8. Dimitri
8
Dimitri
B uried deep in the woods of Florida’s wilderness is a cabin. Bought with cash and under layers of secret identities, it’s nothing extravagant or over the top. I doubt anyone would ever give the place a second look. But it’s mine.
It’s two stories, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, an office, and a loft overlooking the living space below. The decor is neutral but tasteful to match the updated look of the home. No pictures, no knickknacks, or anything of the sort that would tie the home to me. I have a cleaning lady and a lawn keeper, but they only come when I’m not there, ensuring that they never see my face.
It’s my haven from the city. My haven from the false face I wear every day. My haven from the Bratva, from the lies, the violence, and death.
When I first bought it, I hoped it would be my salvation. A place where I could remember the man I was before. Now it just serves as a pretty reminder of how I failed that man. Even when this is all over, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve done…it’s twisted me into a completely different man. I doubt the man I was before would even recognize me now…let alone like me.
No one knows about my cabin…until today.
My security system beeps, alerting me that something or someone has tripped my first proximity alarm. Which is a good five miles away. I have maybe me ten minutes or fewer before my uninvited guest arrives. I check the camera and see a black sedan driving down the dirt road. Swiping through the other cameras, I confirm the car came alone.
I quickly kill the lights and the cabin goes dark. Only the auxiliary power keeps the security system running. The car passes the two-mile proximity alarm as I holster two pistols. I’m slinging my rifle with scope over my shoulders and slipping outside to climb a tree with my man-made sniper nest when the car reaches the one-mile marker. Seconds later, a car’s headlight beams break through the treeline and a dark sedan pulls into the circle driveway out front.
Peering through the night vision scope, I wait patiently for my guest to reveal themselves. It could be an innocent civilian, lost and looking for directions. Or it could be a dozen other more deadly options. And since the odds favor the deadlier options, I’ll remain in my sniper nest, ready to bury a bullet between the eyes.
The car door opens, and a man steps out, his head bowed, obscuring his face. I don’t like it. When no one else emerges, I press a button on my rifle and a pretty little red dot appears on the man’s chest, right in line with his heart.
The man notices the dot and pauses before he scans his surroundings. “Really, Dimitri? This is how you treat an old friend?”
No. But this place is a secret.
“And why does this old friend know about my cabin in the woods?” I call out, keeping my friend in the crosshairs of my rifle, red dot and all.
“You haven’t checked in for a while. I got concerned.”
“Did you follow me?”
The man peers in my direction, but I know he can’t see me among the dark foliage. “I’m not proud to admit it, but yes.”
Dammit. There’s no way. I’m always careful when I come out here. “How?”
“I used a drone.”
“You motherfucker,” I growl. “Who else knows about this place?”
“No one.” He holds his hands up in the air like a visual promise. “I swear. I scrubbed the footage after I saw where you turned off the highway. After that, it wasn’t hard to find the place. It’s the only place in a ten-mile radius.”
On purpose, but I don’t share that out loud.
“Dimitri, I’m just here to talk and check in, that’s all. Ford wants an update.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “What Ford wants, Ford gets.”
The man sighs hard and shakes his head. He knows there’s no love between the Assistant Director and me. Since I went undercover, the bastard got a promotion but still refuses to hand my case over to another supervisor. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose, keeping an eye on me. But I never cared much for the man before this case started, so it almost feels like it’s a vendetta he’s not ready to wave a white flag on yet.
“Will you please come down so we can go inside? I brought a nice bottle of Scotch and a couple of Cubans.” He smacks at his arm with a grimace. “Plus, the fucking mosquitoes are biting, dude.”
I snort and then lower my rifle before flinging it over my shoulder and climbing down the tree. When I step out of the treeline, I come face to face with my friend and FBI handler, Agent Jacob. We attended the academy together, were even assigned to the same department, so when it came time for my handler to be chosen, we weren’t surprised when Ford picked Jacob. He knows me and I know him.
“Well, come inside then.”
Jacob follows me into the kitchen where I set out two glasses for him to pour this scotch he brought. As he does, I study my friend. His suit is a bit disheveled and there are shadows under his eyes.
“You alright, Jacob?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just work.” He takes a long sip of the scotch, hissing through his teeth afterward. “Damn, that is fantastic.”
I take a sip as well, savoring the burst of flavor in my mouth. “It is. So tell me, Jacob, what is so pressing that you resorted to having me followed instead of waiting for our usual check in?”
Jacob sets his glass down, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he needs the time to gather his thoughts. “Ford’s growing worried.”
“When is he not?”
“I’m serious, Dimitri,” Jacob urges. “He thinks you may be compromised.”
Compromised? I suppose that’s one word for it. If compromised means spanking the attitude out of my sinful little angel before sticking my hand under her dress to make her come so hard I nearly blew my load in my pants. Then sure. I’m compromised.
“Tell Ford his concern is touching, but I’m still an FBI agent doing his damn job.” My tone is bitter and harsh, but I can’t help it. It feels like I’m being pulled from each side and it has me on edge. I’m lying to him, lying to everyone…even lying to myself.
“That’s what I told him, but an informant has gone quiet.”
“Who?” To become a soldier in the Bratva, you must be vouched for. This person is responsible for you and your actions. If they fail, you fail. If they betray the Bratva, you’ve betrayed the Bratva. As far as anyone knows, the man we used to vouch for me died in a tragic accident, but in reality, he was given a new identity and is living a better life far from Miami.?
“A guy named Anton. Know him?”
I shake my head. “No. Should I be concerned that he’ll say something he shouldn’t?”
“If you’re asking if he knows who you really are, I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think so.”
I can’t take that risk, and Jacob knows it. “I’ll look into it personally.” This isn’t something I can leave for Alexei to handle.
Jacob nods his thanks before asking, “Do you have an update otherwise?”
“I’ve brokered a deal with Julio Reyes to be a new distributer of the drugs from Columbia, and I’m in the middle of talks with the motorcycle gang to move arms.”
“What about the High Table?”
“There’s the O’Leary wedding next month.”
“Oh yeah, we’ve heard about that. The eldest daughter, Grace, is marrying Patrick O’Leary’s right-hand man, Connor Fraser.” Jacob finishes his glass with one swing. “Have you seen the article in the news about it? They’re calling it the event of the season. A love story, even. The daughter falls in love with her billionaire father’s partner. Funny how they can paint those criminals in such a positive light.”
I huff, his view on the event oddly ironic. “I’m sure I’ll have an update on the High Table afterward. Patrick likes to talk when he’s had one too many drinks.”
“Then I’ll tell Ford.”
“Now,” I finish my scotch and then say, “about those Cubans.”