Shattered Lies

Chapter 15

"What do you mean Dr. Kuryakin has left the country?" the Glava demands.

Sergei clenches his hands behind his back where the leader can't see them. Kuryakin had told him in no uncertain terms that he was tired of patching up the victims of the Glava's tantrums and was going to a tropical island where the Bratva has no presence. Kuryakin was planning to set up a small practice for tourists who cut their feet on shells and suffer the occasional jellyfish sting.

Apparently, the good doctor had been stowing away his money for some time to stage his escape. He took off in the middle of the night leaving no contact information, his cell phone behind, and no forwarding address. But Sergei can't tell the Glava that, especially with no doctor to patch him up if his boss explodes again.

"Sir, he said he needed a vacation."

Glava springs from his chair, pushing it back hard enough to make it slam to the floor. "A vacation! The Brotherhood doesn't take vacations, and he asked no permission to leave. Get him back here!"

Sergei steps back a foot and chews the inside of his lower lip. "I can't, Sir. His phone is out of service, and we have no way to locate him. I can attempt to get another doctor, put out the word in our community. I'm sure we can find one who will show you more respect."

"I want one yesterday, and make sure he knows that he'll have to be available at all times."

"Yes sir, I understand."

Sidney Perlmutter hasn't had many visitors, none actually, except for his lawyer. He's hoping that it's Edgar, who unlike Sidney, was not directly implicated in Balthazar Wolf's murder and is free to wreck his life even further. Sidney isn't even sure what he'd say to his twin, but demanding an apology would be a good start.

The large man in the throw-back suit is obviously not Edgar. "Dr. Perlmutter, I'm Special Agent Seamus Murphy, and I understand that you speak Russian."

Perlmutter gazes at Murphy in bewilderment. "Yes, my mother was a Russian immigrant. I picked it up as a child. What does that have to do with my incarceration?"

"Dr. Perlmutter, I may be able to help you cut it short. I, on behalf of the FBI, have a proposition for you. The Russian mob in New York is desperate to recruit a doctor. We have an open investigation into its activities, including a homicide. The lead detective from the N.Y.P.D. is Katherine Beckett. I believe you're acquainted with her."

Perlmutter sputters. "Of course we're acquainted, it was her investigation that put me in here."

Murphy continues, unruffled. "Being an accomplice to a murder is what put you behind bars, Doctor, but I'm presenting you with a chance to redeem yourself. We need an inside man. We'll give you a backstory as a disgraced doctor released on good behavior due to prison overcrowding and help you apply for the job. You keep your eyes and ears open. We'll provide you with a drop and an encrypted number so you can pass on information. You give us something that helps us take the organization down, and we intervene to get you very early parole."

Perlmutter grips the edge of the table "How early?"

"As soon as we make our arrests."

Perlmutter pictures digging into a Russian pot roast, like his mother made, and drinking a decent cup of tea. Maybe, someday, he'll even get a chance to indulge the love of Wagner he inherited from his father again. But there's something else he misses more. "What happened to my dog?"

"Your dog?" Murphy repeats.

"Scalpel, my toy poodle. I have no idea what became of him after I was arrested. Someone might have handed him over to my brother, but I don't know. If I'm going to have to put up with live patients, especially criminals, I need my dog."

Murphy shrugs. "Dr. Perlmutter, the FBI will do what it can to locate your Scalpel."

From inside the FBI van, Kate regards the screen displaying the feed from a camera pointed at the entrance to Prosypaysya, the Russian bookstore. She stares at her watch. "It's 20 minutes past the time in the rap message. Maybe we got it wrong."

Castle points at a man approaching the door. "Or maybe we didn't. He doesn't look like much of a reader to me."

"And he's armed," Murphy's second in command, Agent Palicki notices.

"Not even subtle about it," Castle points out. "It's like he wants the bulge to show."

"He just might," Kate suggests, "if he's going in to strongarm someone."

Palicki pushes a button. "If he is we should be able to hear it on the bug you planted at the register."

"They're speaking Russian," Castle notes, unnecessarily.

"The gunman is telling a Pavlovitch, that must be the owner, that he is too outspoken about the tributes Glava is collecting," Kate interprets. "Pavlovitch tells him where he can shove it. Good for him!"

The sound of a groan erupts from a speaker. "Or not so good," Castle interjects.

Kate and Palicki are already moving toward the exit of the van. The blood dripping down the side of Pavlovitch's face as he sinks to the floor makes it apparent that he has been pistol whipped. The thug is pointing a Makarov pistol at him.

Kate shouts something in Russian that Castle takes as "freeze." The thug turns, only to be met by the muzzles of both Kate's and Palicki's guns.

Castle hunkers down next to Pavlovitch. "We'll get you some help, sir."

Pavlovitch swipes at the blood on his cheek. "The help I need is to get these bastards out of Brighton Beach."

Kate cuffs Pavlovitch's attacker. "Yes, sir. We agree."

"You really think that Boris - oh, that name always makes me think of 'moose and squirrel' - could have decoded the rap?" Castle wonders after Kate secures the prisoner in a holding cell. "He seems more brawn than brains."

Kate sighs through tightly drawn lips. "You're right, Castle. He's way down the chain. Someone probably transmitted orders to him. But we can check out his phone, his car, his place, see if we can find a connection to the next person up the line. We'll work in from the edges toward the center."

"Sounds like it might be a long process."

"Maybe, but Murphy said something about trying to embed someone at a higher level. I believe he's going at this from two directions."

"Ah, a classic pincer movement. The man doesn't just dress like someone out of the 1940s; he must love World War II movies."

"Whatever he loves or doesn't love, he's smart. We'll let Boris stew for a while before I interrogate him. Bullies like him are always cowards. When they see their lives ahead as playing protect your six in a prison shower, they'll talk. We'll just have to give him a night to imagine the worst."

"While he's imagining the worst, what are we going to do?" Castle queries.

"You know those strawberries you were going to dip in dark chocolate for me? You never had a chance to do it."

"I can certainly rectify that situation. And then what did you have in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know, Castle. We'll just have to see what comes up."