CHAPTER 8
Josie
Valerie Royce has been with the FBI for almost twenty years and after talking to her for no more than thirty seconds, you know she’s a force to be reckoned with. I met her just over a month ago during our onboarding meeting for the Voronin case and have had several conversations with her since.
Today we’re having an in-person strategy session and I’m grateful I’ve been invited to attend. Apparently, Malik isn’t completely sidelining me from this case.
Valerie is set up in the main conference room at the end of the large table, laptop open and her files arranged.
She has silver streaks through her dark hair, which is cut just above her shoulders and pinned back on the sides.
She’s wearing a sharp navy pantsuit with sensible shoes she can run in if needed.
I wore something similar every day of my career with the NSA.
There’s a junior agent beside her—a younger man with the eager posture of someone who’s not been in the bureau long enough to lose the impulse to take notes on everything.
Malik’s at the opposite end of the table, Cole to his left and Reid to his right. Cole lifts his chin in greeting to me; Reid winks. Malik nods to the chair beside Reid and I drop down in it, opening my laptop so I can take notes.
We all chitchat for a few minutes and two more Jameson agents stroll in—Avery Wright and Joe Fanasick. They’re both regular field agents and will probably be handling front-line grunt work from here on out.
Malik leans forward when everyone’s settled. “All right, let’s begin. Agent Royce.”
Royce straightens in her chair. “As you know, today is a recap to see where both sides are on the Voronin investigation and further develop our game plan.”
She taps a few keys on her laptop and a slideshow begins on the flat screen hanging at mid-wall. She walks us through the bureau’s two-year history with Anatoli Voronin and does so without flourish or notes. It’s clear it’s been a long part of her life trying to take down this human trafficker.
I’ve heard this background before, but there are new members on the team. I don’t mind listening in again. I’m so heavily invested on an emotional level, every reiterated fact is like fuel for me.
The Federal Bureau of Investigation opened the file in early 2024 after a trafficking victim—a twenty-three-year-old Romanian woman—was recovered from a brothel in Tukwila, Washington.
The FBI became immediately involved and Royce was able to identify Voronin’s organization as the source of her transit out of Canada.
The bureau spent six months building a working picture and cultivated two confidential informants.
One was a low-level dock worker who had been at one of the off-loads.
The other was a woman who had been trafficked through the pipeline and escaped after eighteen months in the network.
Both informants died in the second year of the investigation.
A slide appears with their photos and Royce’s lips flatten in dismay over the loss of her assets.
“Mr. Salah was found in his apartment in March. Cause of death was officially listed as a fentanyl overdose, but he had no documented history of drug use.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Ms. Petrenko disappeared in July, and her body was recovered from Puget Sound.”
My chest squeezes painfully as I think of those women who were being off-loaded the other night. Where will they eventually die?
This is why Jameson was contracted to help with the case. The death of the informants put the FBI back to ground zero and they needed fresh eyes and an intelligence network as good as the bureau’s.
Royce taps a key on her laptop and a photo of Voronin appears. It was taken recently—he’s in a tuxedo. Early sixties with iron-gray hair neatly cut short on the sides.
He could be anyone’s grandfather out for a night at the theater.
“Voronin came from Russia to the United States in 1991 with organized crime ties through the St. Petersburg networks. He naturalized in 1998 and has no US criminal record. He owns a logistics consultancy in Bellevue and a primary residence on Mercer Island. He donates to the Seattle Art Museum and to Children’s Hospital. He’s a model immigrant on paper.”
“But not in practice,” Reid mutters.
Royce agrees and nods toward the screen where Voronin’s face smiles out at us. “In reality, we suspect he runs the largest maritime trafficking pipeline on the West Coast.”
She closes the laptop with a sigh. “How about you tell me what you’ve been able to glean since our last meeting?”
Malik takes control of the flat screen with his laptop, running through the last six weeks of work. He runs through BOB’s pattern analysis on vessel traffic in the Salish Sea as well as financial analysis of the shell companies adjacent to Voronin’s operation.
