VENGEANCE REAWAKENED

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  She retrieved her phone, sat on the pilot’s seat, opened the Marvelous app, and spoke on speaker mode. “Marvelous, Project Molka.”

  Speaker voice: “Project Molka. Marvelous. Authenticate.”

  Molka framed her face within the on-screen red box.

  Speaker voice: “Authenticating Project Molka. Stand-by.”

  Pause.

  Speaker voice: “Project Molka Authenticated.”

  “What do you have?” Molka said.

  Speaker voice: “Cardoza’s gold Jaguar departed Lake Tranquility 22 minutes ago and is currently traveling westbound on highway BR-101. Cardoza placed a phone call 17 minutes ago. Would you like to hear audio of call?”

  “Is Cardoza speaking in Portuguese on the call?” Molka said.

  Speaker voice: “Affirmative.”

  “Can you read me the transcript? I don’t want to mishear anything.”

  Speaker voice: “Can do. Standby.”

  Pause

  Speaker voice: “Reading transcript. Call recipient: Yeah, what’s up?”

  “Cardoza: Alejandro, those IDI sons of bitches just tried to hit me again at the lake.”

  “Call recipient: Fuck. You sure it was IDI?”

  “Cardoza: Who the hell else would it be?”

  “Call recipient: What happened?”

  “Cardoza: They tried to gun me or grab me on the lake while I was in my boat. They chased me all the way to shore. I barely got away and got to my car. They killed some of my boys.”

  “Call recipient: Fuck. Where are you now?”

  “Cardoza: On my way to your house.”

  “Call recipient: Why the fuck are you coming here?”

  “Cardoza: Because if they can get to me at the lake, they can definitely get to me at my house and at the hotel. Your house is the safest place in the world from the IDI. That’s exactly what you designed it to be, right?”

  “Call recipient: Right. But—”

  “Cardoza: I need to stay there until I can either get a meeting with the IDI leadership and make the peace, or I can send my boys to take that leadership out and force the peace. And I’m bringing two friends with me who need protection. You have a problem with any of that?”

  “Call recipient: Why don’t you just ask your cop friends to protect you?”

  “Cardoza: Because I’m asking you, and you know what I’ll ask my cop friends to do if you refuse.”

  “Call recipient: You better make it very worthwhile for me.”

  “Cardoza: What do you want?”

  “Call recipient: I want a million cash for every day you stay under my protection.”

  “Cardoza: Done. I’ll need to straighten out my situation first, and then you’ll get it. You know I’m good for it.”

  “Call recipient: Ok.”

  “Cardoza: I have to dump my car. Have your people waiting to pick us up in the sports complex parking lot in two hours.”

  “Call recipient: Yeah, ok.”

  “The call ended there.”

  “Got it,” Molka said. “Thank you.” She signed off the app and placed her phone back in the gear bag.

  Nathan shrugged. “At least he doesn’t suspect us. That’s the one positive thing to come out of this insane night. Cardoza seems to have upset the IDI too. What’s our next move?”

  Molka removed the duct tape from the bag and tossed it to Nathan. “Row to shore, get back to the embassy, and ask Raziela.”

  Nathan stood. As he picked up his shotgun from the deck, his eyes darted toward shore. “Our friends in the white boat got refloated, and here they come.”

  Molka turned in her seat. The white boat with all three men standing approached fast.

  “What do you know about the IDI?” Molka said.

  “They’re considered Rio’s most violent trafficking gang.”

  Molka retrieved her shotgun from the gear bag and chambered a shell. “And they might be just as upset with us about losing Cardoza as we are with them.”

  Nathan chambered a shell. “Agreed.”

  “Let’s try to end this cordially if possible. Hold your weapon at the ready but not threatening toward them.”

  “Ok,” Nathan said. “We’re not going to die, are we?”

  The white boat slowed at a distance of five meters and shifted into neutral to hold its position.

  Piloting the boat was a fit, white male in his 40s with short dark hair and a close-cropped dark beard. Two clean-shaven men in their 30s stood on each side of him. All three men wore dark tee shirts and dark pants, and each held a pistol pointed down at their sides.

