“Please talk to the AG,” Lew said, not wanting to tell Donnelly that he had misunderstood what he meant. That he was fully aware the majority of the people he worked with were dedicated to their jobs. Not wanting to tell Donnelly that he thought the rot was oozing down from the top.
“This fucking guy,” Donnelly said, smirking and shaking his head. “Why don’t you try stepping away from the fainting couch? Do you believe one of our esteemed senators stuffing their fat face at my party is going to hurt us? Or that one of the cable news guys pounding down shots at the bar is going to wake up tomorrow and decide jeez maybe I should do an investigative report telling the American people how all these settlements don’t mean a thing? Wake up, man. Nothing is going to happen. Now go and get wasted, laid, or whatever. And stop messing up my birthday with shit I give zero fucks about.”
Lew had known Donnelly a long time, perhaps too long. As a result he had often overlooked a certain aspect of the man’s appearance. Not that it was something obvious. Donnelly hid it well. But that wasn’t true when he lost his temper, like now. When that happened, Donnelly’s mouth opened wide, revealing his strangely shaped teeth. Lew stumbled as he stood, backpedaling awkwardly, and then catching his balance as he rushed off in terrified silence.
Hearing a commotion Donnelly turned, his anger slipping away at the sight of one of his old fraternity brothers walking toward him with a glass topped wooden box in hand. Donnelly forgot all about foreclosures, suicide rates, or anything else as he rose. He looked into the box to see a rare Smith & Wesson Model 27 Snub-Nose .357 Magnum Revolver. It was accompanied by six commemorative bullets and a signed certificate bearing the Paramount Pictures stamp. Donnelly skimmed the certificate, his breath catching in his throat. He was a huge fan of Mafia movies and it appeared that he was being gifted the same weapon Luca Brasi had carried in the original Godfather film.
Yes indeed, life was phenomenal.
------------------
August 2016 – Dibrovno, Western Ukraine
After dinner Ernie and Owen returned to their pension to get some packing done before meeting back up with Brody. Meanwhile, Cindy and the other researchers planned how they would wrap up the remains for travel. After several hours and still nowhere near finished, Cindy called Ernie to inform him she would be late for the follow-up meeting with Brody.
The stars winked above them as Ernie and Owen set off to meet up with Brody, and Tanya, who had offered her assistance. The two good friends walked without speaking.
“What’s got into you?” Owen finally said as he grasped Ernie’s elbow to pull him aside.
Ernie didn’t respond.
Owen held his tongue.
“It’s nothing,” Ernie said. “Besides we’re late, and Brody’s waiting.”
“Don’t give me that.”
“I can’t,” Ernie said. “Not now.”
“Okay, then when?”
“When the time is right,” Ernie said. “You have my word.”
Owen stared into Ernie’s eyes and nodded his head okay.
They arrived at the nearly empty tavern to find Brody slumped over an empty glass, beer suds clinging to the vessel’s sides. The waitresses seemed filled with nervous energy, zipping to and fro even though it appeared there wasn’t much to do. When Ernie and Owen sat down, one of the servers deposited a round of ale and rushed off without the usual chitchat.
As they settled into their beer Brody caught them up with what he could reveal from two hours of fruitless conference calls with Vance and Wilson. Ernie told him what little more he could remember about the dig. It wasn’t helpful. Brody was so despondent he didn’t even comment on Cindy’s absence.
They fell into silence, staring into their pint glasses.
After a long moment, Owen half smiled and leaned close to Brody, winking at Ernie who rolled his eyes, knowing Owen was up to some ridiculous stunt.
“Hey,” Owen whispered.
“Yeah?” Brody said.
Owen glanced around and leaned in closer. He dropped his voice, and while doing his best impression of one of the backwoods rapists from Deliverance, drawled, “Y’all know what they call panties down south?”
Brody’s eyebrows shot up.
Owen leaned in closer yet; his voice resonating lower, Southern drawl more pronounced, “Do ya?”
