by J. C. Fields
When Kruger sat down, JR broke his concentration on the screens and looked over at his friend. “What were you expecting to find about Moody?”
Looking at the steaming coffee, Kruger took a sip of coffee, grimaced, and returned his attention to JR. “Moody is dirty. Beyond that, I really didn’t know what to expect.”
“He’s more than dirty. Moody has over ten million dollars in an account in the Cayman Islands.”
“Interesting. Did you determine the source of the funds?”
“A bank in Switzerland.”
“And?”
JR smiled. “There are multiple accounts transferring funds to him. One is an account owned by a European subsidiary of Haylex Holdings. The rest are controlled by a corporation tied to a Russian oligarch named Dmitri Orlov. Currently he runs the bank while maintaining a relationship with the FSB.”
Kruger frowned, stared out over the cube farm, and sat back in his chair, his coffee forgotten.
JR glanced at his friend. The silence was unusual. “What’s the matter?”
Shaking his head, Kruger didn’t answer right away. Finally he returned his attention to JR. “Nothing. Go on.
“Remember, this is not my first time tracing international money transfers. A normal search, like the Bureau conducts, wouldn’t find the connections.”
“Tell me about this Orlov person. What’s his story?”
“He travels to the U.S. East Coast on a regular basis. I found a couple of pictures of him and Putin vacationing at a resort near the Black Sea. They appear to be buddies. What little information I can find indicates they may have served together in the KGB.”
“Huh.”
“Orlov’s bank has a branch in New York City and Washington, D.C.”
Kruger did not smile, but tilted his head to the side. “Really?”
JR nodded and glanced at his friend as he asked, “Ever hear of a guy called Yakov Romanovich?”
Hearing the name, Kruger raised his eyebrows. “Maybe. What’d you find?”
“Works for Orlov in New York City. So you’ve heard of him?”
Nodding, Kruger studied the cooling liquid in his coffee mug. “Let’s just say he’s currently a guest of the FBI in Washington, D.C.”
Sitting back in his chair, JR crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”
“He tried to kill me in Washington, D.C. Gibbs put three bullets in him before he could put one in me.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Glad he missed.”
“Me too.”
Kruger sipped the now cold coffee. “So, just exactly what is the connection between these two?”
“Romanovich was an enforcer for the Russian mob in New York City. Disappeared around 2012, and I can’t find any references to where he was.”
Sipping his coffee again, Kruger was quiet. Finally after a long moment of silence he said, “He was in Ukraine.”
JR’s head turned and he frowned. “How would you know that?”
“Long story.”
Sitting back in his chair, JR folded his arms over his chest. “Why am I doing all of this when you already know about it?”
“You’re helping to put pieces of the puzzle together. That’s why.”
“Well, here’s another piece. Did you know the New York group is offering a bonus to anyone who can silence you?”
“Say what?”
JR nodded. “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“Shit.”
“I would agree.”
“Where the hell did you find all of this?”
“Dark Web chat room for the Russian gang in New York City.”
“You’re scary.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“How did you find it?”
JR smiled, but did not answer the question.
“So these guys discuss openly what they are doing?”
“Yes, remember, I said Dark Web. The chat room was password protected, but not well protected.”
“So is there any reference to Moody?”
“No. But someone else you’re interested in was. I found a reference to a cleanup job in a Motel 6 near Joint Base Andrews.”
Kruger stared at his old friend.
Letting his FBI friend think, JR’s fingers played on the keyboard as he displayed a string of email messages. He pointed to it. “This is the conversation I was talking about.”
Looking at where JR pointed, Kruger saw the name Burns. “Senior or junior?”
“This segment of the communication doesn’t specify which, but if I had to guess, I would say senior.”
“Why?”
“Once the chat room was found with the reference to Burns, I did a search for the name. It is in several conversations over the past seven years. In one string, it mentions a friendly source within the Senate.”
“When?”
“A conversation occurring in the fall of 2011.”
“Between who?”
“Orlov and someone else within the hierarchy of the New York City Russian organization. Apparently, that individual is now deceased.”
“I’m going to chase rabbits for a minute.”
“Go on.”
Kruger stood and started pacing. “What if there is a connection between Burns and this Russian mafia that dates back to his run for the Senate. This could be the time his son starts going after higher profile victims, and they disappear without a trace.”
“Okay.”
“If the references you found about the incident in Cave Springs, Maryland, are correct, the Russians are the ones cleaning up after Junior.”
“Makes sense.”
Kruger stopped pacing and gave JR a slight smile. “Why? Why would that make sense?”
“The women disappeared without a trace. That’s hard to do consistently.”
“Exactly. I’m speculating here, but what we know would suggest either Burns reached out to the Russians to help protect his son, or the Russians found out about the son and got to the father before he was elected to the Senate.”
“I prefer the latter.”
