Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Natalia
Fogarty: Can we meet? I have some important info you might want to hear.
I pause and consider his request. It’s couched as a request, but of course, I’m helpless to really say no. I look at the hospital ward. It’s pretty laid back today, and everyone seems very calm. I could slip out and meet him on my lunch break.
Natalia: I have lunch from 12:30 to 1:30 if you want to meet then.
Fogarty: Sounds good. Meet me down the street from you at Cup and Bowl. They have decent food.
Natalia: I know the place. See you at 12:30.
I send the text and exhale, wondering what it is he wants to meet about. Must be about the case, with my father, or something to do with the Andropovs.
Whatever the case, it distracts me for the next hour as I prepare myself mentally for the meeting. Luckily, I’m working with a very proactive attending named Dr. Reed, and she takes over and is the lead on our next patient review.
Finally, I check my watch, and it’s almost 12:30. I turn to Dr. Reed.
“I’m having lunch down the street,” I say and point to the elevators. “Can I get you anything while I’m on my break? I’m going to the Cup and Bowl.”
“Oh, they have great Cream of Broccoli soup. Maybe get me a bowl with some of their cheese bread. That would be great.”
“Will do,” I say and smile, glad that I can get her something to make up for my absent-mindedness.
I leave the floor and head down the elevator to the lobby.
Once outside, I slip on my sunglasses. The storms of the previous night have cleared, and now the sun is bright.
Too bright to be without sunglasses. Even though it’s stupid, they make me feel less visible, which reduces my stress a bit.
I’m not the daughter of a Russian mobster on a mission to meet with my FBI handler. I’m just a resident on her lunch break.
If only that was the truth…
I arrive at the Cup and Bowl, and I see Fogarty sitting in a booth by the window overlooking the sidewalk and sit across from him.
The restaurant is small and warm, very comfy with tiny booths and bright paintings on the walls of the city.
Very artsy. There’s some music playing over the speakers and a hum from the patrons.
Across from me, Fogarty is already eating a sandwich. “Sorry, I had to start without you. I’m starving.”
“That’s fine,” I say and check out the menu that’s sitting in front of me. I’ve been to the Cup and Bowl before and already know what kind of food they serve, but I want to check out the daily special. It’s Thai Curry Chicken soup, and I know right away that’s what I’m having.
The waitress comes by and takes my order, and I make sure to ask for the Cream of Broccoli soup and bread for Dr. Reed.
Then, I turn back to Fogarty, who is focused on eating his meal.
“So, what did you want to see me about?”
He finishes his mouthful and then wipes his mouth with a napkin. He narrows his eyes and then glances at the restaurant as if he’s checking to see if anyone is listening. He leans a little closer to me and nods.
“I have some info on your mother and stepfather’s deaths.”
That sends a jolt through me. I lean forward, fearful but eager to hear what he has to say.
“Tell me.”
“We arrested someone,” he says and takes another bite of his bread and smiles, like he’s satisfied that he could tell me.
“A man called Giordano. Steven Giordano. He’s a patrol officer in the Highway Patrol who has family members in the Marino family, a distant relative of the kingpin by marriage only, and not directly involved in their family business.
But we learned about his ties to the family during the initial investigation, but had to hold off any action due to other, shall we say, complicating factors. ”
I frown, upset that they knew it wasn’t an accident, knew who ordered the murder, and even knew who did the deed, but did nothing…
“You mean, the FBI knew all along?
Fogarty shrugs. “Not right away, no. It took some work, but eventually, Giordano’s ties to the Marino family were revealed.
He passed muster when he applied to the Highway Patrol because he’s a distant relative by marriage only, and so officials never even considered him as a suspect.
At first. But later? One of our researchers did some digging and found the connections, which were via marriage to one of the Marino family members.
Somehow, someone got to him and used his family ties to blackmail him into doing their dirty work, using some of our own FBI personnel in the process. ”
I shake my head, upset that it was so easy to compromise a distant member of the family who was otherwise a law-abiding and law-enforcing citizen and member of the Highway Patrol, not to mention someone inside the FBI.
“Why didn’t they arrest those involved? They’ve been free for five years?”
“Not free. Not really. We have them both now. Giordano is working for us, helping us get inside the Marino family. Getting us dirt. That’s more important in the long run than putting him in jail.
I hope you can understand. Justice will come for the Marino family, hopefully sooner rather than later. ”
I sigh and lean back, my hunger suddenly dissipated.
Part of me understands that Giordano didn’t want to have my parents killed.
He was being forced into doing the deed and had to be an active part of the cover-up afterwards.
It was really the Marino Family who ordered the kill, but Giordano and the person inside the FBI are both implicated too.
“Was my stepfather getting close to arresting someone in the Marino Family? Is that why he died? Why not just kill him and not my mother, too?”
“I guess it was totally by accident that your mother was involved. Your stepfather picked your mother up as a spur-of-the-moment thing, according to one of his co-workers who spoke with him before he left the bureau and went to pick her up. In fact, according to Giordano, the Marinos were worried that your mother’s death would cause a war between the Russians and Italians.
