Chapter Thirty-One
In which getting between Alexsey and his drones is a terrible idea.
Alexsey…
"No one knew about the transfer of the military drones to the East Bank warehouse aside from the people in this room," I say.
Dmitri, Roman - who's already pawing through my liquor cabinet - Tolya and I are in my rarely-used office in our family's Manhattan skyrise.
"What about your crew?" Dmitri asks Tolya.
He shakes his head. "These are men and women who have worked with us for nearly a decade. I'd trust any of them with my life. I had spotters stationed on three nearby rooftops to monitor any surveillance. It was a clean in and out."
"There were too many men on their attack team to pull together at the last minute," I say.
"They also knew all the exits from the warehouse, and the best place to throw in the incendiary devices to make the fire spread faster.
It means they had enough time to study the warehouse and make a plan.
It doesn't make sense, though." I stand up, pacing.
I think better on my feet. "They didn't try to take any of the cargo; they destroyed it along with the warehouse.
What crime family does something so stupid and wasteful? "
"What did we learn from the bodies they left behind?
" Dmitri asks. He's exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his normally pristine hair is sticking up in messy spikes, since he keeps running his fingers through it.
The stunt that nearly got him arrested by the FBI is just one of a dozen betrayals and mistakes over the last month.
"Very little," Roman said, his disappointment clear. "No specific signature tattoos or brands that would define their mafia or cartel. We ran the faces of the ones who didn't get shot in the head through our facial recognition scanner and came up with two matches, both professional hires."
"What is the likelihood that we're dealing with a disgruntled faction of the Albanians?" I ask. "We've been careful to keep them in non-sensitive areas while we vet them, but maybe they're not happy with the handoff to the Morozov Bratva."
"Again, unlikely," Tolya says doubtfully. "The drones were highly sensitive equipment, any information about the shipment would be carefully guarded."
"You said the warehouse was a complete loss?" Dmitri asks.
"Yes," I say, looking out one of the huge floor to ceiling windows that provides a panoramic view of downtown.
"The legitimately insured loss is around twenty-seven million.
The military-grade drones?" I glance at the office; everyone is bracing themselves.
"Their uninsured loss is over eighty-two million when you factor in profit loss. "
"Fuuuuck," Roman groans. "I'm not sure you have enough vodka here for this conversation."
"Not eighty-two million dollars’ worth," I agree glumly.
"We had two buyers set for the majority of the shipment, correct?" Dmitri is channeling our father, going cold and controlled instead of pawing through the remaining vodka in my liquor cabinet like the fate of Mother Russia depends on it.
"We did." I pour two fingers of Redbreast because I'm open-minded like that, and also because Tolya got to the last of the Beluga Epicure vodka, the bastard.
"I've smoothed over negotiations with the Balabanov Bratva, they'd placed an order for half of the drones.
I'm sending them our stock of the best sniper rifles instead. "
Dmitri winces. "There's an eleven-million-dollar loss, at least."
"Yes," I groan, tossing back the whisky and pouring another one. "The Caruso Mafia is not as willing to lose their purchase. You know how emotional the Sicilians can get."
"I'll call Alfio Caruso," Roman says. "He owes me."
"For what?" Dmitri asks.
"It's complicated," Roman says serenely.
This means it likely involves escorts from his bachelor days or gunfire. My brother is consistent.
"Good, let's see if he can calm down Don Caruso." I slump back in my chair behind the desk. "I'm one conversation away from shooting him in the face."
Dmitri is ignoring his drink, running his finger over his lower lip, his "thinking" pose.
"Let's approach this differently. We know there couldn't possibly be a leak from here.
The offices are swept for listening devices every day and thanks to the tech department, trying to access encrypted files is impossible.
The CIA, MI:6 and the FBI have all tried.
Where else have we discussed this shipment? "
"Your place," I say.
"Wasn't there a brief meeting at the loft?" Tolya asks. "We were hammering out some transport details."
"How often is your place being swept for devices?" Roman asks me.
"My security has been so good…" I shift in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Most likely not often enough."
Tolya's already tapping out a text. "I'm sending two of the tech guys over there now."
"Anywhere else where there could have been a breach?" Dmitri asks.
"No." Roman shakes his head decisively. "This shipment was too valuable and secrecy was crucial."
Dmitri rises, cracking his neck. "Let me know when the sweep's finished. I'll have the team run another scan on my place as well."
***
It takes less than two hours for the tech guys to sweep my place and show up at my office with a report.
Gennady puts two tiny devices on my desk. "Sophisticated little Ublyudki, bastards," he says. "This little guy was in your downstairs area, under one of the couches. This one in the bathroom leading to your gym."
I stare at the two devices. Tiny, long range batteries. Easy to place.
In my fucking house.
"Any idea of how long they've been there?" I'm calm on the surface, like a bird in the water, but everything's churning underneath.
"There's some pieces of tech where we can track the time from the moment of activation," Raisa says apologetically. "Unfortunately, these don't register in the same way. Your last security sweep was three and a half weeks ago."
Roan.
Right around the time Liria insisted on having her old Krasniqi bodyguard installed on her security team. Danyl goes everywhere with them, a giant sentinel to their interaction. He would have contacted me immediately if he had overheard something that sounded 'off.'
"Thank you both."
There's a cyclone of fury surging in me.
I haven't felt this in a while. Life with Liria and getting used to working without my left hand has calmed some of my rage.
Here it is though, fresh and strong, a flashpoint waiting to spark.
I must not be hiding it well because they're looking distinctly concerned.
"Update the frequency of the scans on all Morozov private homes and two sweeps a day on the vehicles."
Gennady nods rapidly. "Right. Absolutely, boss. On it." They collect the devices and escape my office in moments.
My left wrist begins to throb and I pull off the prosthetic, irritably rubbing the inflamed skin.
Life with Liria has been good. She'd been so brave during the flood of injured soldiers at the clinic, and poor Arkadi dying in front of her.
She hates Dritan, possibly more than I do.
There's no way she'd be involved in anything that benefited him.
But Roan…
Calling Tolya, I say, "Run another background check on Roan Hoxha. A deep, deep dive. Find out what he's been up to since he came here, who he's talking to. He seemed very tight with a lot of the men at the Crow's Nest."
"I'll get started right away," he says. I can hear his concern. "Do you want me to clone his phone and put a tracker on his car?"
"Yes," I rub my eyes. "Everything you can without tipping him off."
"He's a smart bastard," Tolya admits. "I'll have to be careful. Do you…"
"What?"
"Could your wife be involved?" he asks, more hesitant than I've ever heard him. "She did insist on having him reinstated on guard duty."
"Don't ask that again." Why am I enraged at Tolya? It's a reasonable question. "Never attempt to cast blame on my wife."
There's only a brief pause before he says, "Of course. My apologies."
I hang up on him, stalking over to my liquor cabinet, then put the glass down. We already drank enough today to give an entire college fraternity alcohol poisoning. I don't want to think of the possibility that Liria, my sweet, courageous wife, could be loyal to someone else.
Not to her father, no. She hates that desiccated corpse as much as I do. But Roan… she has a deep connection to her bodyguard. They've been together for over a decade. How far would she go to help him?