Presumption of Innocence

Chapter Fourteen

Callen walked out of the hotel exactly an hour and five minutes after his call with Vasily Zvyagin. As a matter of principle, and because he was feeling particularly bloody-minded he was deliberately late for the rendezvous. He'd changed into jeans, a white t-shirt and brown leather jacket. It didn't make him look any less lethal although he missed the familiar weight of his SIG. It wasn't easy to leave it behind even knowing that Sam was close by and his every move was being monitored from Ops.

The black limo parked out front had heavily tinted windows. The man standing beside it looked like he'd have been more at home working as a bouncer at a nightclub. The suit jacket bulged over impressive arm muscles and an ugly scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. Without any greeting he opened the door and waited stony-faced for Callen to get in. It was no surprise to find that he wasn't alone. His fellow passenger had sharp features, short brown hair and cold grey eyes. From information provided by Eric he knew this was Zvyagin.

"You're late," Zvyagin said sourly.

Callen got comfortable. "Where are we going?"

"You'll know when we get there."

"I'm curious. Why would Yuri Olisov be interested in my proposition?" That earned him a sharp look. He laughed. "Do you really think my resources aren't as good as yours? You use the name Vasily Zvyagin although we both know that isn't your real name. You've worked for Mr. Olisov for six years as one of his security team. Before that you were an officer in the Militsiya." The growing scowl on Zvyagin's face was extremely satisfying. "So, what is the connection between your boss and Vincent Savage?"

"You ask too many questions."

"I like to know who I'm doing business with."

"So does Mr. Olisov."

Callen dropped the subject, satisfied with the confirmation that he was dealing with Olisov. He thought back to the operation years earlier when the Russian businessman had first come to the attention of NCIS. They'd only investigated him from a distance and Callen had no fear that he would be identified as a Federal Agent. There were always inherent risks in going undercover. He'd been made on a couple of occasions when he'd been lucky to walk away with his life. It was a hazard they all accepted and did their best to minimize. If there had been any chance he might be recognized from that earlier investigation this operation would not have been possible.

The vehicle made slow progress through the early evening traffic. From highway 110 they turned onto the 101 heading north. When they took Santa Monica Boulevard Callen's forehead creased in a frown. He'd expected to be taken to Olisov's office for the meeting but they were headed in the wrong direction. They weren't going toward his house either. He began to wonder if he'd been set up. This could just as easily be an execution as a meeting. His rising heart rate settled back to normal when the car stopped outside a restaurant. He ran through a mental list of Olisov's businesses, giving a half-smile when he recognized this one. Although he had been born and raised in America Olisov had a fondness for things that reminded him of his heritage. The Odessa, an over-priced Russian restaurant, was his latest acquisition.

A valet opened his door and looked disapprovingly at his casual attire. "We have a dress code, Sir."

Callen stepped out and fixed the young man with a hard stare. "You think I care?"

"It's alright. He's with me." Zvyagin joined Callen on the sidewalk.

"Of course, Mr. Zvyagin. Mr. Olisov is waiting in the private room."

"This way." Zvyagin walked ahead of Callen and into the restaurant.

Even though it was still early most of the tables were full of expensively dressed men and women. Several looked at him as if he was an unwelcome intruder. None could meet his eye for more than a second before turning away and pointedly ignoring him. There were drapes over the windows and the room was decorated in dark colors. Heavy chandeliers provided an unnatural light. If it was intended to evoke memories of Russia it failed although Callen had no doubt that this was as close as most of the patrons would ever come to that fascinating country.

There was a door toward the back of the restaurant. Zvyagin knocked before opening it and stepping aside. The location made Callen uneasy. If anything went wrong there were no quick escape routes. A room full of innocent people lay between him and the street in front of the building. The only other door clearly led into the kitchen. Of course Olisov could have chosen this location as a precaution against the eruption of violence. Callen's undercover legend had a frightening history; enough to make Olisov curious and wary.

Callen walked into the room more than ready to face the man he blamed for Deeks' predicament. The windowless space contained a round table and ten chairs. The table, set for two people, was covered with a pristine white cloth. Olisov was facing the door leaving Callen in the more vulnerable position of having to sit with his back to the entrance.

"Thank you for coming." Olisov came to greet him. "I hope you are hungry."

They were almost the same age but from diametrically opposite backgrounds. Yuri belonged to a wealthy family who had fled Russia before he was born after falling out of favor with the political elite. Maksym Koslov's history mirrored Callen's own; orphaned as a young child and left to grow up in orphanages and foster homes. At sixteen the lie diverged from the truth. Koslov began dabbling in drugs, became embroiled with the Russian Mafia and moved quickly through the ranks due to a flair for violence and no conscience. His move to America was strategic and lucrative.

