by Jackie D.
She took the paper but didn’t open it. “I’m too close to be pulled off now.”
“Relax,” he said. “We aren’t pulling you off anything. This new assignment plays right into your current one.”
She opened the paper and memorized the address, date, and time. She handed the paper back to Merrick, and he lit it on fire and then tossed it into a tin box. He’d finish getting rid of it later.
She put her hand on the handle of the door, wanting to get out of the car and into the fresh air. “Anything else?”
“This new assignment is important. The team is permitted to have full access to any information you have on Alekperov and his associates. Don’t be a dick about it.” He nodded to the door, indicating she could leave.
“When am I ever a dick?” Dylan asked.
He laughed and started the car. “Every single day that I’ve known you. That’s what makes you good at your job. You don’t have any emotions, so they never get in the way. Good luck, and stay safe.”
She got out of his car and walked into the store. Part of the ruse was that she’d actually pick up a package. That way, if Roman Alekperov, the pakhan, the boss of the Russian mafia she’d been trying to get close to for the last several years, hacked her phone and saw her messages, she would’ve been where he thought she should be. She didn’t use any encrypted technology when she was around him. He needed to be able to hack her phone if he pleased. He needed to believe she was exactly who she said.
She tossed the small package she’d retrieved from the FedEx store onto her front seat. She didn’t know exactly what was in it. She placed random items into her Amazon cart, and when the CIA needed her, they’d pay for one of the items and send it her way. It usually happened once every two to three months, rare enough to not raise suspicion, but frequently enough for Merrick to keep tabs on her when she couldn’t get to their satellite office.
She drove toward her apartment, wondering what new mission would be bringing her agency to Moscow. It had to be big enough to pull her in, potentially risking a position she’d cultivated for the last three years. She knew all this, but it didn’t help to squelch the irritation she felt for being put in this position in the first place. She was so close, and she wasn’t going to jeopardize her progress for some idiot who didn’t want to put in the work. Sure, she’d do what was asked of her, but she wasn’t going to bend over backward for anyone.
Her phone rang, and she looked down at the screen. It was Nikolai. Nikolai was the derzhatel obschaka, or bookkeeper, that she reported to in the Bratva. She’d started out at a lower level, being a shestyorka, a kind of errand girl, and moved her way up to a brigadier, only last year. The structure of the Russian mafia was similar to all other gangs around the world, the names were just different. Dylan didn’t have to answer to many people, but Nikolai was definitely someone she needed to pick up her phone for, without question. Dylan’s transition from herself into Sasha wasn’t a difficult one. She could barely tell the difference between her two personalities anymore.
“Hello, Nikolai,” she said in Russian. “What do you need?”
“Sasha, where are you?” His connection was spotty at best, and she pushed the phone harder against her ear to hear.
“I just picked up a package from FedEx,” she said. There was no reason to lie about her whereabouts. He could easily find out where she was.
“I need you to go over to the candy store. There’s a shoplifter.” He ended the call with no further information.
The Bratva didn’t fear the police force in Moscow. They had no reason to; these were their streets and their rules. But they still spoke in coded language in case other agencies were listening. Agencies like the CIA. He was informing her that one of the warehouses where they kept and dispersed their drugs was in danger. The candy store told her which one she was needed at.
She drove for fifteen minutes to the textile factory and parked her car with the mass of others in the lot. Anyone passing by would assume the vehicles belonged to employees of the factory, spending their days making traditional Russian cloth. This wasn’t entirely inaccurate, because there was an entire workforce that did just that every day. What took place in the bowels of the warehouse was an altogether different business. Asian opiates were cultivated here, as well as cocaine and cannabis. They were cut, measured, packaged, and then shipped out all over Western and Central Europe, and occasionally to the United States.
She opened her trunk and removed the false floor. She grabbed extra ammo for the small pistol attached to her ankle and slid it into the black vest she’d wear inside. She placed another handgun in the back of her pants and slid her favorite knife into its holster around her belt. She didn’t think any of these weapons would be necessary, but she couldn’t risk going in without them.
