The bright blue eyes were as alert and certain, as they were when Nicolas Brezin agreed to serve a ten year sentence for second degree murder in the death of Peter Rostov. While Jack McCoy found the vigilante justice Brezin had handed out appalling, he found himself admiring the man's unapologetic willingness to accept his punishment. as a consequence for his actions.
McCoy had shared Logan's skepticism when Green approached him about meeting with Brezin. Eventually, Green wore him down. More out of a sense of desperation than anything else, McCoy agreed to make the ninety minute drive to the medium security facility Brezin was being held at.
As McCoy and Green took their seats across from the man clad in a beige prison uniform, McCoy noted that, except for the dark circles under his eyes, the man looked none the worse for wear after being on prison for little more over a year.
Panic soon replaced recognition on the Russians face, as he looked from one man to the other.
"Mr. McCoy, Detective Green. You wouldn't be here if something hadn't happened... if…Rostov. He's escaped? Nadia? My family..."
"No," McCoy said quickly. "No, Karl Rostov is still sitting in a cell in Siberia. He can't get near your family."
Brezin's relief was obvious, as his face relaxed and held his face in his hands. After regaining his composer, he looked back up at McCoy, his face showing genuine concern.
"You have daughters, Mr. McCoy?"
"One."
Brezin nodded gravely.
"I was hoping to see you both again, one day. I never got the chance to thank either of you for getting justice for my Nadia," Brezin said softly. "Detective Green you and your partner... Detective Cassidy... you saved my child. And you, Mr. McCoy. That day on the street; that day the embassy traded me for Rostov, I knew my Nadia would have justice for what that man… As I said, I hoped one day to thank you. I never wanted it to be under these circumstances. How long has Rostov had your daughter?"
McCoy shook his head, as he reached into the pocket of his jeans.
"They took my fiancée almost eighteen hours ago."
Brezin studied the snapshot of McCoy and Malinowski taken at a Bar Association gala a few months after the couple had started seeing each other. With a sigh, he handed the photo back to McCoy, his eyes meeting his desperate gaze.
"The blessing is, she's too old for him to try to put her out as a whore. The curse is, he'll squeeze you to release as many of his associates as he can, before he has her killed. I am sorry to be so blunt, but after my own experiences with such people, I think it's best you know from the start what you are dealing with."
Green put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, seeing a flicker of misery fleetingly mare the otherwise stoic face.
"Anything you can tell us about his operation in the states...in New York spefically... could help us find Ms. Malinowski."
"Yes, he would have her kept as near to Mr. McCoy as he thinks is safe," Brezin said frankly. "Both Peter and Karl took pleasure in not only degrading women, but flaunting the power they had over the men who cared about the women they took. Have his people contacted you yet?"
"They sent her engagement ring and this note," Green said as he handed Brezin a manila envelope.
"Yes… next you'll get a tape…a tape that will be very difficult for you to watch. But watch it you must," he said wearily. "But when you get it, keep an eye out for familiar things…landmarks you can see from any windows in the structure. Street signs, the structure of the surrounding buildings."
"Mr. Brezin, how is Rostov calling the shots," Green interjected. "He's in a prison thousands of miles from the U.S. Who would he use and how is he contacting them?"
"Rostov was …how you say? He was a middle man. His operations were part of a bigger group, part of the Valenski crime family's organization. Mr. McCoy what is it? "
McCoy's face paled as he heard the name of the crime boss Malinowski's former husband jailed before going into witness protection. On his way from the airport, he had heard the morning news report the kidnapping of a Suffolk County assistant district attorney in Niagara Falls the previous afternoon. He knew the press would not only have a name by noon, but a back story as well. A back story that would include not only their engagement, but Malinowski's marriage to the federal prosecutor.
"I have to get to a phone," he said as he signaled for the guard."I have to call Ira Meyerson at The Ledger."
"Mr. McCoy," Brezin said urgently.
McCoy turned from the doorway.
"After you get the tape, the first demand will come. You'll need to offer them something in good faith. You went to my embassy when you needed help to prosecute me. You must have impressed Andrei Karpovich significantly or he never would have agreed to trust you with any kind of trade. Go to him again. Tell him what you've told me. He may be able to help buy you time."
