American Law (Law #2) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Elena Ivanova climbed out of her shower and brushed her teeth. She dressed in a pressed charcoal grey dress with a navy blue suit jacket over the top as she slipped into her polished black flat boots. She pulled her light brown, or sometimes dark blonde hair—depending on the light—into a chignon, adding clips to keep it in place. Making her way into the kitchen, she poured coffee from the carafe into her SVR stamped mug, and surveyed her apartment.

Nothing had changed in years. She hadn’t bought new furniture or even new cushions. The bed she slept in was the same one she had shared with her husband. She and Nikolai had made the apartment a home, and the now dreary place had been filled with life. It remained her first real home, the home she was supposed to live in for the rest of her life. The home she had planned to raise children in, with Nikolai. That would never happen now.

Elena remembered running about the stores in Moscow looking for the perfect draperies. As a newlywed, she’d been disappointed in her husband’s lack of interest in the job so she had decorated in colors she knew would give him a heart attack. She wasn’t an overly feminine woman, yet the place looked like a Barbie dream house. It certainly screamed female; even a gay man wouldn’t have been caught dead in their apartment.

She had expected Nikolai to say something, but he had been happy with it—at least as far as she could tell. He hadn’t cared, so long as she didn’t touch his office. His response had certainly given her pause and she soon learned that not much rattled her new husband. Eventually they had grown to live with the soft baby pink and white lace décor, and now, years after his death, she had been seriously considering selling and getting another place. The apartment was too full of memories, both good and bad, and she thought it time to move on.

She noticed the blinking red light on her answering machine, indicating that she had a message, and immediately crossed the room to press the play button. Her insides clenched, her heart speeding up involuntary as she held her breath. Dmitry’s voice sounded out, and her heart sunk. She had been hoping, praying for another’s voice.

She hadn’t heard from Lucas in over a month and had started to worry. She wondered if he had changed his mind, deciding that he no longer wanted to wait for her. She didn’t even want to think of the other reason—that he had found someone else. She knew Lucas wouldn’t wait forever, but she still had trouble taking the plunge. Giving everything she was to him would take time…time she probably didn’t have if the scenarios playing in her head were true. She tried to shake off her doubts, but little insecurities had etched themselves into her subconscious.

She had been extremely lonely in the past few months. Dmitry spent all his time with his childhood friend Ivan. Her own friends had long since left her, having cut them off after Nikolai died. She’d not wanted company of any kind and had spent a long time trying to come to grips with her grief. The rest had left after she had thrown them to the curb. She didn’t know who she could trust anymore, the hurt of betrayal clouding her senses. She considered seeing a psychiatrist, hoping to clear up the matter. Not that the last one had helped any. She had been ordered to see one after Nikolai had been murdered, and had originally been opposed to the idea. She had become a hermit, and her life consisted only of going to work and then coming home.

She knew she had to get out of her rut, but the few people she could trust were all currently in America. Carey Madigan-Thomas had moved back home a couple of years ago, shortly before Nikolai had died. She and Elena had met after Carey had gone to SVR, determining that most of the artifacts in the Kremlin Armory had been fakes. The Russian mob had substituted the real ones and sold them on the black market.

Carey had lost her husband, Alan, not long after, and Elena had felt for her, working hard to get the perpetrator convicted. It hadn’t worked well. The Brotherhood took care of their own or sent them out for a cement swim, whichever the case. No charges were brought and Elena had felt like she had betrayed Carey in some way. Alan Thomas deserved justice, and she’d been unable to get that for him.

Lucas had followed Carey not long after the joint CIA-SVR case they’d worked on had closed. He returned with his arm in a sling, back to the CIA where they had swapped the occasional email or telephone call—or at least they had until a month ago. She had used her contacts in the United States to find out if Lucas was all right when she hadn’t heard from him, and after learning he was fine had begun to panic. Her thoughts were a riot as she tried to wrap her head around the reasons he had not contacted her.

Now her own brother was there and she couldn’t help but feel as if they were all abandoning her, leaving her alone in Russia. She knew she was being silly; her friends and family had lives of their own to live, and in a way, she felt happy for each of them in their own ventures. She was the only one holding herself back. She stayed behind while the others moved forward.

