In the Hush of the Night

by Raymond Benson

  Annie picked up the plastic ice container from the bathroom and left, allowing the door to remain ajar against the latch. She was too tired to think about having to use her key card again, and it was only fifty feet to the machines. As she approached the alcove, she glanced at the parking lot. It was a slow night—not many vehicles were at the motel; just a couple of SUVs, a Toyota Corolla, and two pickup trucks, one black and one red.

  She filled up the bucket with ice and spent some money in the machine for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a candy bar. There would be shampoo and soap in the room.

  With her hands full, she walked back to her room. It was a pleasant August night—not hot or muggy but nice and cool, and the air was fresh with …

  Her nostrils picked up an all-too familiar stench.

  Jesus, they sure have a skunk problem in Michigan, don’t they …

  She came within three feet of her room door, which was still ajar, and stopped. Even with the fatigue that dragged her down, the instincts that her old Quantico instructor had told her to trust kicked in.

  Skunk?

  Annie turned and looked back at the parking lot.

  The black pickup truck. It was the same one that had been parked behind the Lakeway police station when she’d first driven in on Friday night. Had Greg Paley dropped off the smashed-up Lincoln Continental and taken the black pickup? Did it belong to Louis Freund?

  Quietly, she placed the ice bucket and toiletries on the sidewalk. She drew the Glock and flattened against the wall with the door to her left.

  Can I do this? Should I call for backup? What if I’m wrong?

  Again—the instincts. They told her to go for it. She’d never been in a situation like this, but she’d had the training.

  Her adrenaline was pumping so hard that her exhaustion was no longer an issue.

  Very slowly, she stretched out her left arm, placed the hand on the door—and pushed it open.

  Gunfire erupted from inside the room, blasting the empty space in the doorway. As soon as the shooter realized there was no one standing there, the firing ceased. Annie dropped to the pavement on her right side, both hands on her weapon, and blindly fired six times into the room. It was only after she released her finger from the trigger that she was aware of the figure who had been standing in the room and was now lying on the carpet.

  Greg Paley.

  Annie bolted into the room and kicked his weapon—a Smith & Wesson M&P9—back toward the bathroom where he couldn’t reach it. She then stooped to examine the damage. Paley was still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before. The smell of skunk was almost overbearing.

  He had been hit by three of the six rounds—in the chest, the abdomen, and the right leg. He was alive, gritting his teeth, and glaring at her. She was sure that with quick medical care, he would survive.

  It had been stupid to leave the door ajar—she knew that now. He must have somehow kept tabs on her throughout the day, followed her to the motel, and waited for his opportunity.

  Annie pulled out her cell phone, dialed 9-1-1, and asked for the police and an ambulance. When she hung up, she knelt beside him again. There were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, most of them not nice at all. Instead she told him what was an undeniable truth.

  “You really stink, Mr. Paley … in more ways than one.”

  41

  October

  The indictments came down seven weeks after the weekend at the Michigan cabin. Annie attended a press conference in which Chicago Special Agent in Charge Michael Tilden announced the victory to the public. The investigation had been a joint operation between the FBI, ICE, local police and sheriff organizations in six states, and Russia’s FSB. The Offices of United States Attorneys in the same number of states had a total of twenty-three prosecutors involved. It was one of the most complex cases of human trafficking that the government had processed.

  Special Agent Annie Marino received a Director’s Award for “Excellence in Criminal Investigation” for her work in tying together the pieces of the puzzle. The Bear Claws Case would become a textbook example of cooperation between numerous individuals and agencies.

  Captain Mike Baines had flipped and provided plenty of evidence against Greg Paley and Louis Freund. He managed to secure a deal that would lessen his prison sentence if he pled guilty and testified for the prosecution. Freund had also attempted to make a deal but was denied. Paley faced multiple felony charges, including human trafficking, civil rights offenses, accessory to murder, attempted murder of a federal officer, money laundering, and racketeering. The evidence gathered was irrefutable. Investigators were also reopening David Paley’s case of accidental death. Freund revealed to the police that he had witnessed Greg Paley shoot his own brother and created a cover-up in order to gain control of their father’s company. Both Paley and Freund were going away for a long time, but their trials wouldn’t commence for many more months. As for Palit Wool, Angela Paley had put the company up for sale. She was fortunate that her husband had wisely kept the legitimate business separate from his criminal activities.

  Thanks to the information gained from Yana Kravec and other witnesses who were interviewed during the month of September, several arrests were made in New Jersey and Illinois. Robert “Bobby” Malik, Nadine Bartha, and Abram Tarr, the trio who ran the house in Newark where Yana had first been held captive after arriving in the US, were picked up by authorities before they could flee. Serbian immigrants Butch Janko and Fidel Loncar, who drove the van from New Jersey to Chicago, were also arrested. In Illinois, Ivan Polzin, Ludwig Vasiliev, Boris Modesky, and Sasha Treblinka were implicated and charged with lesser offenses—they, too, provided incriminating evidence against their employers. The Den, the Cat’s Lounge, and Paradise strip clubs were permanently closed. Alexander Broughton and Freddie Smith, who operated the house in Chicago where Yana had been kept, were shot and killed during a police raid.

