I was a killer, was the best they'd ever seen
I'd steal your heart before you ever heard a thing
I'm an assassin and I had a job to do
Little did I know that girl was an assassin too
Assassin - John Mayer
Friday 23 September, Seattle
In the end, seventeen young women emerged from the ISO Container that day. Seventeen young lives who were apparently expendable in the effort to destroy my brother. Seventeen reasons to hate Lincoln even more than ever before. Seventeen potential murder charges, eighteen if we included the body of Eldar Belousov, a Kazanskaya soldier. The women, mostly Iranian, a few Afghani and one British ex-pat from Yemen, had been loaded on to the container at various ports between Odessa and Tacoma. They confirmed that Belousov had been added to their unhappy party when they had finally been offloaded onto the US docks. The man who had delivered his body had told them that Belousov was responsible for their current predicament, that he had organised for the women to be drugged, abducted and imprisoned in their floating tin can for six weeks, and they had no reason not to believe him. Three of the women were able to identify Jack Hyde as the man who had dumped Belousov's body.
Seventeen souls saved even though we only partially disarmed the bomb which then killed our bomb disposal expert and blew my husband and brother across the compound. Ethan was still fully suited and came out unscathed. Elliot wasn't so lucky. He and Agent Mehta were closer to the container when the bomb went off. Mehta tried to throw himself on top of Elliot but took the brunt of the blow and the bulk of the shrapnel debris as they hit the ground. Elliot took a large piece of metal through his thigh, suffered concussion, minor eye damage and temporary hearing loss. However, the force of landing ensured that his spine sustained major impact damage. Enough to cause paralysis in the lower half of his body.
Unfortunately, while my family kept a vigil by his bedside, Ethan and I were caught up in the post-bomb interrogations as we debriefed the women and ensured that they went through their own medical health checks. They had been fed and given water throughout the gruelling trip. The crew had even allowed them to take walks around the deck, once a day. However, they were continually drugged to keep them compliant and the past few days, while they remained unchecked on the wharves at Tacoma, they had become dehydrated and weakened.
Now, Ethan paces the length of the safehouse. I'm not sure I've ever seen him so agitated. "We should be able to throw the book at Lincoln. Why haven't we brought him in?"
"The evidence is circumstantial," I remind him. The paper trail on the containers showed a mix up on the wharf. There is, conveniently, no proof that the shipment was meant for Lincoln and he's crying foul, threatening to sue the FBI for harrassment.
"Where the hell is Volkov?"
"Agents have been sent to bring Volkov in but there is no current evidence that connects him to either Belousov or Lincoln. If he cooperates it will be to avoid an international incident," Rory gives an agitated tap of his pen on the desk.
"Or to incite one," I reply. The fraying of tempers is getting out of hand and as I glare at Ethan, I wonder how much of this is about the conversation we haven't had or the significant lack of sleep since I decided to offer myself up on a plate to Hyde. Just when he's about to snap another frustration into the room, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I hold up my finger to silence him. "Message from Jenna McCluskey."
Auction date is set. Two weeks tomorrow. Be at Orpheus Saturday night, 8pm.
We all stare at the screen, stunned into silence. "Why now? Surely the bomb would have scared them off?" I frown at the tech in my hand.
"Or they want to get rid of their merchandise." Jensen grabs the phone out of my hand to study it while he talks. I'm pissed. Not about the phone. About the way we're still referring to these girls as if they're merchandise. At the way we dehumanise them for our own purposes. The three of us have just spent the past few days interviewing the women off the ship and hearing their stories. Hearing how frightened they all were. How sick they got travelling for weeks at sea. How they're captors taunted them. And now they're just merchandise.
Ethan's mouth is twisted. A look of disgust or agony. Probably both. I love him even more for his empathy.
"We've got a visitor." One of Rory's minions interrupts. "Volkov."
"Shit. They found him?" Rory had sent out teams to try to locate Volkov. I'm not sure any of us held out much hope.
"No, Sir. This is a walk in."
We all stare at each other dumbfounded as Rory instructs the agent to see Volkov into the meeting room.
"Mr Volkov. Welcome." Rory doesn't go as far as extending a hand nor is his tone particularly warm. Volkov doesn't seem to be surprised that he's not getting the red carpet treatment. He's been searched and stripped of weapons at the door so with any luck he's probably far from comfortable.
"Agent Jensen." The stare down that follows is the thing of Bond movies. All simmering antagonism and searing good looks. Volkov is probably mid-fifties so he's got a few years on Jensen but they could both still grace the cover of GQ. "I hear that you are looking for me."
At that I switch into action. "Yes, Sir. We wondered if you could identify this person." I flash the photo of Belousov's dead and bloated body in front of him. There is no reaction. No surprise or concern.