“So do I. It makes more sense.”
“How did they find out about the son?”
“Moody,” Kruger smiled. “That’s why he’s pulled this disappearing act. He either thinks we know about his connection with the Russians or he’s trying to hide from them.”
JR tilted his head and stared back at the FBI agent. “That could explain a lot, Sean.”
“I know.”
Both men were quiet for several moments.
“Let me do some more digging.” JR paused for a moment and pursed his lips. “This Orlov character intrigues me. I’m wondering who else he’s connected to.”
“I think you have an excellent idea.” Kruger hesitated, not wanting to break the string of JR’s thoughts. Finally he decided to ask, “Did you determine anything about Moody and the parked SUV?”
JR nodded.
“I went back about twelve hours and started looking at the same camera. Moody parked it there around eight. He walks back to the hotel and grabs a cab.”
“That would explain the three-hour difference between leaving his office and getting home.”
“Yes. The SUV is a black Kia. It had a temp license plate on it.”
“How many black Kias are in Washington State?”
“Don’t know, but I’ll bet it’s a bunch.”
“Yeah. If he’s put a real license plate on it, it’ll be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”
“I would agree.”
Chapter 38
Washington, DC
Carol Welch stared at United States District Court Judge Todd Lewis, her disbelief growing with each word the man spoke.
A fragile-looking man, his black robe hung two sizes too large and gave the impression of a small child pretending to be a judge. His receding hairline exposed a massive forehead on an equine face. The dark brown hair on each side, which he combed straigh
t back, puffed out above his protruding ears. Green eyes glared at her over half-readers positioned halfway down an oversized hawk nose. The voice was grating and slightly high pitched.
“Ms. Welch, your argument concerning the defendant’s flight risk doesn’t hold water. I grant you, having four illegal passports is of great concern. However, the FBI has confiscated them, and they are no longer available to Mr. Burns. Also, the lack of prior offenses and his status as the senator-elect from the state of Washington lead me to grant bail in the sum of ten million dollars.”
“With all due respect, Your Honor, the wealth of the Burns’ family makes this sum a paltry amount.”
“This court does not recognize nor does it care about the wealth of the family, Ms. Welch. Bail is still ten million dollars.”
He turned to the defense lawyer, Jolene Sanders, to say, “Ms. Sanders, inform your client he is not to leave the Washington, D.C., area under any circumstance. He will be required to wear an ankle monitor. If he tries to remove the bracelet and leave the area, bail will be revoked. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“I understand he was staying in a hotel prior to his arrest. Is that correct, Ms. Sanders?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judged nodded and wrote a note on something in front of him no one could see.
“Then inform him that until he can establish a permanent residence the court recognizes as legitimate, he will remain in custody, even if bail is arranged.”
“Your Honor, how is he to accomplish this if he is in custody?”
“Not the court’s concern, Ms. Sanders.” He displayed a grim smile. “As Ms. Welch has pointed out, his resources are extensive. He’ll figure it out.”
No one spoke as his attention went from Sanders back to Welch. “Any other questions?”
Carol Welch stood and started to say something.
The judge held up his hand, palm toward her. “If you’re going to protest my decision, Ms. Welch, don’t.”
His tone was defiant and his stare intense.
She kept her intended comment to herself.
“Very well, court dismissed.”
The judge continued his intense glare at the district attorney as he stood and walked out of the court room. In stunned silence, Carol Welch stared wide-eyed at the empty space the judge just vacated. She sat back and did not move.
Jolene Sanders glanced over at her, a slight smile on her lips, as she gathered her files and placed them in her briefcase. She had won round one. Round two would not be as easy.
***
Two hours later, Carol Welch returned to her office, shut the door and called Sean Kruger. He answered on the third ring.
“How did the bail hearing go?”
“Not well. Bail was set at ten million and within an hour, the one million was deposited. He will be released as soon as he can establish a permanent residence in D.C., and the ankle monitor is calibrated.”
Kruger was silent for several moments. “Disappointing. You realize he will disappear, don’t you.”
“I mentioned the small bail amount to the judge. He didn’t care.”
“Who was the judge?”
“Todd Lewis.”
“Isn’t he a recent appointee by the current president?”
“Yes. It was the first time I’ve been in front of him. He has small man syndrome.”
“The president tried earlier to shut down the investigation, Carol.”
“I heard.”
Silence returned to the conversation. Finally, Kruger said, “Carol, Robert Burns Jr. is a clever individual when it comes to electronics and computers. He’ll figure out a way to defeat the bracelet. Once we know the address, I can get a 24/7 surveillance in place. Do you know where that will be?”
“Not yet. The law firm representing him owns several furnished condos around town. My guess is they’ll lease one to him.”
“They own condos?”