She pulled her leather jacket on and zipped it up, wanting to hide her vest. She moved quickly toward the warehouse, hands in her pockets and her head down. She didn’t want her face on the decidedly low-tech security cameras the textile factory used. The employees knew Roman Alekperov owned the building and that it was used as a cover for a drug operation, but the fewer people who could identify her, the better. She opted for the back entrance, wanting to see what happened without anyone being able to give warning that she was coming.
She used her key fob to enter at the bottom of the staircase and pushed open the heavy metal door. Her arrival on site was met with a sea of surprised faces. It wasn’t often that someone in her position would stop by the operation, and that fact would be the key to discovering the thief. There were about a dozen low-level shestyorkas inside, working on cutting up and weighing the drugs, while three boyeviks, the middle management, monitored their work. Each boyevik had the same expression and body language, ready to pounce for any minor infraction.
She walked over to the boyevik closest to the only window in the space, keeping her eyes trained on the shestyorkas hovering over their work. She spoke to him in Russian. “How long since the last shift change?”
The tall, broad man uncrossed his arms and looked down at her. “Forty-five minutes. Is everything okay?”
She noticed one of the men in the corner of the room. His hands were trembling with what she assumed were nerves. He was pretending to stare intently at the beaker in his hand, but his eyes were actually on her. She walked over to him, forgetting the boyevik she’d been speaking with.
“How long have you worked here?” she asked him, stepping closer to him than necessary.
He tried to look unfazed, but she could see the sweat at his hairline starting to form. “Three months.”
She pulled the gun from the back of her waistband and set in on the table. “And how long have you been stealing from us?”
The man’s eyes bulged, and he put his hands out in front of him, pleading. “I’m not stealing. I’d never steal from the pakhan.” His voice shook with trepidation. He was lying.
She saw the three boyeviks take a step in their direction and she put her hand up, indicating she had it under control. “You don’t have a lot of options here. You can either tell me the truth and I kill you. Or, you lie, and I let them kill you.” She waved her hand at the three hulking men, practically salivating in her peripheral, waiting for her signal.
He knew, just as she did, that dying at the hands of the boyevik was a fate far worse than death. Their souls fed off the carnage and pain of others. Their efforts wouldn’t be quick or minor. The boyevik would take their time, enacting a lifetime of hellfire and suffering into the experience.
His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the men. The answer was clear, but she understood that agreeing to your own death could take a moment. “I’ll go with you.”
She nodded once and slipped the gun back into her waistband. She grabbed him by the arm and pushed him toward the door. None of the boyevik said anything to her as she shoved the man outside; they wouldn’t dare. There was no room to question her or ask where she was taking him. They knew they
weren’t privy to that kind of knowledge and they didn’t need to be part of it. One of the reasons the Bratva was so successful was because everyone knew their place and adhered to the structure. Anything less would result in your death, and a hundred people were waiting to take your place. Everyone was expendable or exchangeable.
They got to her car, and she opened the trunk. “Get in.”
He got on his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please don’t kill me.”
“You should’ve thought about that before you stole from the pakhan. You’ve left me no choice.” She motioned to the trunk and put a hand behind her back, where her gun was holstered.
He reluctantly got into the trunk of the vehicle, and she zip-tied his hands and feet. She placed a piece of duct tape over his mouth and shut the trunk. She got back into her front seat and took a swig out of her water bottle. This wasn’t how she wanted to start her day. She pulled a box of tampons from underneath the passenger seat and retrieved a small black device that looked like a pen. She pushed the button and started toward the other side of town. It was going to be a long day.
