Ellis blanched and released Taylor, but to his credit at least stood his ground.
“What the hell was that? I told you to sit and shut your fucking mouth, not threaten a member of their security forces. Are you an idiot? These people are animals. They hold grudges like you wouldn’t believe. Are you trying to set back US foreign policy single-handedly?”
Taylor looked at Andre, who was still standing at Taylor’s shoulder, then said, “You realize Andre here speaks English, right? I'm pretty sure the colonel does, too.”
Ellis’s face went even whiter, and he pursed his lips, backing away from Andre and gesturing for Taylor to follow.
“One sec,” Taylor said in Russian to Andre and the translator.
Andre smiled and waved his friend on. Although he didn’t work with US diplomats often, he wasn’t unfamiliar with Ellis’s type.
“You could have warned me. When I get back to my office, I am going to make sure your authorization to stay in the country is revoked, so help me God. You are an absolute menace. If you think . . .”
Taylor took a menacing step forward, and Ellis stopped talking, only realizing at that moment he’d backed himself into a corner, with no open hallway to retreat to.
“Listen, jackass, do you know who I’m here for? Did anyone bother to tell you who asked for me to be cleared into the country?”
With each sentence, Taylor took another small step toward the man.
“No, I was just told to arrange it by the home office,” Ellis said, his voice trembling as he continued looking for an escape route.
“Maybe you should call them back and find out what’s really going on. If you stopped patronizing me for ten seconds, you might consider this! Someone got your boss to set up this meeting and swing diplomatic credentials for me on short notice. You may want to know what you’re getting into, before you step on your own dick!”
Ellis froze, realizing he may not hold as many cards as he thought he did.
“That’s what I thought,” Taylor said, turning, and walking back to Andre.
“If you run into trouble, don’t expect help from the State Department,” Ellis shouted at Taylor’s back once he was out of arms reach.
“What a putz,” Taylor said when he reached Andre, who smiled and slapped his friend on the back as they returned to the elevator. “That was a bust,” he said when they were in the elevator.
“It was exactly what we both expected. I told you no one was actually planning on helping, officially at least.”
“Yeah,” Taylor said, watching the glowing numbers count down.
“Cheer up,” Andre said as the elevator stopped on the second floor and he gestured for Taylor to exit. “That’s only officially. I have someone I want you to meet.”
Taylor followed Andre through more twisting halls and into yet another unlabeled door. Inside was a bullpen type area, with six desks. Most were empty save the computer and various files, and Taylor saw name plates on the majority of them, although he didn’t stop to read any. Andre led Taylor to the back of the room and one of the last pair of desks, one of which was occupied.
“Taylor, this is Vladimir,” he said, gesturing at an older man, balding with a thin ring of gray hair clinging around the sides of his head. “Vladimir, this is the American I told you about.”
“Good to meet you,” Taylor said, offering out a hand.
“Same,” Vladimir said, half-standing and shaking Taylor’s hand before sitting. “Andre told me about your problem. I guess the meeting with Vasili didn’t go well?”
“It went about as expected. Vasili was more helpful than the person from my own government, at least,” Taylor said with a grimace, “but he made it clear I shouldn’t expect any assistance.”
“Official help anyway,” Vladimir said. “Andre laid out some of what you needed. Are you sure they are coming in through St. Petersburg?”
“No. It stands to reason they still are, but I can’t be positive. They could have docked in France and come overland or come in through the Black Sea for all I know. But since I can’t search the entire country, I’m going to stick with my best guess.”
“Well, I doubt they came in across Europe. It would have required buying off too many people from too many different governments. I looked over a copy of the file your government sent with the initial request, and I agree that St. Petersburg is still your best shot. And I think I have a place to start.”
“Yeah?” Taylor said, sounding hopeful for the first time since he landed in Russia.
“There is a man named Evsei Reznikov,” Vladimir said, gesturing for Taylor to circle the desk, and look at the computer screen. “He controls, or at least has his fingers in, all smuggling through the ports in St. Petersburg. His network of people to get things off boats and past customs unchecked is, frankly, breathtaking. Between dock workers, customs officials, and a troubling number of police officers, he’s got the port pretty well sewed up. We’ve gone after him several times, but he keeps everything just enough removed so we can’t tie anything to him yet.”
Taylor looked at the picture on the screen. The man had thinning brown hair and was beefy, not in a muscular way. He had beady eyes and a sad mustache and instantly reminded Taylor of a rat.
“Do you think he would know about girls being smuggled into the country?”
“If they’re coming through St. Petersburg, then he’ll know.”
“I’m surprised he’s not connected with any of the larger criminal organizations. It’s not like them to give up control of that large of a port.”