Dmitry had once said she kept her head in the sand. That she was too afraid to live her life, to move on from Nikolai and give her relationship with Lucas a shot. He was right. She felt scared; she didn’t deny that, but acceptance was only the first step. She still had plenty more to go before she could do anything about it. She was a work in progress. Elena took a deep breath and focused on the deep voice booming out of her answering machine.

She smiled as Dmitry told her he had arrived safely. Her brother had known she would fret until she got word from him. Now she could go to work and concentrate on her cases without having to worry about him. He was a good brother, kind and considerate. She hoped he had a great time while he was there. Elena only prayed Ivan would not lead her brother astray and get him into trouble.

Chapter 3

Sean Henry looked about the richly decorated office from his seat in the plush visitor’s chair, at the deep cobalt blue carpet beneath his feet and the stormy grey walls, with expensive prints framed of the city adding a splash of color. He would never be able to work in a place like this, but at least he was better off now than he had been. He waited patiently for the boss to finish his phone call, while admiring the artwork and wondering if he could manage to escape with a few of them under his arm. They would fetch a good price.

He knew all the right people; he could make an under-the-counter sale and walk away with a hefty wad of cash. However, he couldn’t entertain such thoughts. There would be a time, hopefully in the near future, that he would no longer need the old man. Until then, it was best not to bite the hand that fed him.

His fake ID got him into the building, since his real one would have shown his multiple arrests from the time he was eleven, ranging from assault with a deadly weapon, to soliciting and a couple of breaking and entering charges.

He had clawed his way out of the gutter he’d been born in, his mother a fifteen-year-old runaway, and he had no intention whatsoever of ever going back to that kind of life. He was prepared to torture and kill anyone the boss asked him to, if it kept him out of the streets. He was well-versed in the art of extortion and coercion, and had also dabbled in kidnapping. He’d become known as a knee-breaker on the rough streets of D.C.

The boss was a complicated man, striving toward making the world a better place. He fought for what he believed in and accomplished feats that no other could, but little did the public know it had been bought with the threat of war or pain. The boss used his power and position to get what he wanted, all for the greater good, of course, and skirted the laws he vowed to uphold.

Sean never understood that sentiment. The world couldn’t be changed, not really. He believed it to be a complete waste of time.

Hey, what do I know?

He just wanted to make money, and lots of it. He had a five-year plan, and at the end, he’d retire and live the life he should’ve always had. Nothing would get in the way of that.

The boss put down the phone and looked across the dark-stained heavy oak desk at him. The man was nervous, and Sean had never seen him look like that before. As a man of power and strength, he’d never appeared concerned by anything thrown at him. Always poised and calm, with a stiff upper lip and a backbone of pure steel. A man whose white collar upbringing showed in just about every movement he made. Sean knew he’d never had to
really
work for anything, everything pretty much handed to him on a silver fucking platter.

The boss had never starved because his mother had spent all their money on drugs instead of food, never had to watch his mother service roadies time and time again. The boss had gone to college, got himself a master’s degree, and became a well-respected man high up on the food chain. Nothing ever changed. Born to one world, stay in that world. Well, not for Sean. He would not die a pauper with syphilis or some such disease. He would die surrounded by young hot chicks, hopefully in a hot tub at his own mansion.

He brought his thoughts back from his fantasy, and on to the matter at hand. A lot rode on the boss’s next decision, and if he got caught it would be considered treason, and that would be the end of him. He would be destroying lives and making a lot of people sweat. Not an easy decision to make, even for a man like him.

Sean had no such qualms. That was the difference between him and the boss. He felt quite happy to do the dirty jobs, and not worry about the outcomes so long as he got paid for his troubles.

Not that the boss had clean hands. He had read somewhere that the boss had seen action in Vietnam. He had been wounded and walked away with a Medal of Honor and a Purple Heart. He was one tough son-of-a-bitch, that was for sure. He was like a cockroach, and could withstand any type of blast.

“So what about these men you have hired?” the boss asked, scrutinizing him closely.

“I did as you asked. Found two who are perfect. Great recommendations. They can do the job.”

The boss’s eyebrow rose, skepticism plain on his face. Annoyance flared. He’d worked hard, yet the boss questioned his competency. They’d worked together for several months and each time the boss had requested he carry out a certain assignment, he’d done so without comment or complaint. The boss looked down on him. No matter what he did, the boss remained unimpressed.

