Wolf's Vendetta

by Craig MacIntosh

  “Really, Commander, people think the CIA’s under every rock.”

  “With good reason. You’d like me to think the prohibition against operating at home doesn’t apply to the CIA since we’re dealing with an international question.”

  “I’m thinking no such thing.”

  “Bullshit. Why are you so interested in this book anyway?”

  “We think it might be a key to dismantling the Russian Mafiya. Our hope is it might give us a look at the nexus between terrorist networks, cartels, arms smuggling and global drug markets. ”

  “That’s expecting a lot from a little book.”

  “That’s part of what we do in Threat Finance, Commander. We have to be at our best every day. The enemy is constantly changing, very fluid. We need all the help we can get to keep our country safe.”

  “And you set the Constitution aside when it suits you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Maybe you and your Threat Finance buddies should start with the banks who operate with blinders on.”

  “That’s a problem, I agree.”

  “Are we done here? I do have a life, you know.”

  “For now.”

  “I don’t want to find myself being hauled off an airplane in front of an audience again.”

  “Then keep in mind what we’ve talked about. We need your help.”

  “Talk to my lawyers.”

  “I’m sure we’ll meet again. Always a pleasure,” said Nells. This time he held out his hand. Wolf ignored the gesture and walked out.

  Alone in the wake of Wolf’s release, a reluctant Nells took a cellphone from his pocket and tapped a contact’s number.

  “We agreed you were never to call me.”

  “I realize that, but we have a problem,” said Nells.

  “Define the problem.”

  “Wolf continues defiant. Denies having the book. Seems particularly upset about losing his emails from Kazakhstan and the trashing of Colter’s townhouse.”

  “Your diplomatic approach failed?”

  “It’s a work in progress.”

  “Huh, Wolf is proving to be a thorn in your side.”

  Nells nodded as he listened. “Increasingly so.”

  “Well, he’s your problem. Doing things your way is not getting us what we need. Perhaps stronger measures ought to be taken.”

  “I reluctantly agree.”

  “Well, then, get to it.”

  “Very well. I’ll arrange a meeting when I return to Washington.”

  “Why wait? Make the call today. Get the ball rolling.”

  Eyes closed, Nells pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’d still prefer to find out what Wolf is doing in New York.”

  “A waste of time. You don’t have the manpower on site to do that. I can’t authorize that kind of expenditure without raising eyebrows here.”

  “Given time perhaps another run at him would prove fruitful.”

  “I doubt it. You’ve failed to settle this situation. I’m not the least bit enthusiastic about a third go. You know what needs to be done. Do it.”

  “We’ll lose our chance at getting the book.”

  “Face it. You’ve lost whatever leverage you thought you had with Wolf. Put an end to it…or I’ll find someone else willing to do it.”

  Sighing, Nells agreed, saying, “I’ll make the call.”

  “Good choice. Don’t contact me again unless it’s to report that Wolf is no longer a threat. Do we understand each other?”

  “Completely.”

  Chapter 71

  Figuring he could shake any airport tails Nells may have assigned to him, Wolf bought an AirTrain ticket on the Long Island Railroad. Forty-five minutes later he arrived at Penn Station. Confident he wasn’t being shadowed, he walked a few blocks, found a storefront on west Thirtieth Street selling prepaid phones, and bought two. He crushed his old phone under a heel and kicked the guts into a storm drain outside the store. Using a new phone, he called Nash. Told to take a taxi to a mid-Manhattan boutique hotel, Wolf was instructed to meet the journalist in the inn’s bar. Thirty minutes later, Wolf walked in the hotel’s Art Deco watering hole and spotted Nash in a red leather booth. He slid across from him and told of his airport encounter.

  “You seem pretty mellow about it,” said Nash. “I would have called my lawyer.”

  “I didn’t want to stare at four walls for hours while they argued about my release.”

  “Assholes. Sounds like FBI or CIA has a hand in this.”

