J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, Interrogation Room 4

935 Pennsylvania Ave NW, 12.15 AM

'So,' Myles began as he sat down opposite Dmitri, 'I have some rather unfortunate news: it seems our friends at the INS have been a little sloppy.' Dmitri, until then feigning ignorance, looked up. 'What do you mean?'

'It seems upon entering the United States, they gave you just a three month visa, instead of the year-long green card, which could've been renewed.'

'So?'

'So, you're illegally in this country for the past few months. Also your pass can't be renewed, because you already overshot its destined renewal date.'

'You're lying,' Dmitri said, but his demeanor told Myles he was growing uneasy.

'I'm afraid not.'

'You doctored my visa…'

Myles shrugged. 'I trust the INS, you're flying back home tonight.'

'You can't do that!'

'Why? Growing nervous? Afraid to go back?'

Dmitri slumped back in his chair. 'Nadyia?'

'She never even got one, she's as good as on the way back.'

'No! You have no idea…'

Myles' face lit up in an unholy smile. 'Oh, I think I perfectly understand what's going on. Once you're back, the next day your mother will get your tongue mailed to her. Isn't that what they do to people who have ratted in Russia? Needless to say Nadyia won't have it easy either, from what I heard, the Moscow streets are pretty rough for women…'

'You son-of-a-bitch!'

'Special Agent Son-of-a-bitch,' Myles responded. He leaned back in his chair. 'Of course, there could be some alternate versions of this unfortunate tale.'

'You want me to rat…'

'A rat here is better off than over there. We maintain our sewer system regularly.'

'So, we're talking a deal here, or something?'

'No guarantees, but if you're able to provide us what we need, things look a whole lot brighter.'

Something seemed to crack within the Russian, he rubbed fiercely through his hair and sighed, his eyes closed. 'Okay.'

Myles gave the thumbs up to Garrett who was on the other side of the one-way mirror.

'Guys,' Tara exclaimed after hanging up the phone. 'That was the Ritz-Carlton on 22nd NW that called, it seems Aalbers has resided there, under a different name: Vandenbossche, but the picture we sent gave a positive ID: and he has only checked out yesterday.'

'Why did you pinpoint them?' Bobby tapped the tip of his pen on his desk. 'I mean, we were told he was in the country, possibly even here in town. But nothing specific. Lucky guess.'

'No, I don't do well at guessing. Remember the secondary credit card Sue had found that had been used? She was tracking the trail, before she got interrupted. I continued, with a little help.'

'You had a hit in the District?'

'Yep, the card was used to pay for a room, and I put two and two together when I found out the name of the person sounded quite Dutch. Then I sent the pictures.'

'Excellent. Any idea where he went to?' Dimitrius said.

Tara shook her head. 'Unfortunately, they didn't know. But they have a creditcard number that was used to pay for the room.'

'His?'

'Not that we know of, but they said an Eastern European looking man made the payment.'

'Good, have that card tracked, any time it's used, I want to hear it.'

'Request has already been made.'

'Anything else?'

'Yeah,' said Bobby. 'Baltimore has seized the books and harddiscs of K&K Trucking, they're analyzing the data now, but they already found incriminating evidence; secret Cayman bankaccounts. Expecting more to come because, and I quote: 'Louie Gaines is Losing the Game' which means as much as he's squealing.'

'And what about these goons, Rakeem and co.?'

'Nothing yet, but we're waiting for the results of Baltimore crushing them,' said Bobby.

Interrogation Room 4, 12.20 AM

'We were told to follow this woman,' Dmitri said as he gave back the picure of Sue to Myles. 'I had no idea who she was, nor did I ask. I just took the pictures.'

'Well, unfortunately, this woman is an FBI Agent,' Myles responded. Technically not, but who cares, he added silently.

'Look, мои друг, I owe some people, I was merely returning a favor.'

'You can do yourself a favor by telling me who was driving.'

Dmitri began to shift uneasily on his chair, his hands wringing. 'If I tell you, I'm dead.'

'You'll be dead for sure when you get off that plane in Moscow,' said Myles. 'Here it might become difficult, but unless you help us, we cannot do anything to prevent it. If you give us what we want, we can provide you and Nadyia safety, should it be necessary.'

'You want the driver?' Myles nodded. A whole lot more, but you don't need to know.

'Sergei.'

'Last name?'

'I don't know, just Sergei, but he's known as Sergei the Blade.'

'I assume it's not because he owns a butcher's shop…'

'No.'

'Where do we find him?'

'I don't know where he lives, but I think he comes to the 1819 Club often, I saw him there a couple of times.' Dmitri looked at Myles. 'Where's Nadyia?'

'Incarcerated, just like you.'

'You have to let her go. She knows nothing,' he pleaded. Myles pursed his lips. 'Well, it's beyond my control really. For one: she does not have a valid Green Card, and two: we don't know for sure, now do we?'

'I swear she does not know anything.'

Myles smiled a thin smile. 'I'm sure you understand we're a bit skeptical to take your word for granted.' He got up and left.