“And they fit
all
the requirements?” the boss pressed.

“Yes, boss.” He contained the urge to shudder, hating being subservient to anyone.

It had taken time to find what the boss wanted, but the most important factor was that it couldn’t lead back to Americans. If the boss’s plan worked, no American could be blamed for the job.

Ivanov Consulting had the best reputation in the world of whispers and secrets, and could infiltrate the most complex computer programs. He was glad he’d found them.

Even so, it remained clear the boss thought he was better than Sean. Everyone thought they were above him. At least until they needed drugs, or a certain prostitute or mistress taken care of. Then he became their best friend. Once the job had been done, Sean Henry would be forgotten. Always.

Which was why he kept a detailed ledger of all transactions between them—and other members of high society—just in case any of them were stupid enough to sell him out.

He had to make sure everything went smoothly tomorrow. There was no room for error. What the boss proposed was risky to the both of them. He wasn’t about to leave everything up to the old coot, no matter what power backed him.

He knew if the shit hit the fan, it would rain down hard, and he’d be on the bottom of the pile. He wouldn’t go easily, though. No, he’d happily take half of D.C. down with him. Something the elite would soon learn, should they try to double cross him.

He might have been a bottom feeder, but he was also a smart one.

Chapter 4

Dmitry stepped out of the shower. The bathroom had filled with steam and the mirror above the basin was coated in condensation. He wiped away a section on the mirror with a towel, then shaved carefully. He dabbed on a small amount of cologne, careful not to overdo it. After brushing his teeth and gargling with mouthwash, he dressed in a crisp black suit and a sky blue shirt.

He wanted to make a good first and lasting impression on this client. He wasn’t one for dressing in suits, except for a wedding or funeral, but he figured this would be the perfect opportunity to bring the suit out of the back of his closet and air it out. It had taken a dry clean to remove the moth ball scent from the fabric.

He gently ran a lint brush over his shoulders and combed his black hair to one side. His hair was so dark that sometimes it looked almost blue, and was in perfect contrast to his cool grey eyes. Satisfied he was ready, he left the bathroom and came face to face with a very intoxicated Ivan.

He wrinkled up his nose. “Dear God, what is that smell?”

Ivan stared back at him through bloodshot eyes, looking like road kill, and he didn’t smell much better. His clothes were wrinkled and bore more than one unknown stain. His unshaved face made him look more like an escaped convict than a businessman, and he could barely stand, swaying slightly on his feet.

“Had a good time, did you?” Dmitry asked.

Ivan seemed to scrutinize him through a haze of alcohol. “Yeah, I did,” he slurred as he tried to right himself. “Had myself a pretty little American girl.”

Dmitry rolled his eyes. Same old Ivan. The man never changed, never grew up, and unfortunately never learned from his mistakes. “Hope she was over twenty-one. You ready to go?” he asked, knowing full well Ivan wasn’t. The man’s body probably consisted of around ninety percent alcohol.

“Give me a minute to freshen up,” Ivan said, enunciating each word carefully like a child first learning to talk. He stumbled towards the bathroom, moving precariously side to side, and Dmitry wondered if he would have to call for an ambulance when Ivan stumbled into the stylish sparkling jade tiles that made up the four-star bathroom. His friend groaned, rubbing at his head as he closed the bathroom door.

When the shower turned on, Dmitry sank down heavily on the bed and resisted the urge to run his fingers through his carefully combed hair. He had a tendency to do that often when stressed or frustrated, and right now he was both. He slipped into his black loafers, which he’d spent the good part of an hour shining.

So much for first impressions
.

He doubted Ivan had gotten any sleep last night. The man barely fired on all cylinders when he was sober. Dmitry wasn’t too enthusiastic to see how the meeting would go, considering the situation. He only hoped Ivan would not get too riled up or take something the wrong way. He was always ready for a fight.

Twenty minutes later, Ivan returned from the bathroom a new man. He had shaved, although not too well, judging by all the pieces of bloodied toilet paper stuck to his face. He appeared semi-normal, a good thing for Ivan, and he wasn’t going to get any better with time. He wore a dark chocolate suit which looked slightly wrinkled, and his mousey brown hair had been greased back.