“We’ve identified two probable secondary cargo hubs, and we’ll be getting eyes on them in rotating shifts,” he says, nodding at the two new agents. “Wright and Fanasick will each lead their own teams.”
Malik gets to my contribution and nods my way. “As I told you in a written report a few days ago, Ms. McAdams had a run-in with Voronin’s men.”
“Yes,” Royce says, eyes glinting with anticipation. “This is what I really want to hear about.”
I clear my throat, feeling a little nervous under the spotlight. “I ran an analytical track that turned me on to a potential off-load sight on Fidalgo.”
“Which is the exact reason we wanted Jameson on this case,” Royce says, her eyes landing steady on me. “But I would like you to walk us through what you observed on Fidalgo Island on Thursday night. I’ve read the debrief by Mr. Mercer, but I’d like to hear every detail you can recall.”
I’m ready for this request. I expected she’d want to hear it and I spent a lot of time rehearsing last night after Malik let me know I’d be in on this meeting.
I went over Cole’s debrief report, and I tried to figure out any angle that Royce might come at me for additional details that could put attention on Finn.
I start to recount the tale. The bluff above the dock, the photographs I took, the deer trail I hadn’t scouted, the arm around my throat from behind. I tell her about being marched down onto the dock, the handcuffed women, and the man who was apparently in charge by the name of Mikhail.
Royce holds up a hand and I stop, looking at her in question. The agent she brought along pulls a photograph from a folder and gives it to Royce who slides it to me. “Is this the man?”
It’s a surveillance photo, mid-resolution, taken from elevation. I look up at her. “That’s him.”
Royce nods slowly. “His name is Mikhail Sokolov. He has been on our watch list and we can connect him to Voronin’s legitimate business enterprises.
We have him at Voronin’s residence on a dozen occasions and even as his plus-one at industry events.
We can prove he works for Voronin in every way that matters except the one that would put him in prison.
” She pauses, and I’m not sure it’s for dramatic effect when she says, “Until you.”
I nod in understanding because I know the minute I escaped with my life I became an integral part of the case against Voronin.
I am now a key witness.
“Do you understand the importance of that?” she asks me.
“I do.”
“Do you understand what that means for your personal exposure?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve lost two informants and we’re confident that Voronin killed them. While he doesn’t know if you survived, I’m sure he’s going to be looking for you, as well as the boat that pulled you out of the water.”
My stomach cramps at the thought. While I get that my life is going to be in continual danger, I don’t want Finn and his crew to be hurt. “I understand.”
“I want you to be fully aware, Josie.” The use of my first name, a rarity for her, doesn’t go unnoticed. It means she’s worried.
I meet her eyes. “I’m personally aware, Agent Royce.”
“Good.” Her gaze slides to Malik. “Let’s talk new operational options.”
Conversation opens to all sitting at the table and in the end, it’s clear there are two paths.
The slower one is to continue building direct against Voronin.
It will be circumstantial because Voronin will never be directly involved.
Blocks of financial data and relationships will be key.
We’ll lean heavy on surveillance and it will take a long time to continue to build the case.
We’ll keep searching for new informants and hope we get a lucky break.
The other option is to focus in on Mikhail Sokolov now that I’ve linked him to a clear moment of trafficking. We would focus our attention on this man, ideally trying to catch him in the act again. Make an arrest and get him to flip on Voronin.
My eyewitness testimony would be greatly bolstered.
Neither of these paths are exclusive and will continue in tandem, but it’s agreed that our focus will be on Mikhail.
Which is completely ironic seeing as how if Royce is correct, Mikhail’s probably going to be focusing his attention on me. Chances are, when two people are so focused on each other, their paths will intersect.
Cole and Royce engage in specific operational details between our two agencies including surveillance, asset deployment and comms protocols. I listen attentively, although I’m not sure if they want me involved.
That curiosity is answered sooner rather than later. Royce circles back to me. “Ms. McAdams. We need to talk about your protection.”
“My what?” I ask, head swinging between her and Malik, who happens to be nodding in what appears to be grave agreement.
“We know that Voronin’s men went through your vehicle and will know that you work for Jameson,” Royce says, and I don’t miss the slight censure in her voice.