“Yes, they use them to house out-of-town expert witnesses and partners from their offices in Chicago and Dallas. Cheaper than hotels and a great tax write-off.”
“Huh.”
“I have to go, just thought I would update you.”
“Thanks, Carol.”
The call ended and Kruger laid his cell phone back on his desk. Taking a deep breath he let it out slowly. He knew full well having 24/7 surveillance on Burns for the period of time until his trial would be cost prohibitive for the Bureau. A feeling of futility washed over him as he made the call to arrange for surveillance.
***
“What do you mean, I won’t be released until I have a permanent residence? How the hell am I supposed to do that? I’m stuck in here.”
Robert Burns Jr. stared hard at Jolene Sanders, his face growing crimson, his arms flat on the table between them, and his hands clinched so tight his knuckles were white.
“Do you know anyone you can live with here in D.C. until your trial?”
Burns was silent for a few moments, then shook his head.
The young attorney smiled and opened a file laying on the table in front of her. She withdrew several documents and turned them so they faced her client.
“The firm is offering you a six-month lease, with the option of extension, for one of our furnished condos. It’s extremely nice and located in the Georgetown area.”
She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and watched her client. He scanned each page of the document and lay it back down on the table. Looking up he stared at his attorney.
“The monthly rent is a little high don’t you think?”
She shrugged. “Not for D.C.”
He looked back at her. “Where are my things from the hotel?”
“In the possession of the firm. I had someone retrieve them and settle your bill. I can have them taken to the condo after you sign the lease agreement.”
“How long before we go to trial?”
Again she shrugged. “Couple of months, maybe a year, depends.”
“Depends on what?”
“What evidence the FBI has and how cooperative you are as a client.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly how it sounds. We need to know the truth so we can provide the best defense.”
“The FBI doesn’t have proof of anything.”
She leaned forward with a grave expression, her hands clasped in front of her. “Mr. Burns, Linda Ramos…”
“Who?”
“Linda Ramos, the dead women the FBI found with your DNA on her.”
“She was alive when I left.”
“Yes, we know. But she died of her injuries.”
“She was alive last I saw her.”
“Your denials are getting old. Did you know they found your skin cells in the cuts on her face?”
Burns stared at her but remained silent.
“I didn’t think you did,” Sanders continued. “This is what I’m talking about, Mr. Burns. If you aren’t going to tell us the truth, we won’t be able to properly defend you. Did you beat her?”
Burns nodded.
“Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. How much did you have to drink that night?”
“I don’t know. Couple of drinks at the hotel bar, a few at the night club, then a few back in my hotel room. Why?”
“After your arrest, your blood alcohol level was just under .200. They estimated it might have been as high as .230 at one time. It’s the beginning of a defense. We go from first-degree murder to manslaughter, plea bargain, and work on getting your sentence reduced to probation with counseling.”
“I didn’t kill her.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Please don’t insult my intelligence, Mr. Burns. No one was in the room after you left until the FBI discovered her.”
He did not respond.
“Did you have any involvement with a Senate intern in early 2012?”
He sh
ook his head.
She sighed.
“In our discovery packet from the DA, there is mention of evidence you did. If this is true, it sets up a pattern that could contradict our defense strategy for the death of the Ramos woman. So you’re telling me the FBI won’t be able to prove your involvement with the intern, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“I hope not. If they do, any hope of a manslaughter charge is out the window.”
“I don’t want to plead guilty to manslaughter. I’m innocent.”
“Save it for the jury, Mr. Burns. I’m your attorney, not your priest.”
Burns’ eyes narrowed, and he stared at the young lawyer but remained quiet.
“Do you want to sleep somewhere besides jail tonight?”
Without comment, Burns nodded.
She handed him a pen. He scribbled his name where she pointed. Afterward, she placed the signed documents back into the file folder and slipped it into her shoulder bag briefcase.
“I’ll have you out of here in time for dinner.”
She stood, and Burns looked up and asked, “Does the condo come with a cleaning service?”
“No.”
“Who’s gonna to clean it?”
“You, I would guess.”
“I don’t clean.”
“Learn.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The rage starting to build again. After several calming deep breaths, he opened his eyes.
“I’ll pay for a maid and a cook?” he suggested.
“I’m sure we can find a company willing to provide those services. They will be male, however.”
“You think I killed that whore in the hotel, don’t you?”
“Mr. Burns, it is immaterial what I think or believe. I’m your attorney.”
With those words she walked out of the interrogation room toward the building’s exit. Yes, she did believe he killed the woman in the hotel. And after this session with him, probably more.
***
From his third-floor window, Robert Burns Jr. looked northeast and watched the lights of D.C. illuminate the skyline. The Capitol Building was a prominent element of the scene. The condo was decorated in an industrial minimalist format using whites and blacks for contrast. He hated the design, but didn’t really care. He had no intentions of living here any longer than necessary.