The Blade

by Saul, Jonas

  It was time to leave federal custody and that was exactly what he wanted to do. He did not want to talk or hear anything anyone else had to say.

  It was over.

  “Darwin,” Victor said, “I’m the local Russian Mafia expert. A large part of the information coming and going that deals with the Red Mafia channels through me.”

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Darwin asked. “Gambino was Italian.”

  “New information has come to light.”

  “I’ll ask a different way,” Darwin said. “Why are you telling me?” He looked at Carson and got no support.

  “Because your name has come up.”

  The room grew silent. His stomach dropped and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip.

  Oh no, not again. Please tell me this nightmare is over.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Recently we found out that Gambino was moving his interests into arms dealing. The tank and his private planes were converted to war machines with specific modifications. He stored munitions in the back of that warehouse where you found the tank. The kind of stockpiles he had would shame a small country.”

  “But he’s dead. That’s all over. I’m not an agent or anything special like that, so I’ll ask one more time, why tell me? Isn’t this classified or something?”

  “Bear with me.” Victor opened a file that lay on the coffee table in front of him. “Do you recognize this man?” He handed Darwin a black and white five-by-seven photo.

  The picture was taken in the street of a busy downtown area like New York or Toronto. The man had stepped from a limousine and turned to the camera. Darwin stared at the face and drew a blank.

  “Should I recognize him?” Darwin asked.

  “No, but he knows you.”

  “And why does that matter? I’m sure my name has traveled the circles of mobsters after what happened in Toronto. Who is this guy?” Darwin asked, handing the photo back.

  “This is Arkady Andropov, also known as A.A.”

  “I know what AKA stands for.”

  Victor looked at Carson and then back to Darwin. “What?” he asked.

  “You said, ‘also known as’. I’m just telling you that I know what AKA stands for. You can use your special-agent talk if you want to. I read books and I write thrillers.”

  Victor tried to smile. “Okay … um, Arkady has been seen in Jacksonville as recently as three days ago.”

  “For fear of sounding retarded and repeating myself several times, what does this have to do with me?” Darwin asked.

  “Arkady Andropov is reputed to be the boss of the Russian Bratva in Toronto.”

  “What’s Bratva?” Darwin asked.

  “It’s Russian, meaning brotherhood.”

  Darwin looked at Carson who shrugged and put on a dumb smile.

  “Is this special-agent talk that I don’t understand? Okay, egg’s on my face. Tell me what you have to. Let’s get on with this so I can leave.”

  “As far as we can tell, Arkady runs the most dangerous Mafia in the world this side of Russia and he does it in Toronto.”

  “What do you mean, ’As far as you can tell’?” Darwin asked, crossing his legs to keep them from bouncing. “And who says the Bratva is the most dangerous Mafia in the world? I’ve met the Harvester of Sorrow. I’d say he was pretty dangerous.”

  “The U.S. State Department has declared the Red Mafia the most dangerous mobsters in the world. They aren’t like La Cosa Nostra.”

  Darwin uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, balancing himself over his knees. “Are we going to keep up the question and answer games or will you guys speak English soon?”

  Victor looked at Carson with a blank expression.

  This guy seems pretty fucking dumb to be a special anything.

  “La Cosa Nostra is just another word for the Italian Mafia,” Carson said. “Gambino and Fuccini were both bosses in La Cosa Nostra.”

  “I’m done. I’m walking away. Rosina and I are going to where no one will ever find us. You guys aren’t making sense with your Mafia 101 course.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Mike said. “You can’t leave.”

  Darwin looked at the man who had remained quiet so far.

  “I’m afraid to ask, but why is that? Why can’t I leave?”

  “Because you will be murdered within forty-eight hours if you leave this building.”

  “Bullshit.” Darwin looked at Carson who didn’t offer any support. Darwin stood and walked to the office door. No one tried to stop him. “So you’re saying, if I walk out this door and go to my wife, someone will kill me?”

  Mike nodded. “It has already been ordered if you don’t do what Arkady is asking of you.”

  Darwin grew suspicious. “And you know what Arkady wants with me? Wait, aren’t you the FBI? Can’t you protect us?”

  Mike nodded. “We know what he wants.” Then he nodded again.

  Holy fuck … bobble-head bastard.

  Darwin put his hand on the doorknob. “Do you know how many cops and FBI agents are on the Mafia payroll? Well, I’ve met a few and the fact that you know what a leader in the Russian mob wants with me makes me feel like I can’t trust you.”

  He turned the knob and opened the door. No one waited on the other side to stop him.

  “Darwin,” Carson said, “Mike Keans has been with the Bureau for twenty-six years. He’s our resident expert on the Russian Mafia after working deep cover for eight of those twenty-six years. He has seen things that would make an average man kill himself to rid the images. Mike is one of the most dedicated soldiers the FBI has. There’s not many men like him.” Carson dropped his feet from the corner of his desk and pulled his chair in. “He has informants all over the country. When he says your name is floating around and there’s been a hit put out on your head, I’d listen to him.”