“He pays them a portion of everything he makes. He’s not in their structure, but he’s associated with them. We flipped one of his people last year and were getting some good info on his setup, but our guy disappeared a few months ago, and no one’s found him. At this point, we’re thinking Reznikov got wind of the guy passing intel and had him . . . removed.”
“So he’s the guy I need to talk to,” Taylor said.
“Don’t let his appearance fool you. He is smart, cunning, and utterly ruthless. Never, ever think you have the upper hand with him, or he’ll bite it off. This man is a snake. And he’s protected by the local police, so they’re more likely to come after you than try to stop him if something happens.”
“I’ll be careful,” Taylor said.
Vladimir printed out a sheet with everything he had on Reznikov, including a list of places he liked to spend his time. Taylor thanked Vladimir and headed out with Andre.
On the way back to his house to pick up Taylor's bag, they chatted about Andre’s wife and kids, and Taylor told his friend about Whitaker. His friend was happy for him but made suggestive remarks about Taylor having kids of his own, the way parents sometimes do to their unmarried friends. It was like they were always recruiting for their club.
“Here,” Andre said as he dropped Taylor off at his rental, handing over a small black rectangular brick with a stubby antenna sticking out of the top corner of one end. Taylor instantly recognized it as a satellite phone.
“What’s this?” Taylor asked, more about it being handed over than questioning what the heavy piece of electronics was.
“If you get in trouble, call. Although, try not to get in trouble too much, I can probably only get away with swinging to the rescue once or twice before someone upstairs notices and puts the hammer down.”
“Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for this?”
“No, it’s run . . . off the books. No one will notice it’s missing or question its use. Hell, it’s not even registered through here. Anyone tracking the signal will find this particular phone was bought and maintained by a company in your sunny California.”
“I don’t even want to know why you guys have this.” Taylor said with a smile. “But thanks. I’m glad you have my back.”
“This doesn’t even begin to make us even. Katarina was very taken with you, she’d be displeased with me if I let you get killed. Be careful my friend.”
“I will. Give my best to her and the kids. You’ve done well for yourself.”
“I have, haven’t I,” Andre said, smiling.
They shook hands and Andre drove off, back to work, while Taylor called the number the pilot had given him and arranged for a flight to St. Petersburg. As they had said, the plane was waiting for him when he arrived, and they were off the ground minutes later. The flight was short, lasting just over an hour. Taylor spent that time calling ahead to have a car waiting for him and going over Reznikov’s dossier. Looking at his arrest history, always followed by the case being dropped as witnesses and evidence disappeared.
The crimes went further than Vladimir had said, extending past smuggling to cover financial crimes, assaults, and a few murders that, while they couldn’t prove it, the FSB strongly suspected him of. Everything Taylor could see said he had more than just local police in his pocket, or at least had access to those who had more. Some of these crimes would have taken more than a street cop could have done to make them go away.
The first two places were a bust. Taylor started wondering what Whitaker would have said, watching him stumble from one possible location to another with minimal success. Of course, he knew if it were her looking for a suspect, it would have involved submitting notifications to local and federal agencies then waiting for something to pop. Even if the cops hadn’t been in Reznikov’s pocket, Taylor didn’t have time for that. He was coming up close on when the girls would be offloaded in the country, assuming they were still on a cargo ship and not something faster. In his mind, he ended up with the same argument with hypothetical Whitaker about following procedures versus expediency. Somehow, Taylor found the made-up argument oddly comforting.
Luckily, the point became moot when he found Reznikov in the third place he checked.
Taylor had done one sweep past the restaurant, trying to get a look inside. That hadn’t been possible at the second place he’d checked, and he’d been forced to go in and sample some of the worst local beer he’d ever experienced as an excuse for looking over all the patrons.
Thankfully, that hadn’t been necessary this time. The small restaurant that advertised the best Pelmeni in St. Petersburg, something Taylor found doubtful as he looked over the grungy eatery. With three points of reference, Taylor was confident in saying Reznikov seemed to count sleazy as the most important qualities in places where he spent his time.
Just as he was finishing his slow stroll past the front of the restaurant, Taylor saw him sitting at the back of the restaurant. His pudgy body shoved into a booth, eating something Taylor couldn’t identify at this distance, and talking to a man Taylor couldn’t identify from his back alone. Sitting at a table, just across from the booth was a man not eating, who continually looked around the restaurant and shot the occasional glance back at Reznikov. He might as well have worn a name tag announcing himself as a bodyguard.
Having tracked the smuggler down, Taylor went back to his car to wait. For what he was planning, he needed more privacy. Taylor waited for more than two hours, his patience in stakeouts being as low as ever, but eventually, Reznikov made his way out of the restaurant.
