, thank you.”

  Annie looked at the time. As it was close to five o’clock, she thought she might visit Harris at the hospital. There wasn’t much else she could do at the office that day. Her other cases had stalled or were resolved. The Bear Claws Case was now dependent on what other FBI divisions and other agencies around the globe could uncover. It might be her case, but there wasn’t a lot she could do to move it forward. The wheels of justice often rolled so slowly that it was a wonder any criminals were arrested, tried, and convicted.

  The desk phone rang just as she was starting to shut down her computer and call it a day.

  “Marino.”

  “Annie? Melanie O’Horgan.”

  Ah. Cyber Division. “Hi, Melanie, what’s up?”

  “We have an ISP address for the darknet websites you found on that guy Flanagan’s computer.”

  “No way! Really?”

  “Yep. It’s located in a building in St. Petersburg, Russia.”

  “That’s not surprising. I was hoping it would be in the US, but I was dreaming. What’s the building?”

  “A storage facility. We’ve alerted the ALAT, so I imagine the St. Petersburg police will descend on the place within twenty-four hours and seize the servers. Hopefully, we’ll find out who owns or rents the space pretty quickly.”

  “That’s fantastic news, Melanie. Thank you. Please call me as soon as you hear anything.” Annie gave her the personal cell number and hung up.

  She gave herself a fist pump before leaving the cubicle.

  “How are you feeling?” Annie gently asked.

  Harris peered at her through squinty eyes. His skin was pale, but he looked better than he had the last time she’d seen him.

  “Like I have a big, gaping hole in my stomach,” he whispered.

  “When are they going to let you go back to Detr
oit?”

  “The doctor said I can be moved next week. I’m looking forward to it. I want to go home.”

  “I can imagine.” Annie sat in the chair beside the bed. “I think we’ve had some progress in the case.”

  “Yeah?”

  She outlined everything she’d learned. “I’m still trying to find Makar Utkin and Trey Paley. They seem to have vanished.”

  “I think they’re the ones, Annie,” Harris said. “They’re the ones doing this, at least over here. It just fits. When you look at all the pieces … don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah, I do. I think Fyodor Utkin was actually running it here in the US, but Trey and Makar were his henchmen. This fellow Babikov in Russia … he must be The Bear.”

  “Or maybe he works for The Bear.”

  “I think we’d know if Nikolai Babikov was just an underling. The ALAT says he’s the big kahuna in the Novgorod mafia. How much do you want to bet that the storage facility where the website servers are located are owned by him or someone connected to him?”

  Harris reached over and took her hand. “You’re going to crack this case, Annie. I know it.”

  She nodded. “I think I am, too.” He winced a little. “Are you in pain?”

  He nodded slightly. “They pump me full of drugs but they don’t completely cover it up. I don’t know, Annie, I don’t think I’m going to come back to work after this.”

  “You mean the Bureau?”

  “Yeah.”

  She understood. It was unfortunate, but these things happened in the FBI. “What will you do?”

  “I have no clue. Maybe I’ll change my mind, but I don’t think so. When your job almost kills you, you tend to re-think your employment a little.”

  “Harris, no one’s going to blame you if you resign. If this was the military, you’d get a Purple Heart.”

  He grinned. “That’d be nice.” After a pause, he said, “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll be back, Harris. Hang in there. This, too, shall pass. And don’t go back to Detroit without saying goodbye first.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You just get the bad guys. And when you find the asshole who did this to me, I want you to kick his butt, okay?”