He should have known this would happen. Ivan was a great man and a good friend, but he had no sense of decorum. He never knew when he should stop and always took several steps over the line. Dmitry had saved him many times, either from the clinker or an angry boyfriend of some woman he had been trying to pick up. He remembered one instance when he had gotten a shiner protecting Ivan from a beefy man who had taken offense to Ivan being too close to
his
woman.

Elena had not been impressed when she had to come down to the local MVD—Russia’s police—in the middle of the night, or rather, the early morning. Her hair had been mussed from sleep and she had sported a deep scowl. He had to admit he had played the shiner for all it was worth to get out of the lecture Elena had on the tip on her tongue. She had used her connections with SVR to get him out of trouble and keep his record unblemished, and he’d made a point over the years to keep his nose clean. Something Elena certainly thanked him for.

Whatever he got caught doing would reflect on her. Dmitry knew Elena had an idea of the kinds of things he did when she was not around, and always pretended she didn’t see or know anything. As an officer of the law, she was honor-bound to inform her bosses of the potential threat he posed to the security of the nation.

Dmitry stood and poured some hotel coffee into a Styrofoam cup and handed it to Ivan, who gratefully took it. Hopefully the caffeine would do him some good. Lord knew nothing else would.

“Are you going to be up for this, man?” he asked. “Would you prefer to stay here? I can go alone and close the deal for you.”

Ivan shook his head then winced. “
Nyet
. All is good. Let’s get this on the road, shall we?”

“All right. As long as you’re sure.” It would be a long day. Being hung-over would not improve his temperament.

Ivan picked up the keys to the Ford Focus and grinned at Dmitry. “Absolutely, man.”

Dmitry instantly relieved Ivan of the keys and opened the hotel door for him.

Soon, they were in the car, heading east away from the hotel. Dmitry slid his black Ray-Ban sunglasses over the bridge of his nose to keep the sun out of his eyes as it rose over the buildings in preparation for a beautiful June day. The early morning traffic began to congest, and he was glad they were heading in a less busy direction.

Dmitry followed the GPS instructions, turning off Rhode Island Avenue and down a series of alleys in the Washington area of Langdon. The neighborhood was a world away from where he and Ivan had just come from. The streets and local businesses were filled with men who actually worked for a living, trying to keep their families afloat. Those who came home at night smelling of hard work and carried layers of dirt and grease on their bodies.

He drove past a series of warehouses, automotive repair shops, and storage companies before coming to a stop outside a single level structure. The building looked rather deserted for a place of business. He glanced about the street, double checking that he had the correct address.

He did.

Together, he and Ivan walked toward the door of the warehouse. Ivan knocked, the sound almost clanging against the thin metal. Someone opened the door almost immediately, and they were met by a tall man dressed in a suit. He looked at them both before stepping aside allowing them to enter the building.

If he thought Ivan’s suit was bad, he wasn’t sure how to describe the monstrosity this man wore. While the suit had been pressed, it gave off a subtle cheap look, and he guessed the man had only just recently purchased it, most likely for the meeting that was about to start. The suit had pinstripes down the length of the maroon fabric, and did nothing for his features, making him look like someone out of an Al Capone film, only with a smaller budget.

This American undoubtedly lacked taste, that much was clear.

Behind the not so well-dressed man stood another. This one did not try to disguise himself as anything other than what he was. The large man, his long oily ponytail hanging down his back, had to be hired muscle.

“Ivan Anisimov and Dmitry Ivanov?” the first man asked, his brown hair an inch too long for big business. “Stephen Hosking. We spoke on the phone.” He extended his arm, and Ivan shook his hand, followed by Dmitry.

He noted the man’s calloused palms and slightly dirty fingernails. He was accustomed to hard work. He frowned. Not the type to sit behind a desk all day. He glanced about the almost empty warehouse before turning back to his client, noting the wooden desk complete with a chair and a state-of-the-art computer system behind him, the only item which looked at odds to its surroundings.

“We’re a relatively new company,” the first man—Stephen—stated, once he noticed Dmitry take in their surroundings. “Still in the start-up phase, which is why we want you here. We’re interested in getting our entire system computerized, to be used autonomously. To lessen the supervision required.”

It sounded like something a lot of small time companies wanted, to limit the amount of employees they would need to pay. Especially in today’s economy and recession, a dollar saved is always best.