  “They might be working with State on the Threat Finance angle,” said Wolf. “I checked my sources about Nells. He is definitely assigned to that slot. My friend Colter worked under their roof for a while. I’d be willing to bet Nells at least knew who Colter was.”

  “Maybe one of those strange bedfellows arrangements.”

  “I don’t want to sound paranoid,” said Wolf, “but I dumped my phone after I bought a couple new ones. Didn’t want to take the chance there might have been some sleight of hand going on when those guys were going through my stuff at JFK.”

  “Probably not a bad idea. You’d be more sophisticated than me when it comes to spotting a tracer or tracking device. Go through a lot of phones, do you?”

  “An ounce of prevention…”

  “Is worth a pound of tossed cell phones, apparently,” said Nash. “If they bugged it they probably have your last location anyway.”

  “That would put them on the doorstep of Penn Station. Let ’em chase the trains for a couple days.

  “So, anyway,” Wolf said, “where did you set us up?”

  “I have a place in Brooklyn, a loft I’ve been renovating. My wife and I bought it when I was working for the Times. It was an investment. When she was killed I lost motivation. Moved to the opposite coast. I’ve been back occasionally to put in some hours on it, but my heart’s not in it. Still, it’s a good location for us. Union Avenue and Second Street. Neighborhood’s turning kinda artsy. Lots of charm.”

  “You don’t have to sell me, Nash. All I need is running water and a place to lay my head.”

  “A real monk, huh? Maybe you need to get married, man.”

  “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

  Nash rattled on. “The loft has plenty of space, three-story brick, good security. Wi-Fi, the works. The bottom two floors are gutted, a work-in-progress, but we have the top floor. It’s not finished but it will do for what we need. It comes with a car if we need it.”

  “Might come in handy instead of using public transportation.”

  “Yeah, it would give us flexibility. I don’t think we’ll be here long. Get in, get the goods, and get out.”

  “I like that,” said Wolf. “My kind of mission.”

  “How did the situation end in San Diego?”

  “I think things have run their course in California. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Glad you made it. We’ll check in with McFadden while we’re here. He’s pretty tight with the San Diego cops. They’d tell him more than the average guy. As for now, allow me to buy you a drink, Commander.”

  Nash called for a second Manhattan. “Hey, we’re in the Big Apple.”

  Wolf ordered a Guinness and sipped while Nash outlined their visit to Brighton Beach—Little Odessa. “Plus, there’s a rogue banker who was a good source in the past until the feds busted him on an old insider trading rap. He said he had some info on people I might be interested in.”

  “I’m up for whatever you have in mind. As long as you get the word out about what’s going on in Ukraine, I’ll be happy.” Wolf also told Nash about Royce, his contact in Queens. A former Army Ranger and retired cop, Royce would add an extra level of security to what they were doing. Pleasantly surprised when Nash didn’t object, Wolf assured him his friend was “a good man to have watching your back in a fight.”

  An hour later, the two hailed a cab and headed for Nash’s Brooklyn hideaway. Halfway there, Wolf insisted on getting out and catching a
second taxi. Nash went one way, Wolf another. Stopping mid-block, Wolf paid his tab and circled back to the loft’s entrance on foot. Nash let him in. They rode the building’s rattling freight elevator to the top floor.

  “Was that thing with the cabs really necessary?”

  “If we were being tailed and lost the guy by changing taxis, we’re good. But if we were being followed and didn’t shake him, at least we didn’t make it easy for them. Doesn’t hurt to vary your routine.”

  A skeptical Nash said, “What if it was just your paranoia and there was nobody there? Would we still be good?”

  “Laugh if you want, but you’re never good in this game. Stay unpredictable. It keeps you alive. You of all people should know that.”

  “My apologies, you are absolutely correct.” Brightening, Nash changed topics. “Pick one of the three available bedrooms. There are two bathrooms as well.”

  “Heads,” corrected Wolf.

  “Touché. There are two heads. And twelve-foot ceilings throughout.”

  Wolf took the center room. He dumped the contents of his carry-on luggage on a bed and examined each piece. “Clean,” he announced.