  The bearded man spoke in Russian accented English. “We don’t speak Portuguese. Do you speak English?”

  Molka answered in English. “Yes. And you’re not with the IDI, obviously.”

  “No,” the bearded man said. “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” Molka said.

  “Put those weapons on the deck and raise your hands, and then we’ll talk.”

  “You first,” Molka said.

  The bearded man spoke a word in Russian.

  Simultaneously, the three men raised their pistols and pointed them at Molka and Nathan.

  A second’s fraction later, Molka and Nathan raised their weapons and pointed them at the three men.

  The million-frog chorus serenaded the wordless standoff.

  CHAPTER 36

  After over a minute of eyes-to-eyes, barrels-to-barrels screaming silence, Molka broke the impasse with a calm tone. “We have three options here. One: we all lower our weapons, you tow us to the boat rental dock across the lake, and we peacefully discuss our mutual interest in Gabriel Cardoza. Two: we wait here like this until the police show up at Cardoza’s house, figure we were all involved in your shore battle, and then come out here after us. Or three: we all open fire and hope for the best.”

  Nathan spoke with a nervous smile. “Pro tip: Choose option one. Please.”

  The bearded man spoke in Russian and lowered his weapon.

  His two men followed suit.

  Molka and Nathan lowered their shotguns.

  The bearded man spoke again. “Ok, we will talk on the dock.”

  The tow back to the little south shore boat rental dock took less than 10 minutes. The boat rental shack at the dock’s head stood closed, and the adjoining dirt parking area contained only Nathan’s dark green van and Molka’s silver Nissan backed in side-by-side for a quick exit.

  Molka and Nathan tied off their boat.

  The white boat tied off behind them. The bearded man spoke to the other two men in Russian and climbed out onto the dock. The two other men remained in the boat.

  Molka and Nathan removed their phones and car keys from the gear bag, repacked the shotguns, zipped both bags, slung one each on their shoulders, and climbed out and onto the dock.

  Nathan frowned down on the windshield shattered and motor ruined boat. “I feel bad turning it in that way. The rental shop owner isn’t a wealthy man. And my deposit won’t cover the damage we’ve caused.”

  Molka said, “We’ll slip some extra cash for him under the door.”

  Nathan smiled. “You’re a kind woman, dear heart.”

  The bearded man approached Molka and Nathan. “Perhaps we can start our peaceful discussion by formally identifying ourselves, preferably with organizational IDs.”

  “I agree,” Molka said. “But I see you have your weapon tucked in your waistband under your shirt.”

  “And I see, under your damp shirts, you both have weapons in small-of-the-back holsters. So, we equally distrust one another.”

  “Our IDs are in our vehicles,” Molka said.

  The bearded man trailed Molka and Nathan to the vehicles.

  Molka retrieved her embassy ID card from her purse in the Nissan.

  Nathan retrieved his embassy ID from his wallet in the van.

  The trio came together again behind the vehicles.

  “I’ll go first.” The bearded man removed a blue ID c
ase from his back pocket, opened it, and presented the ID card.

  The ID’s photo matched the holder’s face, and an official Russian Government seal watermarked the ID’s background.

  “I don’t read Russian,” Molka said. “What does it say?”

  “It says I am Inspector Fedor Romansky of the Russian Security Service. Now, who are you two?”

  Molka and Nathan presented their embassy IDs for Romansky’s inspection.

  “I don’t read Hebrew,” Romansky said. “Who do they say you are?”

  “They say I’m Molka, and he’s Nathan, both employees of the Israeli Embassy in Brasilia: Cultural Department.”

  Romansky flashed a surprised face. “Which means you are actually with the Israeli Counsel. And what exactly does the Counsel want with Cardoza?”

  Molka answered. “What does the Russian Security Service want with him?”

  “I asked you first,” Romansky said.

  Molka remained silent.