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Malinowski stared at the food her captors had left on the floor beside her earlier, while she slept off the effects of the drug. As hungry as she was after almost a day without more than a few handfuls of water, she knew there were risks to eating the now cold burger and fries that sat next to the unlabeled cup of cola. After critically inspecting the inside of the burger, caution gave way to hunger and she reluctantly bit into the burger.
As she ate, Malinowski studied the stark room she found herself in. She had been left with her hands and legs free. She assumed this was to be their final destination, at least for some time. With her mouth aching from the the removal of the duct tape, she knew screaming would only serve to either amuse or infuriate her captors.
The room contained nothing but a mattress and blanket. Once she finished her meager meal, she rubbed her wrists and ankles, trying to increase the circulation in her limbs that ached from being bound for hours in the truck of a car.
Carefully, she stood and gingerly made her way to the main door. Finding herself locked in, she tried the door at the back of the room.
Inside she found a bathroom that contained a small basin, toilet and shower. Once again, the metal fixtures had been removed. The pipes soddered into place. Inside the shower stall, she found a large pump bottle of soap and small window that appeared to be the rooms only source of ventilation.
Straining her arms and legs, she peered out the window. Confirming that she was indeed in a basement, much like the ones found in many turn of the century brownstones in the city. The window itself was secured from the outside, making any attempt to open it, impossible.
After assuring herself the window would be of no help in either escaping or finding help, she stepped out of the stall and glanced down at her watch. Still set on New York time, she found her thoughts wandering to the planner on her desk in Inslip.
It's almost one…she thought. Jake should be meeting with Stan Webber any second…thank God those two are tennis buddies…maybe Jake will get further than I did and get Stan to plead out Gomez…yeah Gomez, what a worthless sack he is…maybe, by the time I get back to the office…
Suddenly she felt tears flowing down her cheeks. She started to wipe the tears away, forgetting momentarily the tender state of her face. Recoiling from the soreness of her cheeks, she caught her reflection in the small mirror that was cemented to the wall above the basin
. Seeing her bruised cheeks and the soiled clothing she'd had on for more than twenty four hours brought the reality of her situation crashing down on her.
Malinowski had known she was in deep by the reaction of her captors hours before, when she had attempted to find away to make a deal with them to let her go.
"You know I'm an assistant district attorney," she said matter of factly."I've had cases like this. Am I here because of one of those cases? If so, is there any chance we can make some sort of deal, before things go any further?"
The two men eyed her curiously before exchanging knowing nods.
"Then you work for John McCoy?"
Hearing her fiancée referred to by the name he shunned, caused Malinowski momentary confusion that her captors mistook for lack of familiarity.
"Your friend, the woman whose room you were in; her father. You know Rebecca McCoy's father, no?"
"I know Becky's father," she said carefully.
The man beside her unexpectedly held out her left hand.
"Ivan, the ring," the man beside her said excitedly. "You are a prosecutor and you are McCoy's woman?"
Malinowski nodded, feeling as if she was digging her own grave; yet knowing it would be futile and potentially more deadly to lie.
"I am McCoy's woman."
The Russians exchanged a rapid stream of words before the gunman, the other man referred to as Ivan, returned to Malinowski's suggestion.
"To deal both parties need something the other wants. You have nothing that we want, nothing we haven't been offered before," he said snidely, as his eyes roamed over her body."That leaves you at a serious disadvantage."
"I have your freedom to offer," she said with as much confidence as she could muster, as she prayed the trembling that she could feel through out her body, had gone unnoticed."No one has to know I saw your faces. Just leave me and go. I'll tell the police you wore masks, that you disguised your voices. I'll convince them I have no way of indentifying you. Just let me go now, before it's too late."
"Too late? Too late for whom," Ivan said as he reached into his pocket and handed his partner a roll of duct tape. "If you are a district attorney, you know the reason we didn't feel the need for disguises. No deal."
Before she could reply, her mouth was once again sealed. While his partner prepared the chloroform, Ivan returned his gun to its holster and moved towards the bed.
As she began to feel light headed, she found the man close enough to smell the faints scent of cigars on his breath.
"Your man's name is John, no? Ivan is Russian for John," he said with a smile that held no humor."Perhaps that means you should get used to the idea of being my woman, very soon."