Brody shook his head ‘no’, a look of bewilderment plastered across his face.
“Squirrel covers.”
Brody grinned.
Ernie shook his head, smiling nonetheless.
“You love it,” Owen said, finishing his beer with a flourish. He waved the waitress over for another, the alcohol’s warmth spreading through his stomach.
“I hope I didn’t miss something,” Tanya said as she arrived.
“Trust me,” Brody said. “You DO NOT want to know.”
After introducing Brody to Tanya, Owen turned back to their new acquaintance, “So why FBI? You don’t seem like a spook? We haven’t heard you mention terrorism once.”
“Just so you know a spook is a term for a CIA agent. Furthermore, and at one time, the FBI did much more than counter-terrorism.” The lines creased around Brody’s eyes, his response sounding almost wistful. In spite of recent setbacks he was still hopeful he could find Karlovic and leverage that success into another crack at the system.
“Like there’s a difference,” Tanya responded, her face flushing red. “Isn’t your FBI spying on everyone? What happened to you people?”
Brody leaned back in surprise at her sudden attack.
“Your laws once promised equality and justice. But now? Forget the militsiya, or as you call them the MVS, the KGB would be proud.” She spat out the last line like a lover who had discovered her boyfriend had been cheating.
Ernie exchanged glances with Owen.
“Okay, let’s just take it easy. To be fair, the last I checked your government wasn’t so hot either,” Brody spoke calmly even as the blood rose in his neck. Tanya would be a formidable ally or a powerful enemy; he would have to be careful.
“Your leaders can’t understand the hate burning under their feet,” Tanya snapped, “but they will.”
Nervous glances shot toward them from the few others lingering in the emptying bar.
“I pledged an oath once,” Brody said. “I’ll be damned if I won’t honor it by making as much right in this world as I can.”
“Here you are, doing fine I might add, “Owen said. “Just keep rolling with it.”
“Like your strip club scheme?” Ernie grinned at Owen, equally anxious to lighten the mood.
“Whatever are you talking about?” Owen replied in mock indignation.
“This clown came up with the bright idea of putting strippers on ice,” Ernie said, jerking his finger at Owen. “He wanted to name the place The Frosty Beaver.”
Brody smiled.
Tanya tried to hide the twinkle in her eye, but failed miserably.
“It’s a great idea,” Owen said.
“Yea, right,” Brody said. “Haven’t you ever been in an ice skating rink? Who’ll want a lap dance when the room temperature is as cold as a meat locker?”
“I got that covered,” Owen said. “A covering that guys could wear on—”
“Oh my,” Brody said, chuckling as he shook his head in disbelief.
“Hear me out,” Owen pleaded. “It’s a good idea. The softcover solves everything. It’s like getting two birds stoned at once.”
“What?” Brody said.
“Stop, please,” Tanya said, laughing.
Brody pounded down his beer. Goddamn that’s good. The waitress served up another round, eager hands grabbing at the ice cold glasses. Brody took another pull from his mug and sat back with a smile on his face, surprised at how relaxed he felt around a bunch of strangers.
Owen was still grinning when he saw Ernie staring at the TV, “What’s up?”
“Huh?” Ernie tore his gaze from the BBC world news, “Sorry. Wall Street is moaning once again about the sanctions our government slapped on Russia.”
“Your glorious capitalist banker’s paradise not quite turning out to be all it’s cracked up to?” Tanya said.
“Nice. Don’t you know screwing over people for money is a national sport in our country?” Brody said, ignoring the TV screen that had switched to a clip of a reporter interviewing Jimmy Donnelly.
“What’s nice are all those financial stats trotted out by your Pravda-esque press trying to convince people that the economy’s wonderful, and they should spend those pennies trickling down from the billionaires and their apparatchiks in the government.”
“There’s a big difference between what happens in my country and what happened over here.”
“How true,” Tanya said with a grin. “For instance, there’s the electoral process of staffing and running our respective governments. I believe, in your country, the term for bribing politicians is lobbying. Or is it campaign donations?”
