Shattered Lies
Chapter 20
Kate stretches luxuriantly against Castle's high thread-count sheets. She and Castle will have to stop by Slotkin's for more of his cakes. Not only was the one Castle brought back to the loft delicious on a plate, but the cream had also provided so many more possibilities. And the second act when she and Castle washed the remnants from each other's skins, was just as satisfying.
The bed beside her is empty, but she can smell the aroma of Castle's special brew. He doesn't usually wake up before she does, but he's helping Alexis transport her newest project to school this morning before their journey to Brighton Beach begins. Since they've both already thoroughly showered he probably just pulled on some clothes before preparing their morning infusion of caffeine.
She checks the closet. Castle made room for some of her clothes both there and in the dresser, but she's running low. She doesn't think she'll have time to wash and dry a load of laundry, even with Castle's top-of-the-line machines, but she can visit her apartment while Castle is off with Alexis. With a T-shirt, hoodie, and jeans, she has enough to get started, in comfort if not high fashion.
Castle is in the kitchen pouring batter on a hot griddle. "Have a seat. I'll have the first stack ready in a few minutes. I like to make these good luck pancakes whenever Alexis has a presentation. They have double the vanilla, and mini-chocolate chips."
"No smiley faces?" Kate inquires.
Castle shakes his head. "Those are for cheer-up pancakes - an entirely different recipe. They have mashed banana and way too much sugar. I make the faces from full-sized chocolate chips - which is a lot faster. I also get to pop a few as chef's reward. By the way, speaking of saving time, when are we supposed to be meeting Palicki and company?"
Kate fills two mugs from the French press coffee maker and breathes in the vapors from one of them. "He said he'd have a team on watch overnight, just in case, but since the Bratva hasn't attacked before 11 a.m., there's no reason for us to be there before 10 or so."
Castle artfully employs his spatula. "The Brotherhood may need some time to recover from their night-befores. Vodka can produce some nasty hangovers. But the timing should work out just about right. We can rendezvous in Brooklyn for our daily assault on Bratva's minions."
Glava stares in shock at the brief message from the bank. His funds have been cut off. Not only that, but they are demanding repayment of recently allotted monies. With the flow of cash into his coffers almost wholly halted, there is no way he can even support his operations, let alone respond to the bank's request.
Pizdets! It has to be a mistake. Khan promised him full support. Sergei would have heard something, but he's out helping Dobry organize the men Glava has left, into a strike team. Glava picks up his cell to call the oligarch's office himself, but an assistant abruptly informs him that Khan can't be disturbed. He tosses his paperweight, a crystal globe encasing a snowstorm over the Kremlin, across the room, but there's no one to hit. It shatters against the wall in a shower of white.
Dobry counts his available soldiers - again. There are no more than there were a few minutes before. Despite everyone Sergei was able to call in, there wouldn't be enough even if the shop owners weren't fighting back. The way it is, things are hopeless. But Sergei can't tell Glava that, and Dobry absolutely can't. Next time he might have more than a broken arm and a bump on his head.
Glava wants a show of force, but attacking the shop owners has been a catastrophe. Sergei did lay out another possibility. Dobry's men can sabotage the means for doing business. They can block streets and turn away both customers and delivery trucks. Of course, if they destroy the commerce in Little Russia, they will eliminate whatever money Glava can still suck from the merchants - but the tactics Glava has decreed have cut off that flow to at most a slow drip, anyway.
And then there are the police. They've interfered with operations at every turn. Glava wants that threat eliminated. Dobry snorts at the thought. They can't even force booksellers and bakers into line, how the hell are they supposed to go up against the police?
He surveys his troops again, and something flashes in his brain. Anatoly has sniper training. He's bragged about his prowess with a Dragunov often enough. It's time for him to show what he can do. With Anatoly stationed atop a building that will afford a clear view of most of the business district, when the police make their appearance again, he can terminate them - with extreme prejudice. And with permission from Sergei, Dobry will stage a scene to draw them in where he wants them.
Maria's father had wanted to close down Russian Remembrance, the family shop that offers nesting dolls, babushkas, and many other reminders of the old country. Business was down, and he was terrified of Glava's men. He talked about retiring to Jacksonville in Florida and leaving the whole mess behind.
But Maria could never let it go. She was born in the United States, and her Russian is far from perfect, but the merchandise in the store forms a treasured connection to her heritage. She's alone behind the counter. With the terror Glava's men have been spreading all up and down Brighton Ave., she's not about to put any employees in harm's way.
She can't afford to pay anyone anyway. The tourist trade has tanked, and purchases by locals are becoming practically non-existent. Still, surrounded by the things she grew up with and loves, she's staying put.
The bell over the door tinkles as a man with a cast on his arm enters, followed by two others. They say nothing, but the man with the cast points a gun at her head while the other two grab her. The thugs hold her in front of the shop window where she can be clearly seen, but they make no attempt to stop her from screaming for help. The one with the cast even seems to smile a little as her cries begin to echo down Brighton Ave. Palicki's van screeches to a stop across the street from Russian Remembrance and Kate and Palicki, followed by Castle, charge out.
Anatoly grins as he gazes through his scope. He's missed this, the chance to ply his craft with such deserving targets. They're all wearing Kevlar vests, but it doesn't matter to him. He can accurately hit something a lot smaller than a head, and Sergei gave him full discretion. One of the cops is a woman, and from what he can see, a beautiful one at that. His first bullet will be marked for her and thereby will hang the lesson. No one, man or woman, makes war on the Bratva and lives to tell about it. Her hair is catching the rays of the sun behind him, making his shot that much easier.
Anatoly takes careful aim, compensating for the wind coming in from the ocean. He holds his breath, ready to shoot between the beats of his heart. A crack cuts through the air. Anatoly's heart will beat no more.