  What he thought was the end of the nightmare was just the beginning. As upset as he was to learn about the hit on his head, it also pissed him off.

  “What the fuck am I supposed to do to get these maggots off my shit?”

  Carson gestured at the chair Darwin had vacated. “Please, shut the door and come sit. We have an opportunity to help you end this once and for all. Hear us out.”

  Darwin pondered his options but knew he had no choice. He closed the door and walked back to the chair, feeling defeated. “I hope what you have to say cheers me up because my life just got gloomier.”

  Victor opened another file and pulled out a newspaper folded in half. He flopped it down on the table in front of Darwin.

  “Read the headlines. Don’t lose control. Only the people in this room and Greg Stinsen knows what it says. The paper will be released later today.”

  Darwin picked up the paper, flipped it open to the front page and almost vomited. His stomach clenched and he bent over like he’d gotten kicked in the abdomen.

  The paper had a picture of Rosina from her high school graduation on the front page. Beside the picture was the article on the Gambino house shootings from seven days ago. The report said the shootings claimed another victim. Rosina Kostas (nee Capote) died in the hospital due to the fatal bullet wound caused when her husband, Darwin Kostas, shot her.

  Below that, Greg Stinsen was featured as a valued officer with the FBI, also dead by Darwin’s hand. At the time the article was written, Darwin Kostas was still at large in the Jacksonville area. He may be armed and dangerous. Do not approach if you see him. There was an 800 number for people to call and his high school graduation photo featured by the number.

  “What is this?” he asked, his teeth clenched. “I left my wife’s side this morning. She’s fine. They were rubber bullets. Carson, you were there. Why is this paper reporting lies?”

  “We did it.”

  Darwin tossed the paper back at Victor. It fluttered and landed on the floor by the man’s feet. “Why would you guys do that?”

  “To save your life.”

  “W
hat are you talking about? Details—I need more of those things.”

  Mike motioned with his hands for Victor and Carson to stay quiet. He looked at Darwin and said, “We are on the cusp of the biggest Mafia war we’ve ever seen on our soil. Scratch that … the biggest Mafia war the world has ever seen, and you’re at the center of the storm.”

  Darwin sat back, his eyes wide. He was sure his face was white. Pins and needles tickled his hands as the blood rushed to his major organs, adrenaline pumped into his stomach, and the first signs of shock settled in on his system. He remained speechless.

  “The Russian Mafia are muscling in on Toronto. There are seven known crime families in Toronto, three of which have been disbanded or killed off. You know of the Fuccinis, which was the strongest family. The other four left are scrambling for territory.” He paused and stood. “Darwin, can I get you some water? You don’t look so good.”

  Darwin nodded. “Yeah.”

  Carson got up and walked out the door. They waited. Mike looked out the office window while Victor rummaged through the manilla folders he had with him.

  Carson came back in with two bottles of Evian and handed one to Darwin, the other to Mike. After Darwin had a few sips, Mike raised his eyebrows. “We good?”

  “Yeah, go on.”

  “Okay, the Russian Mafia are into everything. They’re active throughout Russia and have connections with the Chinese Triads and Italy’s Cosa Nostra, as well as biker gangs. The Reds have spread to Israel, Hungary, Spain, the United Kingdom, and now Canada and the U.S. They started in Brighton Beach, but none of the history matters for the here and now. They’re actually on friendly terms with numerous biker gangs and our undercover agent says there’s confusion in the ranks. They can’t figure out how a guy like you had the help of a biker gang to deal with Fuccini. I don’t think you realize just how powerful you look to them right now.”

  Mike paused, drank half the water in his bottle and set it on a corner of Carson’s desk. He paced the floor in front of the window.

  “The gang you’re talking about,” Darwin said, “helped me in exchange for a book deal.”

  “A book deal?” Carson asked. “What the fuck?”

  “They were just supposed to be muscle and things got out of hand. I asked for their help and in exchange I would write a nonfiction book, like a biography, on the leader, Richard H, and his biker gang. We’ve been sending emails back and forth recently, working on the first draft. He’s in a safe house somewhere too.”

  Carson laughed. “Where the hell do you come from? Biker gangs killing made men, and all to write books.”

  “The Reds don’t see it that way,” Mike cut in. “You’ve shown that you’ve got clout and not even the FBI can keep you down.”

  Darwin grunted. “I was afraid of that. I just wish it would all go away. Tell me whatever else you need to.”

