A/N: Yes, it has been quite some time, but it's finally done. I was working on the Xmas special and neggleted all my other stories, so... yeah, if you feel like reading that one, check it out.
I'm barely awake. Not entirely conscious, but aware of the comfortable warmth surrounding me. I scoot backwards, seeking the source of the heat, and find it in the long figure pressed to my back. Delphine takes a deep breath that I feel on my neck, and the arm she has around my waist, beneath my shirt, tugs me closer. I groan when I open my eyes and the weak winter sun makes me squint my eyes.
"It can't be morning already," I mumble a complaint in a low, sleepy voice.
"It's not," I hear her behind me. "Go back to sleep," she says and I feel her head pressing against my shoulder blade, her arm tightening its hold around me.
I chuckle dryly, my mind waking up slowly. "I know you're stubborn, Delphine, but not even you can make the sun go back down."
"I'm not stubborn, I'm determined, there's a difference," she corrects me and by the clearness of her voice I can tell she's waking up as well.
I turn around, staying close and smile at her when our eyes meet. I have no idea how we ended up in this position and I can only assume that, during sleep, our bodies simply did what we would not. Maybe it was the harsh cold of the winter night, but it's something that I really don't care to rationalize, especially when it feels so comfortable. Besides, it's not like Delphine seems preoccupied with it; her arm remains around me as I turn, and she shifts one leg to wrap around mine, resting her forehead on my upper chest and sighs.
"Do you think John has made any progress?" I ask in a voice that doesn't seek to disturb our momentary peace.
"There's only one way to find out," Delphine answers without moving.
"Right!" I nod and manage to stretch my back while she holds me. "We need to get up," I say, but make no attempt to get out of the warmth.
It was late when we went to bed last night, able to make a respectable dent in our work. The notes are extensive, and if there's one thing I can say about Oskar's research, is that he was extremely thorough. It seems like every piece of paper that had a single mention of Mariuzs Baczkowski's name was collected by the journalist. We began by identifying the deals that involved any public institution mentioned in Oskar's notes: a couple of Polish ones, some Ukrainian, but mostly Russian. Even so, what we found were only references to legitimate businesses; deals with private companies that exported goods, mainly vegetables and medical supplies to Eastern European countries, part of the former Soviet Union. We also identified some CEO's of said private companies, but these contracts are so old that those people are either no longer in charge or are already dead.
However, because we wanted to cover all our bases, we intentionally left the documents that seemed to be more promising for last. When we started to work on what I accidentally inherited from the journalist, John separated the papers that related to public and private companies from those involving Limited Liability Companies - or LLCs -, which, despite being harder to track down, are more likely to give us a better picture of what we're dealing with. It was close to two in the morning when Delphine and I decided to take our leave, while our host said that he would stay up a bit longer, organizing the papers for today's work.
"What interest could the Webster's organization have in vegetables and medical supplies?" I think aloud while my mind is going over what we'd discovered so far.
"None," Delphine replies. "Recently they've expanded their business into restoring historic buildings and selling them for a massive profit. Daniel's father is a big history enthusiast, or so he claims. But even so, they would import construction materials: steel, aluminum, and wood mostly, nothing that should interest them in this part of the world."
"Except money," I say. "Which some people have in abundance around here. Perhaps a capital investment."
"They don't really need it," Delphine answers, and she's moving, laying on her back and stretching lazily. "The Webster's company is very healthy financially. They have a large portfolio of projects, and are in good position to acquire additional companies in financial distress."
I watch her get up, pulling the covers down on her side of the bed, but it's enough for the cold of the room to seep into the bed.
"Hey!" I protest.
Delphine walks away and looks over her shoulder with a subtle smile when she reaches the shopping bags where she still has her clothes.
"Besides, taking money from the Russians is…well, stupid, and that's something the Websters are not," she continues, ignoring my complaint. "There are always strings attached. The Russians may have money to share, but the source is rarely a legitimate one. That's why the laws are so strict when it comes to American companies being injected with Russian capital."
"You are very well versed in all this for an art gallery worker," I observe with irony.
Her smile falters and she frowns. "I'm going to the bathroom," Delphine announces, heading for the door and taking a change of clothes with her.
When she closes the door I pull the covers over my head and groan. Perhaps it was a mistake to point out her subterfuge, but she can't exactly be surprised that I didn't fall for them - or at least not anymore. Delphine discusses international trade deals like she knows what she's talking about, she's intimately familiar with the Webster's organization even though she's not a part of it, and she's comfortable talking about trading and corporate law. It's blatant that she's no museum worker. An art major wouldn't be equipped with the skills Delphine possesses, would not be comfortable around guns, and would not be familiar with the way the Russian mob maneuvers itself in the criminal world. People like me are, or those who try to fight said criminal organizations.
