Chapter 18
Yefrem
T he hotel in D.C. is even worse than the one we stayed at on the road. Thin walls, suspicious stains on the carpet, and the kind of clientele that minds their own business because they have too many secrets to risk asking questions. Perfect for our purposes.
I check the room while Celia sits on the edge of the bed and Leonid sweeps for electronic surveillance. Old habits from years of assuming every space is compromised until proven otherwise. The room is clean of bugs, but I still position myself where I can see both the door and the window.
“Moretti agreed to meet,” Leonid says while packing away his detection equipment. “Tomorrow afternoon. Meridian Hill Park, near the statue of Dante. He’s nervous about being seen with you, but he’ll come.”
“He should be nervous.” Celia looks up from the intelligence report she’s been reading. “What you have on him would destroy his career and his marriage.”
“That’s the point of leverage.” I sit beside her on the bed and note the pages she’s studying. Financial records, mostly, tracing payments between various accounts. “Understanding something?”
She sets the papers aside and looks at me with troubled eyes. “More than I want to. The scope of this is enormous, isn’t it? It’s not just Lang or even just the Belovs. It’s dozens of people, millions of dollars, and corruption that goes all the way up the federal food chain.”
The same realization has been keeping me awake for the past two nights. What started as a simple power struggle with one corrupt agent has revealed a network of criminal activity that makes my own organization look modest by comparison.
“Which is why we need information from Moretti. He’s worked with these people, taken their money, and helped them navigate the system.
” I stand and walk to the window while checking the street below out of habit.
“He knows who’s dirty and who’s clean, who can be trusted, and who needs to be eliminated. ”
Celia repeats the word quietly. “Eliminated. You mean killed.”
“I mean neutralized. Sometimes, that requires killing, and sometimes, it requires other forms of persuasion.”
“What other forms?” she asks.
I turn away from the window to face her directly.
“Blackmail, bribery, or threats against family members. It could also mean threat of or full exposure of criminal activity to honest agents, who will pursue prosecution.” I sit back down beside her.
“Killing is efficient but messy. It draws attention and creates complications. It’s better to find leverage that keeps people cooperative and quiet. ”
“Like what you have on Moretti,” she says.
“Exactly like what I have on Moretti.”
Leonid leans against the wall, arms crossed. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“Simple surveillance to start. I meet with Moretti alone while you two maintain overwatch from separate positions.” I pull out a map of the park and spread it on the small table.
“Celia stays in the car with communication equipment. You position yourself here with long-range support.” I tap the spot.
Leonid points to a spot that offers better sightlines to the meeting location. “I should be closer.”
I shake my head. “That’s too exposed. If this goes bad, I need you in a position to extract us quickly, not pinned down by hostile forces.”
We spend the next hour reviewing contingency plans, escape routes, and communication protocols. The detailed preparation might seem excessive for a simple conversation, but such steps have kept us alive through dozens of similar meetings over the years.
Celia asks, “What if Moretti doesn’t show?”
“He’ll show. He’s too scared not to.” I fold the map and return it to my jacket pocket. “Men like Moretti survive by avoiding confrontation, not by creating it. He knows that refusing to meet with me creates more problems than it solves.”
“And if he tries to set you up?”
“Then Leonid eliminates the threat, and we disappear.” I say it matter-of-factly, but I can see the impact of my words in her expression. She’s still adjusting to the casual way we discuss potential violence.
She presses further. “How do you know he won’t record the conversation?”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t because he’s as implicated as anyone else in the corruption we’ll be discussing. Recording our meeting would create evidence that could destroy him if it fell into the wrong hands.”
The logic seems to satisfy her, but I see tension in her shoulders that speaks of anxiety about tomorrow’s meeting. She’s brave, but she’s not na?ve about the dangers we’re walking into.
“Get some sleep,” I say to both of them. “Tomorrow will be complicated.”
Leonid nods and heads for the door. After he leaves, I lock up and engage the security bar. Hotel security is minimal, but every precaution matters when federal agents and rival criminals are actively hunting us.