Callen sat and looked coldly at his host. "I'm here to discuss business."

"That's no reason to forget our manners."

A waiter entered the room carrying a platter piled with what appeared to be a gourmet version of pirozhki. The savoury aroma made Callen's mouth water.

"Wine?" the waiter asked.

"Water." With Zvyagin standing at his back he had to stay sharp.

While Olisov filled his plate Callen sneered at him. "You play at being Russian. This restaurant. The food. You have no idea what it is really like to live there. You've never spent a winter cold and hungry and clinging onto life by the thinnest thread."

Olisov would never be described as handsome. A life indulging every whim had left him overweight with slack jowls. Anger added a surge of color from his neck to his hairline. "I invite you here to offer my help and you insult me?"

"The truth is not an insult." Callen picked up one of the delicate pastries and took a bite. An explosion of flavor filled his mouth. Smoked salmon mingled with hard-boiled egg, rice which had been cooked to perfection and a tantalising hint of caviar. "It's good. How much does it cost your rich American friends to pretend that they are eating like Russian peasants?"

The corner of Olisov's mouth twitched. "A lot."

Callen's laughter dispelled the brittle tension between them. "I'm impressed." He finished the pastry and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "What's your connection to Vincent Savage?"

"He works for me."

That was less informative than Callen had hoped but he didn't dare to pursue the enquiry for fear of alerting Olisov to his true intentions. "You can meet my requirements?"

"Almost certainly."

"Good. How would you like to receive payment?"

"We'll discuss that in a moment. I am interested to know more about your claim that a police officer infiltrated Vincent's law firm."

Callen drank some water and took the opportunity to eat another pirozhki. It contained delicately spiced meat and onion and was every bit as good as the first one. "You don't have to worry about him. He went crazy and killed the woman he was sleeping with. His career is over. He will be sent to prison and no-one will listen even if he found any evidence against you."

A malicious smile spread across Olisov's face. "He is the undercover cop? That's the best news I've heard all day."

"You knew the girl?" Callen asked.

"She was one of many who helped to pass the time."

Callen knew that for a lie. Marta Delgado had been more than a casual sexual partner. She had been a possession to be flaunted whenever Olisov was in the mood. "She cheated on you?" he pressed.

"If she did show such a lack of judgement she paid dearly for it."

"There are some who speculate that it wasn't the cop who killed her."

Olisov's face froze into a rigid mask. "Who else could it have been?" he asked in a low voice laced with dangerous undertones.

Callen couldn't afford to appear intimidated. "What does it matter? We've wasted enough time discussing a whore. When can I expect my men to arrive?"

"Two weeks at most." Olisov continued to look at Callen suspiciously. "Where do you get your information?"

"It doesn't matter where it comes from. What matters is that it is accurate." He narrowed his eyes to glare at Yuri. "What reason have I given you to distrust me? You demanded that I come alone and I did. I am not carrying a weapon and I have freely shared information that is of benefit to you. What have I received in return?" He stood up, anger clouding his features. "Where I come from we treat our business partners with respect."

He sensed movement behind him. When Zvyagin's hand landed on his right arm he slammed his left elbow back into Zvyagin's sternum. He heard a pained grunt. A quick step to the side gave him more room to manoeuver. He wrenched the Russian's arm behind his back and used the leverage to propel the man forward into a collision with the table. The jolt overturned the glasses and sent them rolling onto the floor where they shattered. Callen liberated Zvyagin's gun from his shoulder holster and stepped back.

Olisov, to his credit, hadn't moved. "An impressive display and wholly unnecessary. Sit down. Let us discuss our business like civilized men." He turned a scowl on Zvyagin. "Get out."

Callen held the gun out to its owner. Zvyagin was breathing heavily and so angry that he was shaking. "Touch me again and I'll break your neck," Callen said. He returned to his chair. "We were about to discuss the method of payment." He knew that his contemptuous dismissal of the bodyguard had made him an enemy. It was worth it, however, to have distracted Olisov from the subject of Marta's death.

"Cash. It makes it so much easier to smooth the way with greedy officials. Bring it to my house tomorrow evening. I'm having a small party and there will be people there who might be interested in investing in your business ventures."

"Good." He smiled in satisfaction. "I look forward to it."

Tbc

Caroline

September 2013