Radiant Angel

I didn’t reply.

She continued, “Also, they picked up on your interest in Tasha.”

“They would take it as a personal interest.”

“Not if they thought you were one of the DSG guys who followed them from the city.” She asked, “Don’t you think that crossed their minds?”

“Are you suggesting that they took Tasha aboard for that reason?”

She didn’t reply directly to my question, but said, “The way I see it, we’re lucky we weren’t asked to come inside the house for a chat. Followed by a one-way boat ride.”

“You watch too many spy movies.”

She poured some beer in her glass and watched the foam rise. She said, “The SVR is neither stupid nor forgiving.” She smiled. “Maybe I watch too many spy movies.”

I changed the subject and asked, “Where do you think that craft was going?”

“I don’t know. You could make a case for it rendezvousing with a ship at sea. Or you could make a case for it putting in on shore. In either case, it appears that Petrov was just party-hopping.”

“Right. Bring your own babes.”

“And he’ll be back at Tamorov’s later tonight or in the morning.”

“Right.”

“And,” she continued, “if we hadn’t gone in there, we wouldn’t even know we lost the target and we wouldn’t be worrying about it.”

“Correct. But we did, and we are.”

“You’ve followed Petrov before.” She asked, “Do you think he’s up to something?”

“That’s why he’s here, Tess.”

“I understand that. But I mean something tonight.”

“I have no direct or indirect knowledge of that.”

“But if he was into something very big, what would it be?”

Well, Colonel Vasily Petrov is a killer, but Tess Faraday, DSG trainee, wouldn’t know that, though Tess Faraday working for someone else would. And since I didn’t know who she was, I replied, “That’s way above my pay grade.”

“But you worked the Mideast section of the ATTF for many years and your job was to think, to analyze, to make an informed guess about what the bad guys were up to.”

“They weren’t Russians.”

“All bad guys are the same.”

“The Russians are a little more subtle than Abdul.” I reminded her, “They’re not terrorists.”

“But you do agree they are the enemy?”

“No one ever used that word in any of my briefings.”

“It’s understood.”

It seemed to me that Mrs. Faraday had something on her mind—like she had learned something during her long visit to the ladies’ room that was, as she indicated, not good news. Well, no use wondering about it since I was sure I was going to hear about it soon, so I changed the subject again and asked her, “What did you learn today?”

“Well, I learned that when you have a problem, you call the police.”

“Right. And when you want a problem, you call the FBI.”

She smiled. “You can take a cop out of the street, but you can’t take the street out of the cop.”

“That’s why they hired me.”

She sipped her beer, and said, “I like you.”

“Is that you talking or the beer?”

“That’s me talking to the beer.”

I smiled.

She asked, “So what happens if you lose a target?”

“As I told Kalish, not too much the first time. But you shouldn’t make it a habit. And you shouldn’t lose the SVR Legal Resident anytime.”

“You went above and beyond on this one.”

“Catering is a bitch,” I agreed.

Our burgers came, I ordered two more beers, and we picked at our fries.

Tess asked, “Are you going to call the CA?”

“If this was a training exercise, Mrs. Faraday, and I was your instructor, I would advise you to communicate up the chain of command, starting with the guy on the street.”

“Show me how it’s done.”

I texted Steve: Anything to report?

A few seconds later, he replied: Negative.

I then texted Kalish: Anything?

He replied: I’ll let you know when there is.

Tess suggested, “You need to call the case agent.”

“Right.” I turned my wristwatch toward me, explaining, “This is a two-way radio.” I said into my watch, “Corey calling home base. Come in home base.” I listened, but there was no response.

Tess called for the check and said to me, “You’re getting yourself in deeper. Just call and explain the situation, and tell them you have it covered. That’s all they want to hear.”

“I’d like to be able to tell them that the Suffolk PD has located the target.”

“I’d like to be five pounds thi

I’d like to have a bigger dick. I said to her, “I’m thinking that we should get on a harbor launch or chopper and join the search.” I explained, “It looks good.”

“If it looks good, it is good. But first…” She glanced at her watch. “I’d like to reunite you with that old friend.”

I didn’t even bother to ask who, where, or why. I paid the bill, and we left the diner and got into the Blazer.

She headed east on Montauk Highway, and I said to her, “This better be important.”

“You know it is.”

Okay. So my trainee had gone into the phone booth and come out Superman. Amazing.

Obviously there was more going on tonight than even I knew. And I was about to find out what it was. Or did Ms. Faraday have more tricks up her sleeve? Stay tuned.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tess took a right onto a small road and continued past a sign that said SHINNECOCK NATION—NO TRESPASSING.

I pointed out, “You’re in Indian territory.”

“We’re meeting here. For a powwow.”

“Okay.” The FBI, as I indicated, could be a bit dull, but these people—and I don’t mean the Indians—were into drama and stagecraft.

The road was narrow, bumpy, and dark, and Tess slowed down. She said to me, apropos of nothing and something, “The charter of the Central Intelligence Agency expressly forbids the Agency from operating on American soil. Therefore, as you know, when the CIA has a person of interest who lands on American soil, they have to share the case with the FBI. The FBI, on the other hand, can legally operate in foreign countries.” She reminded me, “You, for instance, and your wife were posted to Yemen.”

I didn’t recall telling her that. But I did recall Yemen. And I knew why she mentioned it. And now I thought I knew who this old friend was. So I slipped my Glock out of my pancake holster and stuck it in my pocket.

She continued, “And then we have State Department Intelligence, which confines its activities to diplomatic spying, including so-called diplomats who are actually spies, such as Vasily Petrov.”

I inquired, “Is there a point to this monologue?”

She went on, “The CIA, as with any similar organization, is reluctant to share or turn over important information or important suspects to another agency.”

“Reluctant might be an understatement.”

“So,” she continued, “the CIA has to find ways to operate freely and legally on American soil.” She informed me, “Sometimes, if the suspect is a foreign diplomat, they will work with State Department Intelligence, and most times they will work with the FBI.” She reminded me, “The Anti-Terrorist Task Force, for instance, has several CIA officers attached to the task force.” She prompted, “I believe you knew one or two of them.”

“Right.” My wife actually killed one of them. And probably slept with that asshole, Ted Nash, before she and I were married. But it wasn’t a crime of passion; it was self-defense. Or so it was ruled. But the CIA thought otherwise and they have long memories, as I found out in Yemen. And maybe as I was about to find out here.

Ms. Faraday continued, “In this case, the person of interest, Colonel Vasily Petrov, is a diplomat. And who is it that is watching Vasily Petrov the most closely?”