My train of thought stops abruptly, and once again I'm reminded of what Ms. S has uncovered about Delphine's past, or lack thereof. Yes, people like me delete our past to make it easier to move around, but we're not alone. We're not the only ones who want to infiltrate these organizations to obtain information for our clients for a hefty fee, or sabotage them in favor of a competitor. No, there are those who do it in order to destroy them from within, such as federal and international organizations, or intelligence agencies. Delphine could be a part of them. It would certainly explain how she has access to all the information she does. Either that or she's part of a team like myself. What she definitely is not is a fucking museum keeper.
I'm so lost in thought that I don't hear her enter the bedroom. Only when Delphine tugs the covers down with a quick and unexpected move, exposing my body to the cold, do I notice her.
"Hey! What the fuck?!" I protest again, the cold feels brutal against my warm body.
"Get up! We have work to do!" She says sternly and yet there seems to be a hint of a smile on her lips.
I don't return it. Instead, I observe her with curiosity, still sifting through the thoughts that were on my mind not one minute ago. I struggle to come to terms with the notion while watching her casually search for her phone in her coat pocket. And yet, if I think rationally, ignoring all the preconceptions I have of her, it's the only thing that makes sense. I'm only surprised I didn't see it sooner. And if my suspicions are correct, if Delphine is indeed part of some sort of organization, criminal or otherwise, then it's not only me who's in trouble, but everyone I work with.
"Everything alright?" Delphine asks, tilting her head and looking away from the phone to focus on me.
"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" I reply with a shrug, my eyes continuing to watch her closely.
She shakes her head, blonde curls still mildly damp for the shower. "Nothing, is just…" she shakes her head again, pocketing the phone. "It looked like you had something on your mind."
"I do occasionally use it," I reply, not disguising my contempt as I get up and move to my luggage.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Delphine studying me with suspicious eyes, following my every move. It could just be that she has noticed my sudden change of mood, it could mean nothing, or it could mean a whole lot. After a few moments of silent observation, she moves to the door but stops, with her hand on the knob, and looks back at me.
She hesitates when I look her way. "I'm heading out," she eventually says.
"Alright," I mumble and turn back to search in my bag.
It takes a few seconds before I hear the door opening and closing quietly, and I sigh as I enter the bathroom, finding it still foggy and permeated with the aroma of Delphine's body wash. I close my eyes and take in a deep, calming, breath, but instead, the smell fills my senses, and causes the small hairs on the back of my neck to rise, and a small shiver to run down my spine. It's an involuntary reaction to Delphine's intimate presence in my life, and I shake my head and will myself to just ignore it, starting my own shower, and forcing my mind to shut down, if only for a moment.
When I return to the bedroom the cold doesn't feel so vicious, my skin warm from the hot shower, and while it's still in my mind, the realization of Delphine's possible identity doesn't seem so overwhelming. Even if my suspicions are correct, nothing has really changed; my goal and priorities are still the same. One problem at a time. Once all this mess is sorted out, I'll focus on Delphine and what she's doing here. At least for now, we appear to be on the same side.
One thing is certain, when it's time to deal with her, I can't do it on my own and it's not because of the relationship I have developed with her - present or past - but because I don't have the means necessary. Besides, it's not only me who's affected by this. S needs to know, and I'm not exactly eager to break the news to her.
Once again, I have breakfast waiting for me, and after eating I go outside. As soon as I pass through the door, the dog's eyes are on me, and after a small hesitation, she comes running in my direction. Her tongue hangs out of her mouth, and her tail wags furiously as she jumps with her front paws landing on my chest.
"Whoa!" I huff, steadying myself to take the blow of the powerful animal, which seems to have decided that I'm trustworthy.
I go to my knees to brush Zoey's muscular body, but my eyes are on the field in front of me. Delphine's on the phone, her free hand holding an unlit cigarette even as she runs her fingers through her curls. She's pacing back and forth, and judging by her expression, she's not happy with the conversation. Her voice only reaches me as a tense murmur, and when she spots me, she turns away, walking even further into the property.
"Yeah, that doesn't seem suspicious at all, right Zoey?" I speak quietly to the dog, giving her a scratch between the ears, before rising to my feet.