  Romansky sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It appears this peaceful discussion you requested has ended. I am depressed about the events of this night. So, after I inform my men to return our boat to the rental place across the lake, I will walk to the turquoise-colored little bar right down the road and soothe my depression. Perhaps you two will join me, and we can begin our peaceful discussion again in a more forthcoming manner.”

  CHAPTER 37

  After she and Nathan agreed they would meet with Inspector Fedor Romansky of the Russian Security Service at the turquoise-colored little bar right down the road and begin their peaceful discussion again in a more forthcoming manner, Molka suggested they change clothes before doing so. Because no matter how serious you may sound; you can never be taken seriously when talking to someone while wearing soaking wet clothes because you look ridiculous.

  While Nathan waited outside, she used the van’s rear cargo area as a changing room to replace her wet black outfit and tac boots with her dry white tracksuit and white cross trainers. Then she combed out and pulled her damp hair into a fresh high ponytail and waited outside for Nathan to change holding her purse, which contained only her ID, phone, car keys, and the Ruger.

  Nathan—hair re-quaffed into a platinum faux hawk—exited the van styled in a slim-fit, royal blue silk dress shirt with gold snap buttons tucked into slim-fit, pressed black gaberdine slacks cinched with a gold leather belt and polished black leather dress shoes. He accessorized with gold-framed glasses and gold earrings. “How do I look?”

  Molka’s eyebrows rose. “Like you’re going clubbing.”

  “Well, we are going to a bar. That’s a little like a club.”

  “I can’t believe you packed that outfit for this trip.”

  Nathan cocked his head to the side and raised one eyebrow. “When I pack, I pack for any occasion.”

  “Untuck the shirt and tuck in your weapon.”

  “Are you expecting trouble with him?” Nathan said.

  “Have you ever met anyone with the Russian Security Service or even know exactly what its function is within the shadowy Russian security apparatus?”

  “No and no.”

  “Same here,” Molka said. “But tonight, we did witness an inspector—which is presumably an officer—in the Russian Security Service engage with his men in reckless boat handling and a pretty intense firefight in a quiet lakeside community. Am I expecting trouble with him? Not necessarily. But will I prepare for trouble with him?” She tapped her purse. “Absolutely.”

  Nathan moved toward the van. “I’ll go get my trouble-solver, and we can go.”

  “Two things before you do. One, don’t drink too much. We’re going to drive back to Rio tonight and get hotel rooms so we can fly out in the morning.”

  “Ok. I’ll be good.”

  “And two, I was instructed by my previous project manager that anytime you’re on a task and have any unplanned contact with a foreign government agent the best thing to do is try to find out as much as you can from them while telling them as little as you can about you. We’ll concede that we were sent here to put Cardoza under surveillance. But we won’t tell him why or what our plan was for him tonight. Agreed?”

  Nathan smiled. “I agree its best if I just sit there like a good boy with my one glass of wine and let you do all the talking.”

  The turquoise-colored little bar just down the road was a little bigger than little when you considered the large, covered patio-dock attached to it hanging over the lake and holding over a dozen tables: one of which seated Romansky.

  Molka and Nathan walked through the car-packed dirt parking lot and into a jammed barroom alive with loud pop music and loud laughter. They squeezed through the space, exited an open door onto the patio-dock, and sat side-by-side across from Romansky.

  Romansky had two empty shot glasses and a bottled beer before him. “How shall we proceed?”

  Molka said, “Is a question asked and answered for a question asked and answered acceptable?”

  “It is.” Romansky took a beer swig. “Please start.”

  “What does the Russian Security Service do?”

  “Internal state security. The RSS is the successor to the old KGB if that helps you better understand. What does the Counsel want with Cardoza?”

  “They want him surveilled,” Molka said. “What does the RSS want with Cardoza?”

  Romansky shook his head negative. “I cannot say. Why does the Counsel want Cardoza surveilled?”

  Molka shook her head negative. “I cannot say.”

  Romansky frowned. “And so ends our second discussion.”