  “The Reds are involved in human trafficking, drug trafficking, smuggling of weapons, which include nuclear weapons and money laundering, not to mention prostitution. The big money,” he raised his right hand to emphasize a point, “is in weapons. At the end of the cold war, Russia fell apart and free enterprise sprung up. Many soldiers in the Russian army stopped getting paychecks. People still needed to eat, to survive. For the right price, and if you had the right contacts, anything could be bought. The DEA busted a couple guys attempting to sell a Russian submarine to a Columbian drug lord who wanted to bring his cocaine into America underwater. The Reds are so dangerous, they’ve been known to shoot someone just to see if their gun works.”

  Darwin felt sick. That he could be so involved in the underworld, after a simple accident months ago, boggled his mind. He just wanted it to all to go away. Life almost wasn’t worth living if he had to live it like this.

  “Darwin, are you listening?”

  He looked up and met Mike’s eyes. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but when you’re done, I will be meeting up with my wife and leaving the States.”

  Mike looked at Victor and then Carson. He drank the rest of his water, tossed it to the sofa and addressed Darwin.

  “They want to know how you’re still alive. You were ordered to be killed by Gambino for meddling with the Fuccini affairs. This doesn’t mean they weren’t happy with what you did—they were. But they’re asking, who is this Darwin Kostas? Is that even his real name? Survival of the fittest. Natural selection—”

  “Stop. I’m so sick of that connection. All my life, same shit …”

  “I understand, but you need to listen. We have men on the inside of the Red Mafia. Yesterday we got a report of a major attack that will take place in a few weeks. We also heard that Arkady wants to meet you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because Gambino was supposed to find out who you work for and then kill you. They want to know how a man as powerful as Gambino could grab you and your wife and after shooting you and burying you in the ground, Gambino is dead and you’re still breathing. They are starting to think you’re seriously connected somehow.”

  “I won’t be breathing for long from the sounds of it,” Darwin said.

  “To them, you’re either a hero or you’re the biggest enemy the Mafia has ever encountered. Arkady has requested a sit-down with you. How that plays out depends on you and how well you play chess.”

  “What? Chess? I don’t know the game.”

  “The Italians play ball on their downtime. The Russians play chess. What I’m saying is the Red Mafia are smart Mafiosi. These men are very serious and very dangerous. You have to be either dead or working for them. That’s it. You’ve become too powerful, according to the inner circle of Russian power. They want their German tank. They want their arms shipments to come in on time. They want their territory to cover all of Toronto. But most of all, they want you.”

  “Well, I don’t want them. So it’s settled.”

  “You’re not getting it. Dead and buried for good, or alive and working for them are your only two options. While working with them, you can help us bust every last Red fucker. Those are your options. We know that Rudy Earlton was working for them. He saw you handle Gambino at Gambino’s estate. He reported back that you shot your own wife and Greg Stinsen. He said that you claimed to be a part of the Red Mafia but that you didn’t offer to show your tattoos.”

  “That’s because I don’t have any tattoos and I never will. No needle will ever get near my flesh.”

  Mike loosened his tie and pulled it off. He undid the top half of his shirt and opened it to reveal numerous tattoos across his chest.

  “This rose here,” Mike pointed to the center of his chest, “was given to me after my initiation. The barbed wire counts for how many years I spent in jail. The rest of these tattoos represent a person’s rank, the sins they’ve committed, the number of murders, and prison sentences. As you advance through the ranks, new tattoos are added. They’ve got over a half a million members worldwide and they’re all looking for you. You pose the largest threat in a long time and they want to know why. In three months, you’ve killed more Cosa Nostra than anyone in history. The Reds aren’t stupid. They know you’re not a simple vigilante. That would be impossible. It’s rumored that you work for us and since the American justice system is soft, we’ve let loose a crazy motherfucker in their midst to off as many as we can.”

  “So they already think I work for you? That’s great. I’ll just go have this sit-down while still working for you. That’ll get me killed real fast.”

  Mike did his shirt up. “You don’t see what I’m saying. You can’t escape this. You can’t just walk away. You will be dead inside two days if you leave this office unguarded. It won’t go away. There’s nowhere in the world you can go without a new face, new name, and a lot of praying. Even then, they have informants in the FBI like Rudy. Somehow, some way, they’ll find you. The only way to deal with this is to go to them. Tell them that what you did with Fuccini and Gambino was to serve as a resume for entry into the Russian Mafia.
Convince them to take you on and once you have something, we pull you out, arrest the lot of them and send you to South America for the rest of your life with a new name like Bob or Ralph.”

  “No way. Can’t do it. I’m no Mafia guy. I like bacon and eggs for breakfast. I write thrillers for Amazon.com. I snuggle with my wife in bed and cry while watching sappy movies. The last few months have been hell, but it was all to stay alive. I’ve been lucky. When the bad guys came, I got away each time. That’s it. I will not walk into their den willingly. I’ve been running from the swarm of bees after accidentally knocking the beehive off the tree. I won’t lie down on the beehive and not expect to get stung. That’s just fucking crazy.”