“We could put her in a safe house arrangement,” Malik offers. I cut a glance at Cole whose expression remains impassive. Reid looks confused. “We have one available outside of Issaquah, secure, off the books. Jameson would maintain the cover.”
Royce considers this, but I’m firmly opposed.
“Malik,” I say and his attention comes to me. “May I say something?”
“Go ahead.”
“With all due respect, putting me in a safe house at this point is a worse option than keeping me in plain sight.”
The room turns to me.
“You said it yourself, Agent Royce. Voronin doesn’t know I survived. The version of events on the dock that night is that I went into the water and didn’t come out. Sokolov will have reported that. The most likely thing Voronin currently believes is that I drowned.”
“Likely,” Royce agrees.
“If they’re somehow watching Jameson and see that an agent disappears from work tomorrow, that will alert them. A Jameson analyst who suddenly stops coming into the building is visible. The minute you put me into protection will actually put more attention on me and I will be actively hunted.”
“Ms. McAdams,” Royce says, almost a little too kindly. “While I appreciate your zeal in wanting to stay on this case, surely you can’t think I’d fall for that reasoning.”
No, I didn’t. But I’m not done. “I’m the analyst who built most of this case.
I’m running BOB and I have the pattern work that’s driving our objectives.
Pulling me off the case at the moment we are about to operationalize what I built makes the case worse, not better.
And my best personal protection is to look exactly like a Jameson analyst working an eight-to-five job.
Boring. Visible. Not worth investigating. ”
I look at Malik. “I’m asking you to put me back on the case. Officially. With whatever guardrails you and Agent Royce think are appropriate, but you need me to work this, and frankly… I need to work it.”
Malik rubs his jaw as he considers. Royce stays silent, willing to leave the decision to him.
He looks at me and I’m aware he’s deciding between the version of me that’s his employee and the version of me that’s the case.
“All right,” he says. “But there are conditions.”
“Name them.”
“You’re back on the Voronin case officially.
You will run analytics in this building only and any fieldwork must be with a partner.
You will not be at the office before seven or after eight.
You will install additional security systems at your house, and you will check in with me by close of business every day.
You’ll carry a panic beacon that I’ll issue you this afternoon and if at any point Agent Royce or I assess your exposure has escalated, you go to the safe house. No argument. Are we agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Royce closes her folder. “Good. Let’s begin.”
The meeting runs for another hour and Royce assigns us additional federal resources.
Cole and Reid run scenarios with Royce’s junior agent, who turns out to have more field experience than I’d assumed based on his looks.
The plan to surveil the next probable off-load window takes shape on a whiteboard, and the entire time, all I can think about is that while I’m back on the case, I actually am the case.
These two things are now braided together, and I can’t pull them apart.
When the meeting ends, everyone gathers their materials and rises from the table.
“Oh, and one other thing,” Royce says, and we all turn her way. But it’s to Cole that she’s looking. “We’re going to be setting up interviews of the two men who rescued Ms. McAdams from the water.”
Cole nods as if he was expecting this. “Finn Marlowe and Marcus Whitfield.”
“I’d love it if you could handle point.” She thumbs at the agent beside her. “I’ll probably have Agent Kazawic join you.”
A burst of adrenaline shoots through me at the realization that they’ll be talking to Finn. I mean, I suppose I knew that was a possibility, but no one had even mentioned his name until today.
“Not a problem,” Cole says. “We’ll coordinate it.”
I want to offer to sit in on it, but they won’t let me. I’m an actual witness and we can’t have me coloring the interview. Not only that, I don’t want to seem overly interested in Finn.
Everyone starts to clear out and Reid bumps my shoulder with his. “Welcome back to the team, McAdams.”
I’m the last one to leave, but before I do, I grab the photo of Mikhail Sokolov that was left on the table. I think about Finn and the fact that he’ll be getting a call from Cole very soon. He probably expects it, but I should give him a heads-up.
I don’t know what telling him would do, but it would give me an excuse to see him tonight.
I haven’t heard from him since he dropped me at my house last night. That kiss had me believing I would absolutely hear from him, but I’m doubting it now.