"Belousov. I know him. I haven't associated with him in a long long time." It's only as I speak that I realise that he is seeing Ethan and I in this environment for the first time and yet he is not surprised about that either. I'm not sure what that means but his lack of reaction raises the hairs on the back of my neck. We should have left the room but I guess the nature of the walk in has caught us all off guard.
"Where did you last see him?" Ethan cuts in. Volkov looks Ethan up and down before he responds.
"See him? Boston. 2004."
"I'll rephrase. When did you last have contact with him?" He says nothing. Just studies Ethan with cool blue scrutiny. So he's spoken to him recently. Alarm bells go off in my head but before I can react Volkov turns to Jensen. "As much as I would like to cooperate with your government, Mr Jensen, I have my own agenda for this visit."
"You have no authority in this case, Agent Volkov." Jensen starts to get all up in Volkov's arrogant face but the man holds his ground and stares at Rory with mild amusement.
"I'm not here for your case, specifically Mr Jensen."
"Enlighten us then." Rory folds his arms across his chest. I've never seen his power sucked from him so quick. Volkov has that air about him. As if he is totally in charge and he'll deal with killing everyone in the room without spilling a drop of his martini in the process. Cool as a fucking cucumber.
Levelling his ice blue gaze directly at me, I'm feeling the arctic blast sending shivers down my spine. But nothing could prepare me for what he says next.
"I'm here to speak with my niece."
For a long time no one moves. No one says a word and if they breathed, I'm not sure we would have noticed it. After a few minutes Rory clears the room, leaving Volkov, Ethan, Rory and myself. I'm sure Volkov would like nothing better than to get me alone but it ain't happening. Rory and Ethan appeared to have changed their positions in the room, moving to a more protective space around me. I'm not sure that Volkov or I noticed as we stood still in the middle of the room, staring at each other. Now that I am really looking at him, I can see a resemblance to Elena. But Elena claimed that her brother had simply gone back to Cleveland and left them alone. So what did an FSB agent and ex-hitman gain from bullshitting me?
"So. You're real identity is Vladimir Tomaschek?"
He glances down with a smile. The closest thing to a crack in the armour. He knows I'm testing him. "No, Vladimir Tomaschek was my father. I am…was Kazamir Tomaschek, but that was a long time ago."
"You hurt my mother." I recall the story Elena told me. How her protection had gone when her father, my grandfather had died. How Kazamir had blown into town and tried to stamp his authority in Seattle organised crime.
"Yes. Yes, I believe we hurt each other. It was unfortunate and she has never forgiven me." His smile is rueful. I'm wondering what the hell he gets by feigning regret. My palms twitch by my side as I mentally go through the many ways I'd like to kill this man.
"Why are you here, Volkov?" Ethan has taken my hand briefly. Trust him to notice when I'm about to blow a fuse.
"Because I am fearful of history repeating itself. I failed your mother. I don't want to fail you." It takes a lot of effort not to laugh.
"Touching. What makes you think you could do anything to me?" I step toward him, wanting to get all up in his grill. He'd squash me like an ant but I'd like to give it a red hot go, nonetheless. Ethan pulls me back. Given the smirk on Volkov's face, it's probably a good idea.
"Perhaps, we could sit and someone could bring us some of that coffee that you Northwesterners are so proud of." His accent is not as thick as the last time we spoke. I find myself calculating in my head how old he would have been when the family relocated to the US. Rory's movement to the door to issue the coffee order brings the room back into focus. I move to sit the seat opposite Volkov who is waiting for me to sit first. I scowl. I don't want him to be a gentleman. I don't want him to attempt anything redeeming.
"So. You left the US in 2004 after causing havoc on the blood-stained streets of Seattle." We'd spent some time looking into the crime spree that year. Targeted mob killings were so commonplace that it seemed like someone died each week for three months at the beginning of 2004. Linc's own organisation took the biggest hits, which I'm assuming were aimed more at Elena than Linc himself. This man, who we all believed was dead, is assumed to be the sole author of that crime spree. Thirteen deaths recorded, probably twice as many more unaccounted for at the bottom of Puget Sound. All of this on top of whatever tally he has as the Wolf, Interpol's most wanted hitman. Now, untouchable as Russian intelligence royalty.
"It was necessary." Eyes focused on his own fingers as they tap the table.
"Oh, please explain." I laugh. This had better be good. I'm all for taking out the bad guys but thirteen in as many weeks seems a little excessive, even for me.
"What do you know about your brother and his situation in Boston?"
"Are you referring to his unfortunate association with Jenna Deyani?" Ethan has moved to sit beside me. Probably to hold me in my seat if I decide to launch myself across the table at Volkov. My uncle. Fuck! What a fucking twisted family tree. Anger is blinding me and I almost miss his scowl when I mention Jenna's name. Interesting. I wonder what he has against Jenna McCluskey.