Taylor hopped out of his rental and followed the two at a short distance, looking for the opportunity he needed. It didn’t take long, as the bodyguard with the smuggler stopped in front of a flashy sedan, pushing a button on his keys to deactivate the vehicle's alarms, and opened the passenger door for his boss. Taylor slowed his pace to put him in the car just as the guard made his way around to the driver’s side. He gave the street a once over before he did, but his eyes slid right over Taylor, apparently not seeing anything out of place. That surprised Taylor, since the street was empty and, even though he was just strolling along, Taylor would have picked someone like him out as at least ex-military, if not an overt threat. The guard, however, didn’t seem to register anything amiss.
As soon as the man started lowering his bulk in the seat, one hand on the steering wheel and one on the outside door, Taylor made his move. Quickening to a brisk pace, Taylor yanked the rear passenger door with his off hand while pulling his pistol with the other. He made it into the car at the same time as the bodyguard who, instead of starting to pull a weapon, which he should have done, just turned, and looked stupidly at Taylor.
That expression turned to one of anger when he saw the weapon Taylor held, pointed levelly at him.
“Both hands on the wheel,” Taylor said in Russian. “Move an inch and I’ll pop you both and go get what I need elsewhere.”
The bodyguard did as instructed, placing both hands on the wheel, his muscled neck still twisted so he could give Taylor the stink-eye.
“What is it you need?” Reznikov asked in a strangely calm voice, seemingly unfazed by Taylor’s sudden appearance.
“I know you’ve got your hand in all the smuggling at the port here. I need you to tell me about something being brought into the country.”
“If my business were facilitating access to goods that are, less than legal, I would not be in the habit of divulging my client's shipments. If I were in the business, of course.”
Taylor was starting to get bothered by the man's eerie calm.
“You’re also in the business of breathing, which you won’t be if you don’t answer my questions.”
“You haven’t asked me any questions yet, Mr. . . .”
“None of your damn business. There’s a shipment of girls kidnapped and smuggled out of the US. They should either be in port now, or be about to come in. I want to know where to find them.”
“I’m not sure of what shipment you’re referring to—”
“You know exactly what shipment I’m referring to, fat man,” Taylor said, pulling back the hammer on his pistol with an audible click. Not necessary for a semi-automatic, but it helped make a point. “You are seconds away from me shooting you both, and looking for another way to get what I need.”
“That’s not necessary. The shipment you are looking for arrives in two hours on board the Moreplavatel. It is scheduled to unload at FCT.”
“If this turns out to be bullshit, I’m coming back for you.”
“I understand completely.”
Taylor slid out of the car, putting his gun in the pocket of his coat, hand still grasped around the butt of the weapon, just in case his guard got ideas. He didn’t head directly back to his car, choosing instead to disappear around a corner and circle a few blocks to make sure no one followed him back to his vehicle.
CHAPTER 8
Taylor didn’t leave for the docks immediately. Instead, he ducked down a side street, then picked up the pace to get back to his car as quickly as possible. Heading along a parallel street, Taylor went up one block then turned again and returned to the street where Reznikov was parked. Stopping at the corner, Taylor watched them for a minute to see how much attention they were paying to the area around them.
He couldn’t make out details precisely, but the bodyguard had turned around in his seat, and was talking to the fat man rather than watching the street around him. That was good enough for Taylor, who took the opportunity to head to his car parked a few dozen feet farther away from Reznikov’s car on the same side of the street. Taylor was amazed they hadn’t left yet, considering what had just happened. If it had been him and someone slipped into his car and pointed a gun at him, Taylor wouldn’t have hung around once the gunman disappeared.
Taylor wasn’t sure what they were doing since now he could just see the side of the car from the driver's seat of his own, and the occupants were totally obscured. They sat for another minute before pulling out. Whitaker had worked with Taylor on his pursuit techniques, since in his new profession, tailing a car was something he needed to be proficient at. She’d been a treasure trove of skills and, in her typical anally retentive way, had worked out an entire training regimen for him when he hadn’t been out on a case. While Taylor had a variety of applicable abilities brought over from his years in the Army, being an investigator was a trad
e all its own, and his girlfriend had spent a considerable amount of time making sure he had the knowledge to do it well.
Thinking about her, Taylor found himself amazed by Whitaker. A year ago he’d had zero interest in dealing with other human beings, most especially, women. Now, when he thought about the serious FBI agent, he felt his heart give a jump. It wasn’t his way to spend a lot of time 'navel gazing' over his love life or even the people in it; but he knew things were starting to get serious between the two of them, more so even than living together. What surprised Taylor the most was how much that thought pleased him.
The Wrong Girl (John Taylor Book 3) Page 11