The dog follows me when I start to walk towards our host, who seems to be talking with his chickens as he lays some corn on the ground.
"Do they ever answer you?" I ask when I'm close to him.
"In their own way," John answers, looking at me and smiling. "They are very intelligent animals."
"Think they can help us figure out what's going on?" I ask, looking at the chickens surrounding him and waiting for more treats to fall from the small bag in his hand.
John laughs. "They're not that smart."
"Too bad. We could really use the extra help."
"Your generation is so impatient," he says calmly, encouraging the chickens to go back inside their house. "Everything is for yesterday and the world has never moved so fast."
"It's difficult to be patient when time is a bit of an issue," I point out and follow when he walks back to the porch.
"Well, our biggest problem is the LLCs," he says and sits down on the bench by the door with a groan. "They are notorious for being hard to track down the real names. They belong to a company that belongs to several companies and so on. Soon we'll be drowning in so much paperwork that you don't know what's what."
I sit next to him and slump my shoulders with my arms resting on my legs, my eyes tracking to Delphine who seems to have finished her call, and is walking in our direction, stopping on the way to pat the dog that had trotted to her.
"But there's always two sides to the deals, right? It will be easier to track them that way?" I ask in a slightly deflated voice.
"Usually that would be true," John answers. "But governments around here are not exactly known for their transparency. There are certain interests that they are payed to protect, and corruption is rampant in this part of the world."
Frustration starts to build up. "Do you have any good news?"
Delphine reaches us and rests her lower back against the rail of the small, wooden porch, crossing her arms and ankles.
"You have to forgive her, Cosima is infamous for her impatience ," she offers with her eyes on me and a small smile, and I feel a hint of anger that she'd say something like that; not because she's wrong but because she has no right to.
"Ah, we were just addressing this issue," John says with a laugh. "However, she does have a point. The journalist's notes could be a dead end."
Delphine frowns, clearly not happy about what the man just said. "Surely not!" She sounds adamant, stubbornly slicing both her arms through the air. "After all we've been through to get them, there's no way that is true."
"What are you going to do?" I ask twisting my lips and scoff. "Torture them until they tell us something?"
Delphine narrows her eyes, and for a moment I see her annoyance, but she keeps it contained. "If those notes were a dead end then why would anyone bother to murder someone for it. Why send a team of mercenaries after you to get it," she reasons with a cold voice. "No! There's something in there that they don't want us to know," she finishes, her right hand aiming at the house where the papers are.
"She's right!" John nods his head, a contemplative look on his face. "They - whoever they are - have gone to too much trouble for it to be nothing. There has to be something they don't want people to know."
"It's hard to find something when you don't know what you're looking for," I say. And I know I sound unusually pessimistic, but I'm tired of not knowing what the hell is going on around me.
"So we should just give up?!" Delphine retorts, her frustration gaining momentum. "The answer is not in front of our eyes so fuck it, let's quit? Is that what you're suggesting?"
"I didn't say that!" I say, sounding entirely too defensive.
"Good! Then I guess we need to get back to work!" Delphine nods her head once and, as if she needed to appear even more decided, she goes to the door and holds it open, with her eyes locked on us until we get up.
Our host looks at me with an amused smile. "I guess we better do what she says," he whispers with a chuckle.
I'm passing through the door after him when I feel Delphine's fingers wrap around my wrist. "What's wrong with you today?" She asks in a low tone, her eyes pinned on me, a concerned frown in her expression. "It doesn't seem like you to just give up so quickly."
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think," I reply with an edge and try to free my hand.
She holds on for a few seconds, her eyes searching my face, but eventually she releases me with a sigh and a shake of her head.
While we work, I feel Delphine's eyes on me, and I notice her concern growing with the passing of time, but do nothing to ease it. My attention is divided between what we're doing and Delphine. I observe her as closely as she does me, trying to figure out how close I am to the truth about who she really is, whose interests she represents.
Meanwhile, she continues to show her knowledge about international relationships that, had she been who she claims to be, she shouldn't have. Delphine's no longer pretending to be clueless. Perhaps my observation this morning has triggered it, or maybe she just gave up. Or, perhaps the frustration is getting to her as well. Tired of steering us in the right direction, Delphine seems to be guiding us by the hand, no longer teasing with hints and clues for me to follow, but pointing out where to look. When there's a particular document she thinks we should take a closer look, she sets it aside, with John's agreement and we investigate further. How she has come to be so knowledgeable, I've no clue, nor am I in the mood to ask - at least, not yet. For the moment, I'm thankful that she has decided to make my job easier, even if I suspect it's for her benefit as well.