"Yes. When we first came to this country in 1980, my father was charged with cleaning up Kazanskaya activities across the country. He set up many new Russian immigrants in legitimate businesses and maintained a level of order in the organisation that had not been present in the twenty five years before our arrival."
Oh, spare me. He was Pakhan of Kazanskaya Bratva. Trading glares with this motherfucker is a waste of my time. Bratva scum are all fucking criminals. Lincoln has never run a clean operation and Kazanskaya couldn't be legit if they took out a full page ad and got their accountants dipped in bleach. I'm not sure what he wants my reaction to be so I don't give him any.
Rather than unload my wrath I choose the moral high ground. Or not. "He sounds like a saint."
"Far from it. He might have been a legitimate businessman but to his family and the organisation, he was a tyrant and he ruled with an iron fist. I didn't agree with the way he married off Lena but he wanted someone he could trust to run the Seattle business." He levels me with a stare.
"So he chose Lincoln?" My tone rises to meet my eyebrows. "Spectacular."
Volkov chuckles, finally recognising the thinly veiled sarcasm coating my question. "My father was, perhaps, not the best judge of character."
"Ha, I always heard that it takes a psychopath to know one." The sudden change in his eyes distinctly lowers the temperature in the room. Good. I don't want this fucker to think that I am, in any way, warming to him. "Elena got away from Lincoln. If you gave a damn, why did you allow her to be sent back?"
The set of his shoulders tells me I've obviously struck a nerve and now that I have, I file that away for future use. Eventually he leans back in his chair and continues. "My father trained me to take over the organisation. I was his second in command, the one who would take over in Ohio and run all the units across the country. My father and I fought over Lena's marriage. I didn't trust Lincoln. He came highly recommended from Moscow and rose too high, too fast. Questioning my father's decision cost me my freedom. I was exiled to the Russian military the year they were married. My banishment extended for the next ten years."
"But you left the military to became a high paid assassin. What a hero." My witty comeback draws another scowl. I'm guessing I'm not his favourite niece.
He chooses to ignore the giant contract killing elephant in the room. "Being so far away, I was disconnected from my family except for what my father chose to share with me. I was unaware of many things that impacted my sister's life." I'm assuming he means Lincoln's violence. "Until I returned to Cleveland, I was unaware of your existence."
The smile that he bestows upon me is tinged with remorse. I'm going to assume he honed his lying skills while he was in the Russian military. Instead of buying into his long lost uncle bullshit, I dredge up the conversation I had with Elena at the florist that day. Not long after my mother confessed that she had pimped me to the CIA in the name of personal safety.
"So let me get this clear. Daddy kicks the bucket and you come running back to Cleveland to take over the family business. You discover that your over-ambitious brother in law has been slapping your sister around and you took it out on the Seattle unit, killing a number of Kazanskaya soldiers and associates. A bit over the top. Even for the spawn of satan."
A frown crosses his features and I'm just about to congratulate myself for the thousand ways I've pissed him off when he begins to speak.
"I did not return to America because of my father's death." Well, that makes him son of the year, 2004. "I was contracted to do a job."
I can feel Ethan and Rory trading looks across the table but I keep my eyes on Volkov. This seems to contradict Elena's version of events but since she's a lying bitch, I have to work out who I distrust more.
"So what? You do the job, daddy dies and then you start your reign of terror."
"I didn't return for Kazanskaya. I came back because I was contracted to do so. A lucrative pay out. Some kid was screwing around where he shouldn't. All I had to do was eliminate him."
Puzzles are wondrous things. I've always loved solving them. Piecing the patterns of the edges together and waiting for that one important clue that will allow all the other errant pieces to fall into place. I knew without doubt that in this conversation I was about to find that code-breaking clue and just as it came into view, I almost found myself wanting to step back because I had a feeling that solving this particular puzzle was going to haunt all my pasts, presents and futures. So I hesitated to ask that next question. Enough for the silence to become a suffocating bubble in the space between us. As terrified of hearing the answer as I was of him deciding not to answer at all.
"Who hired you to kill my brother?" The words come out in a soft, slow whisper. The assumption that it was Linc has always been in our thinking. But we could be wrong. I concentrate on Volkov's mouth, wondering if I will believe his lying lips no matter what he says.
"My father. Vladimir."
I try to swallow but my mouth is dry. All further questions become sawdust on my tongue. Luckily, Volkov decides to continue of his own volition.
"I didn't ask any questions. He was just a name to me. A college kid who had overstepped boundaries and upset Kazanskaya. My father said he didn't want the organisation tainted with the kill but if I did as I was asked, he would allow me to come home. It seemed simple. Only, he did not understand my business. Unlike a Bratva soldier who does not ask questions, I had learned the importance of research. What I found caused concern."