As I check the window locks, Celia asks, “Are you nervous?”
“Always.” I join her on the bed and pull her against my side. “Nervous keeps you alive. Overconfident gets you killed.”
“You don’t seem nervous.”
“I’m very good at hiding it,” I say with a small smile.
She settles against my chest, and I feel some of the tension leave her body.
Having her close helps calm my own anxiety, which is both comforting and concerning.
Emotional attachments create vulnerabilities that can be exploited by enemies, but they also provide motivation that makes survival feel worthwhile.
“What’s the worst that could happen tomorrow?” she asks.
“Moretti could be working with Lang’s partners and could have set up the meeting as a trap.
We could be walking into an ambush with federal agents and rival criminals waiting for us.
” I stroke her hair while considering other possibilities.
“Or he could refuse to provide useful information, leaving us with no better understanding of the threats we’re facing. ”
“What’s the best that could happen?”
I think for a minute before answering. “He gives us detailed intelligence about the corruption network, identifies the key players, and provides evidence we can use to neutralize the threat permanently.”
She asks quietly, “Neutralize meaning blackmail them into leaving us alone?”
“Neutralize meaning whatever works. Blackmail, bribery, exposure, or elimination. I’ll use whatever it takes to ensure they can’t hurt us.”
She’s quiet for several minutes, processing what I’ve said. I don’t try to fill the silence with reassurances or explanations. She’s intelligent enough to understand the reality of our situation without me softening it with false optimism.
“I love you,” she says finally. “It’s insane and far too soon, and I should be fighting against it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.” She looks at me again, staring into my eyes “I love you the way I’ve never loved anyone before. It’s real and lasting in spite of all the craziness that’s happened.”
The words still surprise me, even though we’ve said them before. In my world, love is rare and dangerous, a luxury that few can afford and fewer still survive. But hearing it from Celia, feeling the truth of it in her voice, makes me believe that some luxuries are worth the risk. “I love you too.”
“Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that.” She squeezes my hand.
“Nothing will happen tomorrow.” I tilt her chin so I can look into her eyes. “I’ll meet with Moretti, get the information we need, and return to you safely. That’s a promise.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can and I do. I’ve survived worse situations than this, and I’ve never had better reason to come back alive.”
She kisses me then, with softness and desperation, carrying all the fear and love and hope she can’t put into words. I kiss her back with equal intensity, trying to convey everything I feel without having to say it out loud.
We make love quietly and carefully, aware Leonid is in the next room, and thin walls offer little privacy, but the connection between us is profound despite the need for discretion, and afterward, I hold her close while she falls asleep against my chest.
I remain awake much longer, listening to the sounds of the city outside our window and reviewing tomorrow’s plan for flaws and oversights.
Everything depends on Moretti providing accurate information and not betraying us to his other criminal contacts.
Everything depends on federal agents not having already traced our movements to DC.
Everything depends on luck, which has never been something I trust completely.
The next morning, we wake early and review our preparations one final time.
Celia wears dark clothing that helps her blend into crowds, while Leonid and I dress like the kind of professionals who might have business in expensive neighborhoods.
Image matters in operations like this. The wrong appearance can draw unwanted attention or raise suspicions.
We arrive at Meridian Hill Park separately, using different routes and transportation methods.
Celia positions herself in our backup vehicle with communication equipment and clear sightlines to the meeting location.
Leonid takes his overwatch position with a clear shot at the statue of Dante and the surrounding area.
I approach the meeting location precisely on time, noting the early afternoon crowd of joggers, dog walkers, and tourists that provide natural cover.
Moretti is already there, sitting on a bench near the statue and reading a newspaper with the nervous intensity of someone trying too hard to appear casual.
Judge Manlio Moretti looks older than his fifty-two years, with gray hair and deep lines around his eyes that speak of stress and sleepless nights. He’s dressed expensively but conservatively, the kind of careful presentation that federal judges cultivate to project authority and respectability.