  It was highly suspected that Greg Paley himself had been the disguised bag man in Milwaukee to whom Joseph Flanagan had paid money for Helena Nikolaev. Prosecutors were unable to prove this, but Annie was confident that Paley was the culprit. The salesman in that case, the man known as “Petyr,” was never found. In any case, Eyepatch, LLC’s money laundering mechanisms were uncovered, and the shell company was completely dismantled.

  Forensics analysis on Trey Paley’s weapons proved that he had indeed been the sniper who had killed Tiffany Vombrack and shot Harris Caruthers. Now back in Detroit, Caruthers was still recuperating from the shooting, on leave from the FBI for several months. While he was scheduled to appear as a witness in the upcoming trials, he had told Annie privately that he wasn’t planning to return to the Bureau. She let him know that she considered this a mistake, but that she respected his decision. “Don’t pull the plug for good until after you’re well and the bad guys are convicted in court. You may change your mind then,” she told him.

  Much of the Russian connection did not escape the hands of justice. Evgeni Palit was arrested by the FSB and charged with a number of crimes associated with the trafficking operation. Palit Wool’s St. Petersburg facility would be sold along with its US counterpart. A Russian container ship called the Okulovka was impounded in the Big Port of St. Petersburg. Several members of its crew, along with its captain, were taken into custody for conspiracy, international trafficking, and money laundering. Their fates would be decided by the Russian courts. ALAT Colin Clark and his undercover investigators provided enough evidence to send them away for a long time.

  The only hitch in sewing up the network was locating and arresting Nikolai Babikov and any of his colleagues in the Novgorod mafia. Babikov had gone into hiding. Despite picking up various members of the organization and questioning them for days, no one would give up their chief. Such was the powerful hold the criminal outfit had on its men. Additionally, both Annie and the ALAT were convinced that government corruption in Russia protected Babikov. It was going to take a lot more than
murder, kidnapping, trafficking, and racketeering to put a man like him behind bars. In that part of the world, this was an unfortunate truth.

  Still, Annie was very pleased with the outcome. She had solved the case. She had done her job.

  42

  Yana Kravec announced her arrival and waited only a minute in the reception area of Safe Haven, the not-for-profit organization in Indianapolis, before Miranda Ward emerged from behind the door. Miranda smiled and held out her hand.

  “Yana! How are you?”

  Yana stood and shook Miranda’s hand. “Okay. I am fine.”

  “Glad you could come. Come on back. Let’s talk before we go to lunch.”

  The two women went down a hall past several offices until they reached the small office at the end, which Yana had been to before. Miranda had said that the human trafficking division consisted of just her for now, and that her office was the size of a “closet.” It was indeed a little claustrophobic.

  “Have a seat.” Miranda gestured to the familiar chair in front of the desk. Yana removed her light jacket and sat. “So! You’ve completed all the forms and turned them in.”

  Yana nodded and smiled. “I have. That’s all done.”

  “Good. I think I told you last time that it takes about six months for the naturalization process to complete.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So we just have to wait, right?”

  Yana nodded.

  “How’s the apartment?”

  Yana smiled again and said, timidly, “I like it. It is nice.”

  It was really a space in a shelter and residence building owned by Safe Haven. It provided temporary residence for women and children who needed a place to stay, whether they were escaping abusive husbands or, like Yana, had been victims of other crimes against women. Yana didn’t plan on staying there long.

  Miranda sensed her hesitance. “Be honest, Yana, are you comfortable there?”

  “Yes. It is fine for now.”

  “You said you had applied for a job?”

  Yana held her hands in her lap and nodded. “It is for a barista position.”

  Miranda nodded, paused, and wrinkled her brow. “How are you feeling?” she asked more softly.

  Yana was unable to look at her in the eyes. “I don’t know. The nightmares won’t go away.”

  “You’ve talked to the doctor about it?”

  She nodded. The female psychiatrist she was referred to by Safe Haven was very warm and understanding, but Yana didn’t consider herself a good patient. The shock of gaining freedom from such a horrid experience was a considerable emotional rollercoaster. First, she had struggled to get over the pneumonia and gain back her strength, which took nearly a month. While she’d been in the hospital in Michigan, Jason and his sister had come to visit, and it was Miranda’s suggestion that Yana move to Indianapolis when she was able. The female FBI agent in Chicago and a federal attorney she had brought in had also been instrumental in arranging things legally for Yana after her ordeal. In short, her fear that the US “authorities” would deport her was unfounded. Nevertheless, she was still in pain. In the hush of the night, she continued to relive her experiences. Supposedly, the antidepressants would halt the daily tears, but her doctor had said that it could take at least a month for the pills to kick in. It had been longer than that, and she still didn’t feel any better.

  Miranda was gentle. “It takes time, Yana. It can take a long time, and it’s possible there will always be bad … feelings. But you’re doing the right things. You’ll get through it.”

  She held a tissue box out for Yana, who took one to wipe her watering eyes. She nodded and said, “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

  “You’re not convinced.”