  “No bugs then,” said Nash.

  Nash hooked up his laptop and tacked a large map of Brighton Beach to a cloth-covered wall panel. Backing up to admire his work, he turned to Wolf and said, “Shall we begin?”

  Chapter 72

  San Diego

  Spanglish rap boomed from the takeout window of a Mexican restaurant where detectives Mike McManus and Bob Mathis were eating lunch on the outdoor patio. McManus already had a spot of salsa on a new tie. A cellphone buzzed. Balancing a half-eaten chicken burrito in one hand, cell in the other, he growled, “McManus. Go ahead.”

  His partner looked up, expectant. “LA,” mouthed McManus. He listened, his response ranging from frowns to surprise. He thanked his caller and he put away the phone.

  “Good news? Bad news? What’d they tell you?”

  “We have a palm print and a face to go with the van. No ID yet. LA says the parking lot time stamp on the van’s arrival was 1:45. The camera angle was poor but they did get a guy on film parking the van. And the shuttle driver says he thinks the guy who parked the van was definitely limping. He remembers dropping him at terminal four. That serves American, Quantas, and Cathay Pacific.”

  “Can’t see our bad boy running to Australia or Asia.”

  McManus rubbed the salsa stain on his tie with a wet napkin. “See, that’s why you made detective, Mathis.”

  “Did they ask the airlines for video?”

  “Nope. The airport has security cameras at checkpoints. Our boy showed up in an American Airlines wheelchair. The guys are trying to locate the chair valet to see which gate he used. We get the gate, we get the flight.”

  Mathis said, “Piece of cake so far.”

  “Why would a guy use a wheelchair unless he needed it?” said McManus. “Doesn’t make sense. Unless he thought he could clear the security checkpoint quicker.”

  “Yeah, but doing it by wheelchair would just attract attention. People might remember you. Plus, you’re at a disadvantage in a chair. Nah, I think the chair means our gimp is hurting.”

  “Sheer genius,” said McManus. “You keep this up and I’ll be working for you.”

  “I’m just saying—”

  “No, you’re right. Our suspect is hurting. Those pieces in the van might belong to him.”

  “You gonna call your buddy Sam McFadden with this info?”

  McManus bristled. “Who says I’m phoning McFadden?”

  “It’s no secret, Mike. Sort of a courtesy thing, right?”

  “Geez, a guy can’t brief a citizen without everyone knowing.”

  “So, you gonna call him?”

  “Soon as I finish cleaning my tie.”

  “Are you gonna finish the rest of your burrito?”

  McManus pushed the uneaten half to Mathis. “You got a hollow leg, you know that?”

  “C’mon, I skipped breakfast.” Mathis shoved a good portion in his mouth.

  “Coulda fooled me. C’mon, let’s make a run to McFadden’s office and deliver the news in person. Maybe we could get in some range time.”

  “Soon’s I finish the burrito.”

  Chapter 73

  Nash recited the day’s itinerary to Wolf over coffee. “First guy we want to see is Anatoly Feldman. Interesting character. Dual American-Israeli citizenship like a lot of these folks. He’s done time for arms smuggling. Knows all the players. A bit of a Judas goat I’ve used before.”

  “Can he be trusted?”

  “Only when dishing out dirt about others. Absolutely untrustworthy when it comes to questions about his own involvement in various schemes.”

  “And you’ve used him before?”

  “We go back to my first days stringing for the Times.”

  “Okay, after him what do we do?”

  “The banker.”

  “Then?”

  “Gets a little trickier from that point on. We’ll need your Ranger buddy along once the word on the street gets out about my asking questions.”

  “My advice is to keep moving. Don’t stay too long in one place.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Any way to gauge how long we’ll be out?”

  “No. But we’ll want to drop in on the crowd at the Caspian Nights club. It’s THE spot to be seen these days. Always good for picking up gossip from some of the wannabes. They love to feel important. They’re not all made men but they’ll act like it. I’ll appeal to their vanity. It works most of the time.”

  “What do you want our role to be?”