“Sounds doable.” His gaze swept the large, empty warehouse. Nothing had changed; he hadn’t missed anything since looking around a moment ago. A prickle of unease raced down his back.

His attention moved to the muscle, whose expression gave nothing away. He looked fierce, and Dmitry doubted it was an act, because he seemed like the type who chewed on nails for breakfast. He crossed his large, thick arms across his chest, causing his muscles to plump. If Dmitry hadn’t been Russian, he might have been scared or at least intimidated, but men like that grew on trees where he came from.

He shot Ivan a look as he and the client discussed the logistics company, noticing his friend’s manner appeared relaxed. Ivan didn’t seem worried about the situation. Dmitry started toward the computer, pushing aside his concerns and settled into a comfortable position in the chair, in front of the computer, while Ivan hung back.

“What kind of traffic are you looking at and how would you like this to be structured?” he asked as he began typing on the keyboard. He frowned when he saw how advanced—and expensive—the system was and knew immediately no start-up company could afford such an expenditure this early on. Not unless the company needed to hide sensitive information. Just what type of import and export business was the client running? His mind immediately went to drugs.

His stomach knotted, his concerns once again taking precedence, the feeling of impending doom washing over him that he couldn’t shake. He could no longer ignore his discomfort. The client’s phone beeped and the man glanced down and read the screen, his face changing in a heartbeat. He wondered what the message said. He and Ivan shared a glance.

“I believe, Mr. Ivanov, there has been a misunderstanding,” Stephen began, tucking the phone back into his pocket. “I regret the misleading circumstances of your being here, but what I want is rather sensitive, and I could hardly advertise for such a thing. I want you to locate something for me. I am prepared to pay handsomely for it.”

Dmitry’s face darkened and he tensed, ready for possible attack. An unconscious reaction, which came from growing up in Moscow. Anger bubbled to the surface. He didn’t like being played, especially as a fool. He’d accepted the job, wanting their business to succeed. He should’ve investigated his new client better instead of being blinded by money and prestige. He’d been careless.

Had the contents of the message the American received been a verification of his identity and Ivan’s? It would explain why the client had suddenly lost all pretense. The reasons why such a measure had been required made him worry, his blood chilling at the implications.

“Not everything is for sale,” he replied simply and truthfully. “I certainly am not.”

He stood, only able to guess what the man wanted him to do. There were only a few things one could not advertise for, and he wasn’t about to do something illegal for a man who misrepresented himself and his needs. He especially didn’t like to be fucked about, and he wasn’t even sure the man had given him his real name. He made his way toward Ivan.

“Wait,” Stephen said. He held up his hands in surrender. “I apologize. Please stay.”

Dmitry glanced over at Ivan, who shrugged, appearing perplexed. He turned to the American, preparing to hear him out. He would rather not waste the trip. So what if it was not quite the job he had been expecting? He could be flexible, depending on what the job entailed.

“What is it you want us to do
exactly
?” Dmitry asked.

He wouldn’t make promises. He was a man of principal and integrity. He may not be the Russian Federation’s man of the year, but there were certain things he would not do. Compromising innocent people was one of them. In fact, it was right up on the top of his list. He’d spent many nights knee-deep in illegal activities, so he wasn’t a saint, but his actions had never been for personal or even monetary gain. He just liked seeing if he could penetrate the most elaborate security systems in the world. He soon discovered he could and did so often.

The client produced a piece of paper from his chest pocket, and handed it to Dmitry. He took the scrap of paper from him and viewed it. His stomach clenched as he took in the IP address.

Jesus fucking Christ.

It became clear he and Ivan were in deep shit. If they didn’t watch themselves, they’d be buried in it. The IP was a government standard address; he knew the sequence of numbers well. The American couldn’t possibly want him to bypass a government firewall. He would be fucking crazy if he did.

“There’s been a mistake,” he said. “This is government. That most certainly wasn’t our deal.”

He waved the piece of paper in front of him, knowing things were going south fast. While he liked to think of himself as a grey hat—a person who sometimes crossed the line between legal and illegal—he knew well enough to let sleeping dogs lie, and to never mess with federal governments. Particularly the Americans. If there had ever been a nation he didn’t want to fuck over, it was them. Piss them off, and he’d have an enemy for life. He didn’t want to have a satellite aimed on him until a squadron could take him out.