Chapter Two
Cameron
“You’re late,” Leslie said, taking a sip of coffee.
“By three minutes,” I replied, taking a seat.
“Three minutes can feel like an eternity when you’re the one who’s waiting. Especially out in the field,” he said, using his ‘handler voice.’
“You missed me that much since our last meeting?” I asked. “I had no idea your feelings for me were so strong.”
“The only strong feeling I have right now is to stick my size thirteen Ferragamo up your ass.”
“Shit, Leslie. How the hell can you afford Ferragamos on a government salary?”
“Because I was never stupid enough to get married or have kids. Which means I get to do whatever I want with my money, and I like to dress well.”
I chuckled. “You’re certainly the best dressed handler I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m the best dressed officer in the whole damn company,” he said.
“You’ve got my vote,” I retorted, just as our waitress came to the table.
“Top you up, sir?” she asked Leslie in a less than enthusiastic tone, before turning to me.
“Can I get you anything, sweetie?”
“The coffee smells great and I’d love the blackberry cobbler if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all,” she replied, giving me a wink. “Anything you need, just ask. Anything.”
Once she was gone, Leslie asked, “Does every woman you meet fall in love with you? What the hell is that?”
“Isn’t that one of the reasons you recruited me in the first place?”
“No. I recognized that you had charisma and a natural ease with women. Not that I was recruiting the American James Bond.”
“What can I say, Leslie? Some guys just have it, and the rest have to buy designer clothes.”
“I can put you inside a cell at Guantanamo with one phone call. You know that, right?”
Leslie was not my handler’s real name, but the alias he was currently using.
He changed them up from time to time but always used a unisex name.
Last time he was Stacy. Before that, Blair.
It made subterfuge easier as my family always assumed I was meeting a woman, and honestly, I think he just got a kick out of it.
Not that I wanted to paint my handler as a frivolous man.
Leslie aka: Frank Graves, was an amazingly effective spy with a long and highly respected career.
Working in the Talent Acquisition department was only one of many lives he’d lived within the company.
His field work over the years sent over a dozen enemies of the United States to prison or to their graves.
His diplomatic record was equally, if not more impressive, and I would not be at all surprised if one day he was appointed as Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
Four years ago, I was recruited by the agency for a program called the Longbow Initiative. An ongoing undercover operation set up to infiltrate and monitor human trafficking groups at Mexican and Canadian border towns.
“What’s up with the call? Why am I here?” I asked.
“I need you to get on a plane to Moscow in six hours.”
“What? Moscow? No way. I just got into it with my brothers about how I’m never around and I have an eight o’ clock meeting tomorrow morning that I can’t miss.”
“No, you have an early morning flight on a diplomatic plane that you can’t miss.
According to the employment agreement you made with the United States government, that is.
You do remember your good old Uncle Sam, don’t you?
He’s the one in the hat who puts all that money into your bank accounts every month. ”
“You told me I could use whatever civilian cover story I wanted to,” I said. “Well, I’m playing the role of construction company co-owner, and I have to keep up appearances.”
“Seems to me keeping up appearances for you would mean flaking out on the meeting and showing up two days later with an excuse.”
“The only reason my family thinks I’m a flake is because I can’t tell them what I really do for a living outside of the building business.”
“You chose your cover,” Leslie said, with zero sympathy in his voice.
“I chose to be close to my family. Something you’d understand if you had one of your own,” I snapped.
“You’re absolutely right, which is why I don’t.
Cameron, at some point you are going to be forced to isolate yourself even further from your family.
You’re a damn good field officer, but if you want to further your career within the company, not to mention make an even larger impact through your service, you’re gonna need to go deeper. ”
“Deeper? I’m pushing thirty years old, and all I do is work.
Then, when I’m not on the job, I’m either working with my brothers or getting yelled at by them.
Not to mention, they think it took me four years of junior college to get my business degree, and that I spend all my time chasing women and partying.
Little do they know, I only drink when I’m around them, and most of that is theater.
Hell, I think I’ve managed to kill three potted plants due to dumping my drinks when no one was looking.
And it’s pretty fucking hard to be a playboy when you haven’t even been on a date in three years. ”
Penny returned with my coffee, cobbler, and another wink before slinking away back to the kitchen.
“Do you remember what I told you when I recruited you?” Leslie asked.
I nodded. “You said that even though I wouldn’t be working for the company full-time at first, that this job would require all of me.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly what I said.”
“Okay, but all of me still means there’s a me in here, right?” I jabbed my fingers into my chest. “I mean, I still get to have some sort of life outside the company, don’t I?”
“Maybe,” Leslie replied with a shrug. “Some officers do, and some don’t.
For me, there’s only the job. Maybe you’ll be able to have some sort of regular life.
It’s not for me to say. What is for me to say is to be on this flight.
Your contact will find you once you’re in Moscow, and I’ll see you when you get back home. ”
“My brothers are gonna kill me.”
“Maybe, but you’re doing this for them in a roundabout way.”
“How’s that?”
“Those fires that burned down your company’s homes.”
I nodded.
“Zivon Petrakov orchestrated them.”
“Ilya Petrakov’s son?”
Leslie nodded. “Our Russian intelligence tells us that Zivon was running an insurance scam here in the Pacific Northwest. Setting fires at building sites and then rechanneling the insurance payouts to an offshore account. It’s been a pretty profitable enterprise for Zivon.
He’s trying to prove himself to dear ol’ daddy, but so far all Zivon’s managed to do is bring more federal heat onto the Petrakov family.
Ilya’s pissed and Zivon is hiding somewhere in Moscow, but we’re not sure of his exact location. ”
Ilya Petrakov was the head of a powerful crime syndicate based out of St. Petersburg.
A cruel man who ruled with an iron fist. He was known as ‘the Skinner’ in Russia due to his preferred method of torture.