  “I have one thing to add.” Nathan glared at Romansky. “And I’m sorry, Molka, I said I wouldn’t talk, but since the talk is over…” He leaned toward Romansky. “I want you to know, sir, we had Cardoza exactly where we wanted him until you showed up.”

  Romansky leaned toward Nathan. “And we had Cardoza exactly where we wanted him until you two showed up.”

  Nathan continued. “And then, just to shove a cherry down our throats, you and your men went machinegun wild and chased him out of town.”

  “How do you know Cardoza left town?” Romansky said.

  “Because we—” Nathan noticed the grimace on Molka’s face. “I’m sorry, Molka. I’ll shut up again.”

  “Well, he has left town,” Romansky said. “After my men and I chased him out of his boat, he ordered his boys to fire at us while he made a getaway in his car.”

  “What do you mean, his boys?” Molka said.

  “Boys. Teenaged boys. That is what he uses as muscle. They charged us recklessly. Sadly, we had to kill several in our defense. He sacrificed those boy’s lives to buy himself time to escape. And their slaughter would have continued had our asset in Cardoza’s house not been able to recall them.”

  “And that’s why you were able to leave the beach?” Molka said.

  “Yes. And I talked to our asset in Cardoza’s house a few minutes ago. He will not call the police. If the neighbors called them, he would tell the police the estate security fired at a wild ocelot running through the grounds. They have had an issue with ocelot’s living near this lake attacking people’s dogs at night. So, it is a believable lie. Our asset will handle the cleanup internally.”

  A female server in a turquoise apron and a long ponytail arrived at the table. Romansky pointed to his beer and to the empty shot glasses.

  The server nodded.

  In Portuguese, Molka ordered bottled water and Nathan a white wine.

  After the server left, Romansky addressed his guests in a more measured tone. “Since it no longer matters, and I do not want it to be said that I caused hard feelings between my organization and the Counsel, our primary mission was not Cardoza. We want his two friends who were in the boat with him.”

  “And who are they?” Molka said.

  “The Kozlov brothers, Grigori and Anatoli. Major figures in Russian organized crime and international fugitives. I have dedicated the last two years of my
life pursuing them. Last month, I finally located them in Venezuela where we assumed they would fight extradition.”

  Molka nodded. “And Venezuela is a good place to do that from.”

  “Yes, but they never planned to stay. Their old thief in law friend, Gabriel Cardoza—I am sure you also know as Yakov Andreyev—had another offer for them and got them safely into Brazil.”

  “What is a thief in law?” Nathan said.

  “In Russian organized crime, a thief in law is a professional criminal who enjoys an elite position among other criminals and mobsters. We had an operation to capture the Kozlov brothers right after they crossed the border, but we just missed our chance.”

  Molka said, “What plans does Cardoza have for them in Brazil?”

  “Domination,” Romansky said. “He’s running a thief in law school here to train an army of loyal soldiers they can use to bring all the moneyed men in the country under their roofs.”

  “What does that mean exactly?” Nathan said.

  “When you are under a mobster’s roof, you are under his protection. It is a basic extortion operation, and it brings big payoffs when well implemented. Especially in a country like this where the justice system has been corrupted.”

  The server returned with the drink order.

  When she departed, Molka addressed Romansky again. “You said Cardoza’s running a training school?”

  “Yes, right here. Perhaps during your surveillance, you spotted those three, big white buildings on his estate.”

  “We did,” Molka said. “And who are the trainees?”

  “The boys I mentioned. Disadvantaged and vulnerable boys he recruits from the favelas with promises to take care of them and their families for life. He calls them his Ghost Crews. Cardoza is a very evil man hiding behind a disarming smile and an expensive suit.”

  “I’m curious by nature,” Molka said. “Can you tell us how you planned on getting these Kozlov brothers out of Brazil? Because obviously, you didn’t ask the Brazilian government for assistance.”

  “We deemed the best—and only way—to grab the Kozlov brothers is when they took their nightly boat ride with Cardoza. The estate is too well protected by Cardoza’s armed boys for any type of assault and, for several reasons, the route leading away from the estate is not ideal for an interception should they leave by car.”