“Touché,” Brody said. “At least my country is still a democracy.”
“You really believe that?” Tanya said, leaning in. “I’m afraid that there’s much you need to learn.”
“I suppose you’re the one to teach me?” Brody said, holding her attention, oblivious to Owen’s mounting anxiety at his open flirting with Tanya.
The muffled sound of a smart phone came from under the table.
Tanya held Brody’s eye contact a second longer. Then she fished the ringing phone from her purse, “Hello.”
Something in Tanya’s voice caused Ernie to take note as she walked off. He strained to listen as she defensively snapped at somebody on the other end of the line while she weaved through the empty tables toward the pub’s front door.
Meanwhile, Owen was gawking at her ass like a lustful seventeen year old. When he returned his attention back to the table, Brody was snickering at him, both men missing the intense look of concentration on Ernie’s face.
“How about you?” Owen said to Brody, nervous something was developing between the FBI agent and Tanya. “You got a special lady friend?”
“Maybe I should see what Tanya’s doing tomorrow night.”
“She’s busy,” Owen said before catching himself. “I mean we’ve got plans.”
“That still leaves the night after,” Brody smiled inwardly at Owen’s jealousy, before deciding to back off. “Then again, I probably can’t hang around that long.”
“You ever wish you could be someone else?” Owen changed the subject.
“Naw, but I’d take a do-over.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“To alter your past would change you into someone else.”
“In that case, it sounds like we want the same thing.”
“I doubt that very much.”
“Shut up, and buy me another beer,” Brody said.
Owen smiled, waving at the waitress.
“When’s the Bureau going to do something about the banks?” Ernie said, looking away from the TV interview of Donnelly.
“What do you mean?” Owen said. “From what I’ve heard they got slapped down hard by all those fines.”
“Let’s talk about those fines,” Brody said. “What if I said that we should pass a law so armed bank robbers give back a small percent of their take in fines, but they get to keep the rest and avoid jail time or any personal liability.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Brody nodded his head in agreement and stifled a burp, glancing at his half empty mug. It was a good lager, but it was getting a bit too smooth. He set his beer glass down and looked at Owen, “Do you know what a CDO is?”
Owen stared back.
“It stands for collateralized debt obligation.”
Owen shrugged.
“Do you have any loans out? Maybe a mortgage?”
“Sure,” Owen said.
“Your lender earns a profit on the money you borrowed. That’s the interest rate. It reflects your risk of default.”
“Yea, I know,” Owen said. “Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”
“Yes, of course,” Brody responded. He softened his tone, “Here’s the thing about lenders. They always look for ways to reduce risk. In this case they took many loans and made it so that no one lender owned more than a part of each, while keeping the same interest rate. That’s a basic type of CDO.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Owen said.
“Nothing,” Brody said, his feet tingly from the alcohol. “But people got greedy. The banks knew their products were crap, but sold them to investors anyway while making side bets that the CDOs would blow up.”
“That’s fraud,” Ernie said.
“Bingo,” Brody said.
“Who cares?” Owen replied. “Most investors are pretty sophisticated.”
“When I say investor I’m not just talking about other rich guys,” Brody said. “I’m also talking about pension funds for people like teachers or nurses. They might as well have been putting their money into the preacher’s basket for all the good it did ‘em.”
“Faith can be a powerful experience,” Ernie said.
“So is telling fairy tales.”
“Again, who cares? The banks got fined.” Owen interjected as Ernie frowned at Brody.
“Technically speaking each bank got hit with a fine for one of the fraudulent CDOs it sold,” Brody said. “But each bank sold many CDOs. For example when Jimmy Donnelly’s bank settled with the SEC for half a billion they announced it was for one CDO. But in reality, it represented all the garbage CDOs they sold. And now the head of enforcement at the SEC is a partner at a Wall Street law firm, representing guess who?”
