Chapter 46
Chris
Saturday night, Tatiana and I work a club in K-Town where she has contacts adjacent to Yakuza circles. The Serbian consolidation has created strange bedfellows. Old enemies finding common ground in mutual opportunity.
As Cal Logan, I’m a ghost from Vicente’s operation. Not someone anyone in LA would recognize on sight—I’ve been in Mexico for eight years. But a name that carries weight with the right people. The ones who move between organizations. The ones who remember what Amador’s network used to be.
Through careful conversation and strategically placed cash, we piece together more of the picture. The Haruki-kai haven’t forgotten what Vicente did to their oyabun: the elaborate tattoos, carefully removed and preserved. Art for his walls. A message to anyone who thought they could touch him.
They’ve partnered with what’s left of Dragonov’s network. The plan is to share the spoils once Vicente and Arturo are eliminated. Our intel confirms the connection, financial trails linking the two organizations.
The assassin is ex-Mossad. A name surfaces: Ari Kedmi. The Agency has a file. A mercenary with no organizational loyalty, happy to take anyone’s money as long as the price is right. Professional. Efficient. Currently in Los Angeles.
But Rafael Marcano remains a question mark. His name keeps appearing in the periphery, but nothing ties him to the assassination plot. Different circles. Different objectives. It makes no sense.
Sunday, I text Nina as promised.
CHRIS: Following leads. Will check in tomorrow.
Her response is equally brief:
NINA: Be careful. We’re here when you’re ready.
I don’t text Wyatt. I’m not ready for that conversation, not even through a screen.
Monday morning, Tatiana meets me at a diner in Boyle Heights with a folder.
“Got something on Rafael,” she says, sliding it across the table. “Not much, but it’s a start. My contact at the port authority pulled these from security footage. Man matching Rafael’s general description has been spotted at multiple locations connected to Amador’s old shipping routes.”
I flip through the printouts. Grainy images, mostly. A figure in a dark coat, never facing the camera directly. Could be anyone.
“This isn’t enough.”
“I know. But I’ve got another source who claims to have better photos. Meeting him tonight.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “In the meantime, I did some digging on the aliases Rafael’s been using. He’s got at least three that we know of. Daniel Cruz. Mateo Salas. And—” She pauses. “Adán Pareto.”
“Any of those match our assassin?”
“No. Kedmi operates under completely different covers. Israeli backgrounds, European business credentials. Nothing overlapping with Rafael’s aliases.”
Two separate threats. Two separate agendas. Converging on the same targets at the same time.
“Someone’s bankrolling Rafael,” I say. “Good aliases cost serious money.”
“Agreed. And whoever it is has resources.” She watches me over the rim of her cup. “But if he’s not connected to the assassination, what does he want?”
I don’t have an answer.
That night, Tatiana’s source comes through. A clear photograph, taken at some kind of gallery event. Rafael Marcano in profile, caught mid-conversation with someone just out of frame.
The face is familiar.
I know him. I know this man. But from where?
The memory surfaces slowly. A café near Nina’s house. I was sitting in my car, watching her through the window.
Then he stepped up beside her.
My blood goes cold.
“What?” Tatiana asks, reading my expression. “You know him?”
“I think he approached Nina. A few weeks ago, at a café near her house.” I’m already reaching for my phone. “Charmed her. Got her business card. I watched the whole thing from my car and didn’t think anything of it—just some guy hitting on her.”
“Could be coincidence.”
“You said it yourself—Rafael’s separate from the assassination, but the timing isn’t coincidental.” My mind races. “What if he’s not trying to kill Vicente and Arturo? What if he wants something else from them entirely?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Information. Access. Something personal.” I stare at the photograph. “But he targeted Nina specifically. Got her card. That’s not random.”
Tatiana’s expression hardens. “Run his aliases through Agency databases. See if anything connects to Nina’s world.”
I’m already dialing my contact at Langley.
Walsh picks up on the third ring. “Longo. What do you have?”
“I need a cross-reference on three aliases.” I rattle off Rafael’s known identities. “Run them against everything. Travel records, financial transactions, and specifically anything connected to Dr. Nina Palmer’s practice or client roster.”
“That’ll take time. System’s backed up with the threat assessment on the principals.”
“How long?”
“Couple hours, maybe more. Everyone’s focused on Amador and Flores right now. They went to ground this morning, imminent threat pushed them into lockdown.”
My mind snags on something. “What about Palmer? Is she still seeing them today?”
“Negative. Session cancelled. Brass assessed her as low-risk with the principals out of play.” Keys clicking in the background. “She’s maintaining cover with her normal client roster. Routine stuff.”
Normal client roster.
Nina’s business card, passed to a stranger in a coffee shop. A stranger who watched her leave like he was memorizing something.
“Walsh, how does a new patient get on her roster?”
“Standard intake. Referral, or they contact the office directly. Why?”
“Rafael had her card. Personal handoff. If he wanted access to her—”
“He’d just call and book an appointment.” Walsh’s voice sharpens. “Shit. You think he’s on her schedule?”
“I think I’m not waiting for your database to tell me.” I’m already moving, grabbing my jacket. “Get that cross-reference done. I’ll call you back.”
I hang up before she can respond.
Tatiana’s on her feet, reading the situation. “You’re going to her office.”
“I’m calling her security first.”
I dial Darius. It rings once. Twice. Three times.
“Dr. Palmer’s office.” His voice is calm, professional.
“It’s Longo. I need you to check something for me. Nina’s schedule today—does she have a new intake? Someone who booked recently, maybe in the last few weeks?”
A pause. “Why?”
“Just check. Please.”
“She’s in session now. New intake—Adán Pareto. Referred himself, had Dr. Palmer’s card. He was vetted. He checked out.” His tone shifts slightly, protective instinct surfacing. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
The name lands like a fist to the chest. One of Rafael’s aliases. The one I just gave Walsh to cross-reference.
I check my watch. 10:23 AM.
Twenty-three minutes. Rafael’s been alone with her for twenty-three minutes.
“Darius. Listen to me carefully.” I keep my voice level, even as my pulse hammers.
“The man in that room is not who he says he is. His real name is Rafael Marcano. We’ve been tracking him for weeks in connection to threats against Amador and Flores.
He targeted Nina specifically to get access to them. ”
Silence.
“Get her out. Now. I don’t care how—interrupt the session, make up an emergency, whatever you have to do. But get her away from him.”
When Darius speaks again, his voice has gone cold and hard. The voice of a man who spent years doing exactly this kind of work.
“I’m moving.”
The line goes dead.
I’m out the door before the screen goes dark, keys in hand, running for my car.
Twenty-three minutes. He’s had twenty-three minutes alone with her.
I don’t let myself think about what Rafael might have already done. Whether Darius will get there in time. Whether twenty-three minutes is long enough to hurt someone.
I just drive.