  Yana smiled but shook her head.

  “What have the other victims you met said?”

  Two other women who had been trafficked were at the residence building. Yana hadn’t known them before. “That it gets better.”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “But I am so angry!” She spat it out, as if the pronouncement had been building in a pressure cooker. The tears came again. She took another tissue.

  “Being angry is okay, Yana. You’re right to be angry. And you’re going to testify at the trials. That will empower you, Yana. Putting those men behind bars will go a long way toward giving you some kind of closure. Look, it will always be a memory, a part of you—but you will one day be able to live with it.”

  Yana managed to get hold of herself after a moment. “I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay, you can tell me anything, it’s why I’m here. You getting hungry? I promised I’d take you to lunch today.”

  “That would be very nice,” Yana said.

  “Okay, let’s go. There’s a good sandwich shop down the block. We’ll walk, is that all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “One other thing.” She handed Yana an envelope. “It’s a letter from your parents.”

  Yana’s eyes bulged. “For … for me?”

  “Yes.”

  She started to open it, but stopped. “I will read later. It will make me cry, I think.”

  “That’s all right. Take it with you.”

  Yana Kravec followed Miranda out of the building and into the coolness of fall. Safe Haven was located a few blocks from the public library on busy Pennsylvania Street. She liked Indianapolis so far. It was nothing like St. Petersburg, but she wasn’t interested anymore in the kind of excitement for which she had run away from home. While it could be very much a “city,” Indianapolis was much more subdued. That suited her for now.

  In her mind, she knew that Miranda was right. Healing would take time. Yana was smart enough to see herself objectively. She was aware that she was hurting, but she also had the fortitude and courage to move on. As the man who rescued her—Jason—had told her at the end of that long, wretched night, “You’re Wonder Woman, Yana. Don’t forget that.”

  Yes, it was going to take time … but things would be better in America.

  Annie parked the new 2013 Ford Fusion—she had asked for an upgrade and managed to get only five years’ worth—at the Cakewell Apartments lot, got out, and stretched. It was Thursday, nearly eight o’clock in the evening, and she was just getting home from the office. Her work had actually increased since August, and there were still plenty of loose ends to chase in the Bear Claws Case. The investigation was by no means finished—it would rumble on until the dates of the individual trials.

  For fifteen minutes, she’d been a celebrity at the FO, but she knew not to let it go to her head. Many agents received their own fifteen minutes, sometimes more than once. More often than not, though, agents worked their asses off to solve cases behind the scenes, invisibly, only to have the resolutions credited to local law enforcement or other agencies. It was the nature of the FBI.

  Although she was beat from a long day, Annie was more dedicated than ever to the job, and particularly to her area of the Bureau. After experiencing firsthand the horror of what had happened to women like Yana Kravec, she knew there were never enough hours.

  The tap dancing would continue to suffer. She had told Derek that if she showed up for a lesson—great. If not—tough. He understood and insisted that she not worry about it.

  The increasing time at work also meant, of course, that Annie still had no one with whom to share her personal life outside of the office. That might have been nice. Certainly not with a man like Eric, though. She knew she was over him when he had left a message on her voicemail to congratulate her, and she never bothered to call him back. It wasn’t a priority. Having someone to date wasn’t a necessity by any means, but still, it would be … nice.

  Before heading to the Cakewell building, a sixth sense somehow directed her to the Starbucks across the street. She followed her intuition and, sure enough, he was sitting at the table in front of his laptop.

  “There she is,” Jason Ward said. “Are you stalking me?”


  Annie grinned as she sat across from him. “Back at it, are you?”

  “Not really. Pretending to. Class didn’t let out until five-thirty, and then I went to hear an author friend speak at a book-signing, and after that I walked home. I picked up my mail—” he indicated a small stack of envelopes on the table—“and changed my mind. I turned around and ended up here. Not sure why. I even brought my mail with me. And here I am.”

  “Mm. So should I ask how you’re doing?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I’m good. You?”

  “Just busy. It’s nuts.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Everything going okay with the attorney?”

  “Yep. Nothing to do right now. We’ll have some more talks before the trial.”

  There was an awkward pause, and Annie started to get up to leave. Jason said, “Did I tell you that Nat and I are officially kaput?”

  “You’d said the engagement was off.”

  “Yeah, well, we won’t be seeing each other at all anymore.”

  Annie pursed her lips. “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “No, don’t be sorry. It’s best that way. She won’t denounce her father and brother. I guess I can sort of understand since they’re family members and all, but still …” He sighed. “I think she kind of blames me for Trey’s death.”

  Annie reached out and touched his hand. “She’s wrong. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you’re doing okay?”

  “I am. I was dumbfounded by it all at first, you know? And then I was angry. And then I was just sad. I think Nat realized her brother was sick and twisted, but she was in denial. What she suspected or knew about her father I’ll never know.” He shook his head and glanced at the mail on the table. “Hey. Look here.”

  He pulled out an envelope addressed to him. Printed on the return label was MAXIM PALEY and the Highland Park address.

  “Oh my. What’s in it?”