* * *
Emma sat in the leather seat of the plane and secured her seat belt. She pulled on it once for good measure, wanting to make sure it was placed correctly. She pulled her laptop out of her messenger bag and plugged it into the bulkhead outlet. She’d intentionally arrived earlier than the rest of the team. Getting comfortable with her surroundings without people watching her was one of the ways she put herself at ease. She powered on her computer and pulled the thermos from her bag, pouring some of the contents into her travel mug. She was about to take her first sip when she heard voices.
“All I’m saying is that it’s real damn early,” Caden said to someone behind her. She tossed her backpack onto an empty seat and dropped onto the bench a few feet from Emma.
“The flight is almost ten hours. I’m sure you can take a nap. I hope you aren’t this whiney the whole time,” Tyler said. She was right on Caden’s heels but stopped to put her smaller bag in a compartment near the bench where Caden sat.
Jennifer entered next, seemingly in a conversation with Brooke. She stopped and picked up Caden’s backpack and put it in a secure compartment before sitting next to her. “Are you still complaining about being tired? I told you to go to bed.”
A slow smile started on Caden’s lips and she winked at Jennifer. “If I remember correctly, that’s not exactly what you said.”
Jennifer smacked her arm. “Knock it off, Styles. Or that will be the last time you see me in bed for a while.”
Emma hoped her face didn’t show the surprise she felt. She knew Tyler and Brooke were a couple, she could tell by their interactions, but she hadn’t realized Jennifer and Caden were as well. The knowledge made her slightly uneasy. She hoped these four women would be able to maintain their focus. Otherwise, they’d all be in a lot of trouble.
She hadn’t realized she was staring at Jennifer and Caden until she felt a hand on her arm.
“Are you okay?” Brooke asked.
“Yes, I just didn’t realize that all of you were in relationships…with each other.” Emma could’ve lied, but that wasn’t how she was built.
Brooke glanced across the table at Tyler, who was scrolling on a tablet, before looking back at her. “There aren’t any rules saying that people in the CIA can’t date people in Homeland.” Brooke sounded a little defensive, but not angry.
Emma remembered how her words were sometimes received as blunt, and that hadn’t been her intention. “Oh, no. That’s not what I meant. I was just surprised, and I’m rarely surprised.”
Tyler looked up from her tablet. “Yeah, we were surprised that Styles convinced Glass to date her too.” She laughed while ducking a blow from Caden over the top of the bench.
Jennifer put her arm on the back of the bench and looked at Emma. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
Emma almost choked on her coffee as she tried to stifle a laugh. “Me? No. People aren’t interested in me.”
Jennifer cocked an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. You’re brilliant, successful, and beautiful. I’d think plenty of people would be very interested in you.”
Emma fought the urge to cover her face, embarrassed by the attention. “I’m also socially awkward, nervous, and a bit neurotic.”
“You are a bit weird,” Caden chimed in from her spot on the bench.
Jennifer smacked her without looking back. “Don’t listen to her. She rarely knows what she’s talking about.”
Emma smiled, watching Caden impersonate Jennifer behind her back. She really enjoyed this team. She hadn’t been sure of what to expect, but their cohesiveness was apparent, and their camaraderie palpable. It was enjoyable just to be in their presence.
Emma was about to tell them about her one romantic experience in college when Captain Hart entered. He looked at all of them and then turned to the cockpit, disappearing behind a barrier.
Brooke let out a sigh next to her. “Fun’s over, time to get to work.”
Even though Brooke was sitting across the table from Tyler, her body language was clear as she leaned toward her. She wondered if Brooke realized how drawn to her partner she was, seeming to need even a minuscule adjustment in their proximity when she felt distressed. Brooke might not have realized it, but Tyler did. Tyler watched Brooke’s face and winked at her. Emma wondered what it would be like to have someone feel like that about her. What it would be like to have someone so in tune with your emotions that they threw you small lifelines without having to be prompted or asked? What it would feel like to have someone care about you so intensely?
