Shattered Lies
Chapter 19
Edgar regards the man who identified himself as Agent Danberg. He doesn't look like a spy. If anything he seems more like an insurance agent, but that doesn't make the CPA come trader any less nervous.
Ever since the terrible thing that happened to Sidney because of him, Edgar's been struggling for something - anything - to feel a little less like slime. What he stumbled on while doing some under-the-table bookkeeping wasn't much, but it was something.
He wouldn't have found anything at all if he hadn't been able to read the notes, handwritten in Russian, that were mixed in with his paperwork. It took him a few minutes to realize that "Brotherhood" meant nothing to do with siblings. A Russian bank, one rumored to have ties with the Kremlin, has been propping up the Russian mob, which appears to have fallen on hard times.
Edgar went through all the notes repeatedly and tossed through several sleepless nights before deciding to talk to the CIA. It was easier than he thought it would be. He would never have imagined that the agency would have an online contact form, but it popped right up on his Google search.
The agents who came to his apartment took his copies of the notes, escorted him to an unlabeled building in downtown New York and into the room where he's sitting. A few minutes later, Agent Danberg arrived and introduced himself. "Mr. Perlmutter, we are interested in what you found. It does dovetail with some work the FBI has been doing that we've been keeping an eye on. Is there anything you can tell us besides what's contained in the notes you found? Can you share any details about your employer?"
"My employer," Edgar responds, "owns multiple businesses, none of them doing very well. I assume that's why he hired me instead of some big accounting firm."
"The notes were in Russian. Is he Russian?"
"Half, on his mother's side, like me and my brother."
"Sidney Perlmutter?"
Edgar's brows rise at the mention of his twin, but of course, the CIA would have checked him out. Digging up information is what they do. "Yes, Sidney. As far as I can tell, Viktor Belleson, my employer, isn't cooperating with the mob - or at least not anymore. That may be why his businesses are suffering. He lost several substantial contracts. The best I can figure out, he's been trying to trace the mob connections to find a weak spot he can exploit."
"Like the bank that's been pouring funds into their operation," Danberg prompts.
Edgar nods vigorously. "Exactly. I believe that if Belleson regards the financing as a vulnerability, you, I mean the United States Government, might as well."
"That information could prove helpful, especially given the apparent connection to Putin." Danberg rises from his chair and extends his hand. "Thank you for bringing it to our attention, Mr. Perlmutter. I'll have my agents escort you home."
Edgar stares up at Danberg. "That's it?"
A friendly but dismissive smile appears on Danberg's lips. "As I said, what you brought us may prove helpful, and we'll take it from here."
From his lair in a top floor apartment in the building four blocks from Bratva's unofficial headquarters, Jackson scans Danberg's report and shakes his head. The Perlmutter twins are an unlikely pair to help take down a bunch of Russian thugs, but stranger things have happened. He recalls UFO enthusiasts searching for little gray men accidentally spotting and photographing a Russian stealth aircraft which hadn't presented enough of a profile for radar to identify. The picture they posted online came in very handy in tracking down the covert factory which was manufacturing the planes — real shame about that accidental explosion that blew up that facility.
Jackson wonders for a moment if an explosion or two might speed along the shutdown of Bratva operations, but there could be collateral damage, and the press would raise too many questions. For the moment, he'll just have to let things play out and make sure Richard and Kate don't get themselves killed.
Castle stretches as best he can within the confines of the FBI van. Rather than parking, it's been tooling through Brighton Beach trying to spot the next outbreak of activity. He would have loved to pass the time making out with Kate, but apparently on official operations either of the N.Y.P.D. or the FBI, such actions are frowned upon. He's not entirely wasting his time. He has his laptop, and even a power source he can plug into to avoid draining the battery. This adventure, minus the boring parts, is custom made for a Nikki Heat book. He's already typed a couple of thousand words.
Kate is keeping her eye on the three screens displaying the feed from cameras mounted on the outside of the vehicle. She's watching for anything that pops up on either side of the street or behind them. And there they are, about a block back, the massive SUVs. You'd think the Bratva might wise up and use a less obvious form of transportation, but perhaps Glava enjoys the intimidation factor of his choice of conveyance.
Kate signals Palicki who alerts tail cars, allowing the van to pull over until the new target of the Bratva forces reveals itself. She waves her hand in front of Castle's computer display to get his attention. "Things should get more exciting pretty soon."
Ten minutes pass before the FBI tail car transmits an address. Kate grins at Castle. "The soldiers of the Brotherhood have pulled up in front of a bakery."
Castle alternately wiggles his eyebrows. "This should be tasty."
Andrei Slotnik, master of the ptichye moloko cake, was expecting trouble. He prepared for it. His display cases are empty, with his inventory locked in the walk-in refrigerator in his back room. He can leave by the rear door quickly enough to avoid Glava's forces, but he and the other members of the association put their heads together about booby traps to discourage attacks. He settled on something he has readily at hand. Before he slips out, he covers the floor near the entrance to his shop with cooking oil. He half wishes he could stay to watch his would-be attackers fall on their zadniye kontsy, but a hidden camera will capture the action. If all goes as he hopes, he can enjoy the video later.
Kate can't stop the giggles that burst free from her mouth when she discovers Glava's soldiers struggling on the floor of the Slotnik Pekarnya, their clothes soaked with oil. In the flood of Russian curses, there are a few she hasn't heard before.
She can't arrest the downed men for assault, extortion, or even vandalism. They never had the chance to commit any of those offenses. Trespassing and carrying concealed weapons without permits will do for now. At least it will get them off the streets.
Snuggling on the couch at the loft, Castle holds his phone where Kate can see it and merrily swipes through the pictures. I think I saw something like this on MacGyver, once. It would make a great scene in a book, although Derrick Storm usually does something more combative. It would work for Rook though."
Kate runs her fingertip down his jawbone. "He'd probably use extra virgin olive oil. That's what you'd do."
Castle kisses the tips of her fingers. "Of course. Only the best. But speaking of the best, when we finally got to talk to Slotnik, I begged one of his cakes, the kind with chocolate and whipped cream. I can think of some interesting ways in which we might consume it."
Kate nibbles at his ear. "I can't wait to find out what that writer's mind of yours has dreamed up now."