But at the time, your mother and grandfather were estranged, so it didn’t.
Luckily. That’s all we would need. We had big plans in the works at the time. ”
I feel sick at his words and can’t keep the thinly veiled sarcasm out of my voice. “Yeah, how inconvenient would it be to have to bring some Mafia nobody to justice when you were in the middle of trying to take down the real kingpins?”
Fogarty holds up his hands in protest. “I had nothing to do with it. I understand you’re upset, but seriously, Natalia.
You need to think big picture. We had massive operations in progress at the time.
Taking down the top dogs in the Russian mafia.
If we had gone after the small fry, it would have compromised the operations for the really big fish.
They will get justice, but it will take time. You need to trust me on this.”
I look at him, at his oh-so-carefully-constructed FBI persona.
The white shirt. Black tie. Neat haircut.
He’s every inch a Special Agent. In other words, the Bureau is everything to him.
He couldn’t even for a moment consider that maybe someone in the FBI might be corrupt.
Might have been working with Giordano. Giordano knew someone who would know my stepfather’s schedule and could use that info to alter the brakes.
“Who in the FBI did Giordano have ties who could help him get access to my father’s vehicle?”
“One of the maintenance guys,” Fogarty says, after finishing his bowl of soup.
I pick at my own food, not very hungry anymore. While it’s tasty as usual, my stomach is in knots.
Fogarty looks up. “I’m telling you this in the strictest of confidence.
I figured it would make you feel somewhat better to know we have this well in hand and it’s only a matter of time before we bring Giordano and the Marinos to justice.
Your stepfather would have wanted this, Natalia.
He would want us to do whatever it took to bring down the Marinos, even if it meant his murder and that of your mother, and it took some time to charge and prosecute the killer or killers. ”
I nod because his words seem right. I know my stepfather would always focus on the top dog in any operation, not the small fry.
If he were working on an operation to bring down the Marino Crime Family, that would be his goal, even if he died in the process.
If prosecuting some low-level family member who wasn’t truly involved in the family business prevented that, or delayed it, or compromised the operation, I know he would say no.
I know he's right. “You’re right, of course," I say. “I know what my stepfather would want to do, and of course that's the right thing to do. It's just so hard to wait for justice. Sometimes you want to take it into your own hands, but I know that's wrong."
"It is wrong," he says, and looks self-satisfied like he's taught me something that I didn't already know. “I told you that just to make you feel better. Maybe make you cooperate a little more with the operation. You'll get your justice. We'll all get our justice in the end."
I wonder if he means that I will also meet with justice.
Harrison, too. Perhaps, in Fogerty's mind, both of us should be in jail along with the Marino family, Giordano and all the rest. After all, Harrison did take part in the robbery, even though he was attempting to get back something that was stolen from his family and to prevent any deaths.
The only death he couldn't prevent was that of his own brother.
We finish up our meals, and Fogerty pays the bill despite my protests.
"No, no," he says, holding up his hand in protest. “I have the budget for this.
I can pay for us both. You go back to work and pretend that we never met.
We'll keep in touch and let you know how the operation is going when we have information that I can share.
I'm sure you understand the necessity of keeping private information private.
We appreciate your cooperation. Believe me. "
We leave the restaurant and part company, with him going south and me going north back to the hospital.
When I arrive, I try to get right back into my routine, reviewing case files and preparing notes for my meetings with patients, but it's hard.
All I can think of is the fact that my parents, my mother and my stepfather, were murdered by someone in the Marino family.
I hope Fogerty is right that Giordano and the Marinos will eventually face the consequences of their actions.
I spend the rest of the afternoon focused on my patients, hoping that will keep my mind off my own personal problems. While I'm waiting for the subway car, I call Carla.
"What's up?" She asks, her voice surprised to hear me. "I don't want to have to use this phone very often."
"Do you know the name of the technician who tampered with the brakes on my stepfather's vehicle?"
There's a pause, and I get the sense that Carla does know, but doesn't wanna say.
"You can tell me,” I say, my voice soft. “I know about secrecy. I'll protect you."
Carla sighs audibly. “All I know is that it was a mechanic at the FBI's headquarters. Someone that Giordano knew. I don't have a name. But I imagine the FBI are looking for links between Giordano and some of those people working at the mechanic shop."
"OK, I say. “I understand. Thanks for your help. I won't call you again, I promise."
"No, she says quickly. “Call me if you really need to. This is a burner phone, and that's why I have it. I don't want to get more involved than I am. You can understand that."
"I promise," I say. “Thanks again for your help."
We say goodbye, and I end the call. The subway train comes, and I get inside and take a seat, closing my eyes for a moment in the hopes that I can forget all this for a few moments at least.
When I open my eyes, I glance around the subway car, and there, sitting a few seats away on the other side of the subway car, is a man in a suit, with a red pin on his lapel.
Dammit!
I realize then that I will never be free until this whole operation is over.