Her thoughts were cut short when Captain Hart sat next to Tyler, asking Caden and Jennifer to move closer. He put his bag on the table and started pulling out items as the plane began rolling forward. He handed each of them a passport with a different name and airline tickets to match. “We’re flying into Norway, from there, you’ll take different commercial flights into Moscow. Monroe, you stay with Hart and Glass. Styles, you’re with Quinn. I’ll fly in on this plane for a scheduled meeting. Once you arrive, pick up your rental cars, and we’ll meet at this safe house.” He handed them a map with a location circled in red.
Caden looked at the map and then back at the captain. “What’s the time frame for the mission, Captain?”
“Whatever it takes, Styles. We need to get Carol O’Brien out of there and back to the States, but we’re pulling in someone who’s been undercover for years to help with the extraction. We need to do everything we can to help keep their identity intact, and that may mean it takes us longer than we’d like,” he said as he slid folders in front of each of them.
Emma opened her folder. Inside were dozens of pictures and organizational charts. She felt her breath catch in her chest. “Is this what I think it is?”
Captain Hart nodded his head. “Our temporary team member is Dylan Prey. She’s been deep undercover for the CIA for the last three years, working her way up the ranks inside the Russian mafia. She has the connections to help us locate, allocate, extract, or if need be, eliminate Carol O’Brien. O’Brien is currently under the protection of the Russian mob.” He pointed to the folders. “Inside your folders is everything we have on the mob, or as it’s known there, the Bratva. Their safe houses, their organizational chart, their hideouts; everything. I need you to memorize everything in these folders. I need you up to speed when we land. You need to be able to recognize who these people are so we don’t put Prey in danger.”
Emma put her hand over her mouth, astonished by the sheer amount of information on the pages. She’d worked for years putting bits and pieces of this information together for the NSA, but she’d never seen it in its complete form.
“What’s a pakhan?” Caden asked from beside her.
“He’s the boss,” Emma said, still scouring the information on the pages. She looked up at Caden when there wasn’t a response.
Caden blinked back at h
er. “Want to help us out here? It’d probably be easier to digest all this info with a little assistance.”
Emma nodded. “Sure.” She spread the papers out across the table and pulled her laptop over. She pulled a stylus from her bag and started writing on the tablet. A push of a button sent the image to the large screen in front of the table so everyone could see what she was drawing.
“Russian mafia, Bratva, or Red Mafia, the organization goes by many names. Their criminal résumé includes almost every illegal activity in existence. This organization has its fingers in just about every country worth any money in the world. I know it might seem like they’re one large group, but they aren’t. The Russian mafia is an umbrella term for a network of autonomous criminal groups, a kind of consortium of mafia groups.” She pulled up another set of images onto the screen. “The one thing all these groups do share, besides their Soviet roots, is a commitment to being involved in any activity that will turn a profit. They’re terribly resourceful and have zero limits. We’re talking money laundering, drug and human trafficking, weapons smuggling, extortion, sex work, kidnapping, smuggling, and murder.” She blew out a breath. “They’re difficult to take down because there are so many sects. Removing a few of the higher-ups wouldn’t cripple them, and they’d be replaced within the hour. This aspect sets them apart from the crime families we’ve dealt with in the States.”
Brooke pointed to one of the photos of Dylan Prey, where she was speaking to a muscular man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “So, Prey is in the thick of all this?”
Captain Hart nodded. “There are Bratva clans all over Russia, but the particular one she’s been working with is the largest in Moscow. They’re responsible for nearly forty percent of all of the drugs that leave Asia.”
“Do we know where they’re hiding O’Brien?” Tyler asked.
Captain Hart shook his head. “No, but if anyone can find out, it’s Prey.”
Emma studied the picture of Dylan Prey. She was thin but muscular, her arms were covered in tattoos, her dark brown hair was cut above her ears, and she had the greenest eyes Emma had ever seen. Her lips were full, and the angles on her face were stark. She thought that even if someone did mistake her for a man, she wouldn’t be any less attractive. She had the urge to run her finger over the photo but stopped herself when she was pulled from her reverie by Tyler’s voice.