  “Cover my six, as you guys like to say.”

  “Are we going to find out about those missing funds being used for the proxy war?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  “Just so you know, Royce is going to fix me up. Both of us are going to be armed.”

  “Why not, everybody else will be. These guys do love their guns.”

  “I’ll call Royce and tell him where to meet. He’s ready to rock and roll.”

  “Okay, let’s do this.”

  Chapter 74

  Ivanov tucked the pistol at the small of his back, threw on his coat, then scribbled a note for Lydia. He phoned for a taxi. When the car arrived he locked the house and shuffled to the idling cab.

  Smelling of garlic and tobacco, the gruff bearded driver took Ivanov to a newsstand for a paper, then drove to a bakery and liquor store. The cab went down Lancaster, turned south on East Seventh and dropped him at a peeling clapboard house nestled between aging homes. Ivanov labored up the wooden steps and rang the bell. An overweight blonde in a loose red silk kimono and little else

  cracked open the door. A cigarette bobbed in painted lips. Nodding for him to come in, she bellowed up the stairs in a whiskey voice, “Toba, your long-lost lover boy is here!”

  A shrill girlish echo from the second floor. “Who?”

  “The wandering Dimitri Ivanov favors us with his presence. Get your ass down here!”

  Planting a foot on the threshold, he said, “How you been, Esther?”

  Glancing at the cane and his pained expression, she said, “A helluva lot better than you, apparently.”

  “Dropped a crate on my foot at the warehouse.”

  She uttered a disbelieving, “Uh-huh” and let him pass. “You should get it looked at.”

  “Got Dr. Pavleski to fix me up.”

  “That drunk? That was a mistake. You should have gone to a real doctor or one of those street clinics. Pavleski doesn’t even know which end of the needle to use when he sews you up.”

  “He was willing and affordable.”

  “You’ll be sorry, Dimitri.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  When footsteps sounded on the stairs, the blonde sauntered into a smoky back room where a TV game show was in progress. She shut a pair of French doors behind her. A plump pale brunette wearing leotards and
a plum-colored top baring cleavage bounded down the stairs.

  She kissed Ivanov’s cheek. “Hey, Dimitri.”

  “Long time, no see, Toba. How you doing?”

  She spotted the cane. “What’s with the walking stick?”

  “Accident. Crate got away from me. It’s healing. You got some time?”

  “I guess. What’s in the bags?”

  Ivanov pulled out the vodka, followed by bulochki s makom.

  “Russian poppy seed rolls, my favorite. You remembered.”

  Rewarded with a kiss, Ivanov stroked her cheek. Clapping her hands, she said, “I’ll make some tea. We can share the rolls and catch up with each other. Where have you been, Dimitri? We don’t see you anymore.”

  “Business. The boss keeps me busy, you know.”

  “You still working for Boris Levich?”

  “Of course.”

  “You ought to quit doing those things.”

  “What things?”

  Frowning, the girl said, “You know what I mean, Dimitri.”

  “I don’t want to spoil my visit talking about that.”

  “Stuff like that big shooting two nights ago, huh?”

  “Really? What shooting?”

  “Esther said it was some apartment building not far from the boardwalk. Sirens. Cops. Ambulances. We both heard it. I couldn’t sleep after that.”

  “Oh?” He acted surprised. “Is it on the news?”

  “Good luck getting Esther to give up her game shows to see the news.”

  Waiting for the water to boil, he put aside the cane and sat at the kitchen table in a square of sunlight pouring through the window. “I wish it was summer already.”

  Toba bubbled. “Oh, me too. I love to sit by the ocean. If we were rich I’d buy a huge mansion on Long Island and have parties all night long.”

  “A nice dream to have.”

  The kettle screamed for attention. She poured boiling water in a glazed pot and dropped in a silver tea ball. She chatted non-stop while arranging a set of cups and saucers at the small table. Her chirping reminded Ivanov why he had fled her company from time to time. Pleasant enough, and a compliant lover, Toba was a talker, even under the sheets.