Ernie folded his arms across his chest. Brody was barking up a tree he couldn’t hope to climb. Only a complete naïf would have thought such venality was extraordinary in this day and age. For Brody this was personal, Donnelly wasn’t just his white whale. There was history there, and that blood had run bad.
“Remember our former Treasury secretary?” Brody continued, “Mister let’s use foreclosed homes to ‘foam the runway’ when the top dogs loot their banks so badly they crash? He’s now the president of a private equity firm, even though he had zero experience when hired.”
“What about Madoff?” Ernie said.
“He only got busted because he ripped off rich people,” Brody said.
“Couldn’t indictments cause a bank run?” Owen said. “Then the economy goes up in smoke.”
“That’s a con,” Brody said. “If you start indicting individuals the bank won’t fail. It’s the people within it doing the stealing. That’s the inside job that blew up the economy.”
“C’mon, isn’t all that mostly over?” Owen said. “You want to get worked up over something try the student loan mess and tuition scam.”
“That’s not illegal,” Brody said.
“It’s wrong just the same,” Ernie said.
Brody took a swig of his beer. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, “Back when I was a kid there was this teenager named Frank Castro that lived in my neighborhood. His dad gave him whatever he wanted. That wasn’t enough. Frank liked to shake down the younger kids. My best friend and I had a chance to even the score, but Frank got back most of what we took away.” Brody’s face darkened, “That’s just it. Guys like Castro or Donnelly, they never really lose. Every time I’ve tried to change it I’ve failed, and I’m sick of it.”
“How sick of it?” Ernie said.
Cindy walked in. The meagre crowd had thinned down to a couple of stragglers hurriedly paying their bills. She slumped into a cha
ir, her nearness distracting Brody.
“Sorry I’m so late, but I was on a last minute conference call. Your buddy Vance gave the Detroit medical examiner clearance to brief me on the investigation,” Cindy said to Brody. She grabbed his beer and tipped it back; hoping nobody would notice the shiver that raced through her as the vision of a partially consumed body flashed through her head.
She needn’t have worried.
Tanya had returned.
Cindy eyed the Ukrainian woman as she walked up to the table. She exuded a smoldering sexuality impossible to ignore. She was glad her husband wasn’t there, he would have been drooling. However, the way Tanya paraded around her big-play-with-me tits didn’t jive at all with the intellect Ernie had described. Nevertheless, Cindy found herself sneaking another glimpse at the stunning woman. Then she turned on Brody.
“You could have clued me in on the canine DNA taken from the victim in Detroit.”
“Canine, but I thought—” Owen’s eyes widened.
“Yea,” Cindy shot a disapproving look at Brody, feeling almost as unsettled by his lack of candor as when date night with her husband ended with him thrusting something throbbing in her ass she hadn’t been ready for nor wanted.
“If they found canine and human DNA then there can be no other explanation for what killed the victim?” Tanya said. “It had to be some sick individual and his pet, no?”
“Ain’t you pickin’ up what I’m layin’ down?” Cindy said, “We don’t have a clue.”
“We were brought together for a reason,” Ernie said.
“Don’t mistake happenstance for destiny.”
“You shouldn’t mistake belief as stemming from a weak mind,” Ernie responded to Brody.
A commotion erupted at the tavern’s front door as a young man burst in. It was one of the grad students, eyes wide, breathing heavily, as if he had sprinted to the tavern. He ran over, “You need to come with me. NOW. Something’s happened to Anna and Liam!”
Chapter 16
August 2016 – Dibrovno, Western Ukraine
Exhuming the mass grave wouldn’t have been possible without the tireless work done by the team’s graduate students, each night a pair of whom guarded the dig. They did this from the platform built high up in an old oak tree into which ladder like steps had been nailed. For most it was a thankless job. However, on this night, Anna Konarski of the University of Krakow and Oxford University’s Liam Headley relished their turn. Guard duty being far from Anna and Liam’s minds as they hauled themselves through the trap door, pulled up the rope ladder bridging the final feet, and spread out their sleeping bags.
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