Despite all of us working together, it's not until late afternoon that we have a breakthrough. Surprisingly, it comes when we are analyzing the documentations Oskar collected regarding deals involving LLCs and foreign countries. This type of corporate organization has grown exponentially in the last decade throughout the Russian Federation. The absence of personal liability, the privacy it offers to its shareholders, and the lack of audits are extremely appealing. According to John and Delphine, they have disseminated in the corporate world like weeds, so much so that it's not uncommon for one LLC to own another.
Baczkowski's name is all over the place as a shareholder in several of these companies, but, as both John and Delphine are quick to point out, he can simply be representing someone else whose name remains undisclosed. All this is legal and not exactly unusual. As John predicted we're lost in a web that connects all these companies. Sometimes, the connection is clear, same shareholders or even with the main office in the same building. But in other circumstances, that connection is vague at best, companies that have done businesses with an entity in common in a short span of time. However, one in particular has caught Delphine's attention.
This LLC is solely in Mariusz Baczkowski's name, but this is a recent change. Nearly two months ago he shared this position with Alexei Lebedev, who recently has found himself with a bullet in his head. Three months before his untimely departure, Alexei, along with Mariuzs, as representatives of their Polish based company dedicated to the export of vegetables, signed a contract to supply the Republic of Sudan for the duration of one year in exchange for the amount of 124 million euros, to be paid in 12 monthly installments.
"That's a lot of vegetables," I comment as John translates the content of the contract for us.
"No one doubts that they could certainly use it," Delphine says, her eyes steady on the man and disregarding the computer screen in front of her. "Although I suspect that's not exactly what they were supplying the Sudan nation with."
"No, it wouldn't be," John agrees, getting up from the table and reaching for his pipe. "There's no money in vegetables exports, not like there is in say… weapons deals."
"Too bad Sudan is under an arms embargo," Delphine says ironically.
"Whoa! Hold on!" I raise my hands to try to slow them down. "Are you implying that they are smuggling weapons into Sudan."
"It is more than an implication," Delphine looks at me with a serious expression. "Although I don't know if this deal will be consummated, since Lebedev is no longer among the living."
"Mariusz is. I'm sure he, or whoever he's working for, will still want that 124 million," I say.
Delphine's shaking her head. "It won't make a difference because I don't think he can make good with his part of the bargain," she explains. "Alexei was the one with the connections to one of the biggest privately owned weapons' manufacturing company in Russia."
"What sort of connection?" I ask, trying to organize my thoughts.
Delphine gets up from the computer, making it obvious that the information she's giving me is something she knows off the top of her head. Delphine has done her homework regarding the recently murdered billionaire. She's calm, reaching for her coat that she dropped over the couch where I'm sitting, and removes one cigarette from the pack inside the pocket.
"He was one of the main shareholders, for instance," Delphine says with certainty.
Was Ms. S aware of this? That would explain why she reacted the way she did at the mention of Baczkowski. I had no idea of the connection between Mariuzs and Alexei, nor was I briefed on Alexei Lebedev's file. He was Sarah's target, not mine; there was no reason for me to know this sort of things. Still, I wish Siobhan had given me a heads up about this and I can't imagine why she didn't.
"But not Mariuzs," I make sure.
"No, Baczkowski has no relation with them, never did, as far as I'm aware," Delphine's assertive. "But that may not mean a lot. Like we discussed, he could be just representing someone else, in fact, I'm pretty sure this is the case. And whoever this person or group of people are, they could've interests in the arms deals."
"But you don't think so," I deduce.
"I think it would be highly unusual if that was the case; they already had a weapons' guy," she explains.
"Right," I agree, nodding and looking at John who's quietly listening. "But we still don't know who it is that he's representing, nor do we have a way to find out," I add, starting to feel the frustration again.
"Correct on both accounts," Delphine says casually, her hand gesturing to John to borrow her the lighter that she used to light up her cigarette.
The rest of the day, we go over the last of Oskar's documents, but it's fruitless. That was the only thing we could remotely use to tie the Polish businessman to shady deals and even that lacks hard evidence. It's solely based on rational deductions, but it's speculation nonetheless. That realization weighs heavily on the three of us and we are left deflated.
When we finish, it's too late to get back on the road, and Delphine and I readily accept John's invitation to stay one last night.
Delphine is smoking one last cigarette before bed when I return after changing into my sleeping clothes in the bathroom. The sky is clear and the moonlight reflects on the snow illuminating her features while she expels the smoke through the open door that leads directly outside.