The only one within his family who was even more bloodthirsty was Ilya’s son Zivon.
A playboy gangster with a massive chip on his shoulder who wanted nothing more than to earn his father’s respect.
“So, this mission is about the Petrakovs?”
Leslie shook his head. “I can’t say much here, but in short, you’ll be backing up an embedded officer. It’s a simple assist, and you won’t be there for very long. Three or four days, a week, tops.”
“Okay, but why me? I’ve never worked a case outside of the U.S., let alone Russia.”
“This mission requires an officer who fits your age, physical description, who can speak, and more importantly, understand Russian, which your file says you’re fluent in.”
“I took Russian for four years,” I replied. “I wouldn’t exactly say I’m fluent in it.”
“You studied fine art in college, didn’t you?”
I nodded. “I minored in it,” I replied. “Graduated with a BFA in art history as well as printmaking. But you knew that already.”
Leslie smiled. “A window of opportunity has been opened for us, so we move accordingly. You’ll be posing as a high-end art broker.”
“So, if this mission isn’t about the Petrakov family, how does it involve me?”
“Because the man you’ll be helping to take down is like family the Petrakovs and one of the Ilya’s biggest earners.
His name is Sasha Fedya. He’s the biggest fence in Russia and taking him down will put Ilya Petrakov on his back foot, which is exactly where the agency wants him.
All you need to do is make a few appearances and then get the hell out of Dodge.
That’s it. Everything else you need to know, you’ll find in your mission brief. ”
“What about Zivon Petrakov?” I asked. “If he’s looked into my family’s business there’s a chance he could recognize me should we meet.”
Leslie lowered his voice. “If you do, management has authorized the use of deadly force if engaged.”
A puff of air escaped my lungs. “In my three years of service I’ve never once drawn my weapon in the line of duty, now I’m being given the green light to assassinate the son of a Russian mob boss?”
“He’s killed three of our informants and one operative in the past two years.
Plus, two SIS agents. Not to mention, the people within his own crew who he iced just for suspecting they were rats.
He’s out of control and daddy doesn’t appear interested in pulling on junior’s leash.
Believe me, putting that dog down would be a service to the whole world. ”
“All things equal, I think I’ll just try my best to stay off his radar,” I said.
“He’ll never know you left the US, let alone landed in his back yard. You’re flying to Russia on a military plane, under deep cover.”
“You recommended me for this job, didn’t you?”
“That’s right,” Leslie replied. “You may not know it, but I’m looking out for you.”
I cocked my head. “How’s that, exactly?”
“Successful completion of this mission comes with a bump to GS-12 and a significant pay raise.” I opened my mouth to speak, but Leslie held up his hand, cutting me off.
“Look, Wallace. I told you, in order to climb you must be willing to go deeper. Well, son, it doesn’t get any deeper than going undercover in Mother Russia.
” Leslie leaned in close. “Tell me something… do you want to put up drywall for the rest of your life, or do you want to serve a higher calling? Because, if you really want to be of service you’re going to have to hang up your toolbelt.
You’re an entry-level operations officer with a bright future, which has afforded you the sliver of a personal life until now.
But, if you want to advance you’re gonna have to let the family business go. ”
“You don’t know how hard what you’re asking me to do is,” I replied.
“Maybe, but every officer has had to give up something or someone at some point. Right now, it’s only a meeting with your brothers.”
I nodded.
“Good. The details of the mission and stage clothes are in the backpack under the table. Your counterpart will have further instructions and a clean weapon waiting for you in Moscow. Hopefully, you won’t need it.
All you need to do is get on the plane, study the brief inside and out and start brushing up on your Russian. ”
“Do you remember your first kill?” I asked, quietly.
“I remember every single detail of that day from what I had for breakfast to the look on his face when I pulled the trigger. You will never forget the first time. It’s impossible.
Others I’ve forgotten, but not the first. It’s the same for every officer.
It’s why those who’ve never gotten wet don’t climb the ranks as quickly, if ever.
Once you’ve killed a man in service to the people of the United States of America it’s hard to trust anyone who hasn’t. It’s kinda fucked up, but it’s true.”
Leslie’s words burned my ears. I didn’t want to hear that this job would turn me into a callous death machine. It’s not why I joined the agency. On the other hand, I’d been trained to kill bad guys, and Zivon was most definitely a bad fucking guy.
“Just keep an eye on my family while I’m gone,” I said before finally taking a bite of my cobbler.
“Good?” Leslie asked.
“Fucking delicious, but I probably should be eating apple pie after such a rousing and patriotic speech.”
“We’re not heroes, Cameron. We’re garbage men. Don’t ever forget that. We take care of the trash, so our citizens aren’t swimming in it every day.”
“You once told me that some officers have at least one civilian who knows what they do.”
“That’s right,” Leslie said, taking a fork full of cobbler from my plate. “The company frowns upon it, but more officers have a civilian confidant than you might think. Officially read in or otherwise. You’re not thinking of spilling the beans, are you?”
“When I imagine the future, I see my family suffering because of what I’ve chosen to do with my life, and I need to do everything I can to avoid that from happening.”
“And you have an ally in mind?”
I nodded. “My brother, Hatch. I think he could and would help me bridge my two lives if I came clean and asked.”
“You don’t sound entirely convinced.”
“He already plays the roles of big brother, father figure, and MC officer. As much as I could use his assistance and guidance, I don’t want to burden him.”
“I think you should trust your gut and hold off on disclosing to anyone right now. Your career is only just beginning, and the burden of knowledge is a genie you can’t ever put back into the bottle.”
“Thanks, Leslie.”
“You can thank me by sliding that cobbler a little closer to me,” he replied.
I pushed my plate toward him and sat back in my seat.