"Elena still loves my brother. She would not order a hit." I'm not sure of much but I'm sure of that. Elena might be angry about Ana but in her warped way she still loves Christian and she feels something for me.
"Quite. Which means that it is most likely that Lincoln had made the request. For a job he could have easily carried out himself or asked someone from his own unit to complete. So I had to ask myself why he would involve my father, and I came to one conclusion."
We all look at him, waiting for him to enlighten us.
"He wanted to implicate my father and I. Lincoln wanted to assume the top position in the organisation."
"But your father died, anyway. That must have been a bit of a let down for you. All this drama and intrigue and the old man pops his clogs anyway. Damned inconvenient."
The volatility of his anger is swift and loud as his hands slam down not the table and he kicks his chair back to stand. The sudden quiet from the outer office means that everyone in the building probably felt the brunt of his anger. "Do. Not. Disrespect me."
The menace is pretty darn powerful but I'm still calling bullshit. I stand and mirror his stance.
"I. Don't. Give. A shit." I hiss back at him. "This meeting is over."
"Mia. Hang on." I expect Ethan to slip into therapist mode and start trying to mend some sort of family rift. I'm disappointed when I'm right. His hand on my arm has me curling my lip. I'm about to tell him to fuck right off when he addresses the question to Volkov. "Why are you telling us this? How does this help Mia?"
Volkov stays where he is, leaning on the table, nose flaring like some sort of angry bull. He's one snort short of a pasa doble, and here's me without my cape. He doesn't take his eyes off me when he responds to Ethan's question.
"Unfortunately, I underestimated the Deyani connection. I was careful to leave them both alive but there was always a risk that the woman, Jenna, would be collateral damage. The Deyani dynasty is extensive and their retribution is swift and deadly. They made it look like a heart attack but I am in no doubt that they caused it to happen."
Now he's just pissing me off. I shake Ethan's hand off my arm and stalk around the table to stand in front of my uncle. "That sounds a little far-fetched. Even for a good Bratva family tale," I sneer.
"Your grandfather was healthy. Whoever requested the hit on your brother knew that Jenna would be present that night. They knew that the Deyani family would not leave her death unanswered. Most importantly, they made sure that my father would become a target."
We've done due diligence on the Deyani dynasty and he's not wrong. Only Jenna was here to escape their reaches so I'm pretty sure she was low on their agenda of priorities. "I. Don't. Care."
"Well, perhaps you should start." His tone echoes mine for tone and timbre.
"And why is that?" Ethan is doing that reasonable thing again. The one is designed to diffuse tense situations. I'm not feeling it but it obviously does something for Volkov. This time he turns to face Ethan and I wonder if he's done talking to me, now.
"There is one other piece of evidence that makes me suspicious. One that makes me very fearful for your life." Nope, he's looking at me again. "It is the sole reason why I have chosen now to return and insinuate myself into this sordid business."
I'm about to tell him that if it's so sordid he can just fuck off when Jensen joins in the discussion. "And that would be?"
"Sheik Waleed Deyani Danir goes by the alias, Farad."
Shit! Shit! Shit! My legs buckle underneath me and I sink down into my seat. Farad. Danir is Farad. The same man who alerted us to Hyde. The same man who has offered to fund Ethan's bid at the Slave Auction.
"You're sure?" Jensen asks. Seems a little redundant. Volkov could be bullshitting us but it all fits. Danir controls the cruises. He's a known buyer. For all of his perceived cooperation and support, he's a ruthless businessman and completely amoral when it comes to human trafficking.
"What's the connection with Belousov?"
This time there is a pause. A brief look of remorse. "He was my man inside Lincoln's organisation. I'm assuming that Lincoln discovered this and ordered the hit. His timing is impeccable.
"And the killings in 2004?" I don't expect him to say very much and he doesn't disappoint.
"Collateral damage as a result of my father's death." An interesting way to put it. His idea of collateral damage and mine are obviously very different.
"But you left the country."
"I had to leave. One does not make ones anger known in such a public way and get to stand in place. In the end there was an agreement between your agency and mine."
I guess this explains why so much information has been slow to trickle down from the top.
"So if you're not Pakhan. Who is?"
He hesitates, tracing circles on the table with his finger, again. "The units swore fealty to my family. They blamed Lincoln for the bloodshed. He recognises that his power base is fractured, especially after he put Elena in hospital for the last time. Elena stands as my proxy. As long as she is alive and well, the units will be left to run themselves."
"Authority and governance with no power." I breath the words out.
He pauses, studying my face again. Then a small smile dances at the edges of his mouth. "Do not underestimate Elena, Mia."
A/N: Sasha sits back, waits for the fall out. Just remember - UNICORNS NEED LIVES TOO!