"Do you think I should tell Daniel what we found out?" I ask quietly, shutting the bedroom door and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"That's what you're here for, right?" She answers, turning to look at me.
"After I tell him, he could decide that it's a good idea for me to go to Sudan," I say grimly, not enjoying the possibility. "Then again, the African heat might be a nice change after so much cold," I add dryly.
"In that case you should tell him to fuck off," she suggests to my surprise. "Mariuzs is as dirty as they come. If, after he learns what we discovered here, Daniel's still not convinced of that, then he has no intention to stop doing business with him." Delphine take one last drag of the cigarette and goes outside to crush it on the plate that has served as an ashtray, shutting the door after her. "Of course Daniel already knew this."
I watch her approach the bed and lift the pillow beneath which she has the sweatpants and tank top she used to sleep in.
"Then why send me here?" I ask.
"To see if it was possible to find out anything," Delphine offers her opinion. "If you'd returned empty-handed, he'd be more comfortable doing this deal with Mariuzs, knowing that after you've gone to great lengths to discover some dirt, you found nothing."
She goes to the bathroom, leaving me alone to mull it over. Delphine's probably right, but if Daniel has used me to test how well Mariuzs is able to cover his tracks, what does it mean? What sort of business is my current employer interested in doing if this is a priority?
I ask Delphine this when she returns. "One thing America doesn't need is more guns," I observe.
"Who needs more of those?" She comments distractedly while she props her pillows and sits on the bed. "But I don't think that's it," Delphine replies after thinking for a few seconds, resting comfortably against the pillows and looking at me. "Alexei was the one with the connections to the weapons' industry and we don't know what the person Mariuzs' representing was bringing to the table. Maybe it was transportation, but we don't know it for a fact. We don't even know if he's representing the same person, for that matter."
"Why do you think it was transportation?" I ask, slipping into bed when she opens the covers on my side, inviting me in.
"If they were indeed smuggling guns, there are two things that needed to be taken care of," she says, raising two fingers. "The guns themselves, obviously," Delphine explains, lowering one finger, "and the way to get them there, and that means more than just a boat to carry them. It also means contacts in the right places, bribes to the right people - government officials, costumes personal. If they are also in charge of distribution then there's even more people involved. Although usually that responsibility falls with the locals," she continues in a calm, steady voice.
"Trafficking weapons - or any kind of trafficking, really - is a complex business, that puts money in a lot of pockets. It requires manpower, connections and a great deal of organization."
"Alright," I say, nodding my head, keeping up with her logic. "Let's say Mariuzs is still representing the same person or group of people, and that they are, in fact, the ones in charge of the whole transportation part of the deal."
"That's pure speculation!" Delphine interrupts me.
"I know! Let me finish!" I move my hand dismissively. "If we find out who is the unknown in this deal, provided there is someone else, we may have an idea of what's going on."
Delphine raises a brow. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that's what Daniel's paying you for."
I smirk. "Yes, but I'm a very curious person."
She shakes her head, but is smiling. "Okay, in theory what you're saying would be correct, but we don't know if that's the case," she agrees with me while at the same time reminding me I have no tangible proof. "Besides, how are you going to find out who's the other hypothetical partner in this deal with Daniel?"
"There are probably not many volunteers after what happened to the last one," I voice my thoughts. "You think the two are connected?"
"I don't know," Delphine shakes her head again, but has become serious. "But I'm sure it's something that will be on other people's mind, same as you."
If the two are, in fact, connected, then I very much doubt it's a coincidence that Ms. S was given this job. And if my assumption is right, then someone is playing us, giving us the runaround. Sarah's botched mission may not have been an accident, especially if we consider that both jobs were given by the same client, a Mr. Y and this is another link. Too many connections, too many points where the two missions meet for it to be a coincidence.
"What are you thinking?" Delphine's voice brings me back to the present.
I look at her and she's staring at me with curious eyes. "I'm thinking that now would be the part where I ask you how you know all this," I reply, obviously not inclined to share my thoughts with her.
Delphine presses her lips and stretches her arm to turn off the bedside lamp. "Yes, I'd say this would be the time for that," she says, pulling the covers to her chin and turning on her side to face me.
"Your pillow talk sucks," I comment in a low voice onto the darkness, laying next to her.
She stifles a laugh. "I know," Delphine says, her hand slipping under my shirt and pulling me closer and I don't resist it.
I don't need her to tell me; I know the answer. I just don't like it.