Chapter Twenty-Four
In which we learn of The Rule of Three. And it’s horrible.
Nikandr…
We are standing in the ruins of our private port in Maine. It's a rugged coastline without much observation by the U.S. Coast Guard, so we've always done a brisk party drug and pharmaceutical business through this route.
The two warehouses are smoldering, nothing but ash and embers.
The dock itself and all the expensive lift equipment has been blown apart by three or four well-placed grenades.
What's worse are the remains of the five men who'd been guarding the place and the boat captain who picked the wrong time to check on his ship.
They're all strung upside down by their ankles, hanging from light poles, their sightless eyes staring into the sea.
"Who found them?" I ask. Igor steps forward. He's a Morozov man through and through, he's been in the Bratva for thirty years. His face is white as he stares at the men.
"It was me, Sovietnik. I was coming in for my shift early to relieve Artur.
" He nods at the man hanging from the light pole next to us.
The dead man is younger, blood still draining out of fifteen strategic slices in his skin dripping on the concrete.
It's a technique to cause maximum agony in the victim as they drain to a slow finish.
"His wife had a baby a couple of days ago.
He was eager to get home and –" Igor's voice chokes and he turns his face away.
"Before anything else," I say to the ten men I brought with me, "get these men cut down and taken care of."
I got the call about the fire right after Caroline left and took the helicopter out to the site in Maine.
There's something very specific about the way this is set up; the desecrated bodies, the way the warehouses are burned and the dock and the equipment exploded.
I stare down at my phone for a moment, then call Dmitri.
He picks up immediately. "What do you know?" he asks.
"It's a complete loss," I say, running my hand through my hair. "We've lost five men. Both warehouses are burned to the ground with the drugs and pharmaceuticals stolen. They burned what they couldn't take. They destroyed one of our ships and exploded the dock system."
"Flip your phone and let me see," Dmitri says.
I do, making a slow pan of the wreckage, feeling that physical pain again as I see the men gently take down the first body. Dmitri watches silently, running his finger over his lower lip.
"I'll call you back," he says. "My father's here today. I want him to see this. It reminds me of something, but I can't think of what."
In less than five minutes our former Pakhan is in the office and even though he can't see me, I automatically straighten up.
"Nikandr," he says with a nod, "pan the scene again, slowly."
I turn my phone in a slow circle, making sure to cover each area of damage.
"Do you recognize this, Father?" Dmitri asks.
Uncle Maksim circles his finger at me and watches the scene again as I pan for a third time. All the dead men have been taken down and carefully covered so they can be returned for burial. "It can't be," he says quietly.
"What?" Dmitri asks.
Uncle Maksim's sharp blue eyes look away from the screen.
"The Rule of Three," he says heavily, "is a Krasniqi move.
They were fucking savages, especially at the beginning of Dritan's rule.
If he wasn't dead or nearly so, I would…
" He shakes his head. "If he was in any shape to wreak havoc, I would say this was his doing. "
"When I first saw the destruction," Dmitri says, "I could swear this was a very specific takedown. But Krasniqi…" He slumps back in his chair. "It can't be him. Is someone taking up his tactics?"
Uncle Maksim leans over to look at me. "Give the men their dignity first. Then call in the clean-up crew."
"Yes, Sir," I say, nodding respectfully before ending the call.
While I'm waiting for my men to finish clearing the site of anything that could lead to our Bratva, I call my father.
"Privet, syn," he says. He always sounds so pleased to hear from me. It's one of the things that I've always loved most about my father, his genuine pleasure in his children.
"Father, I need your advice."
"Go ahead," he says, his grin drops immediately, he must hear something in my voice.
"Back in the day, when Dritan Krasniqi was storming up the ranks of power by being the bloodiest and most worthless bastard on the planet, he seemed to have specific moves, Uncle Maksim said."
Father frowns. "Yes, the rule of three, I'm familiar with it. He fancied himself a student of history and utilized some of the more brutal combat and terror techniques from Ivan the Terrible's history."
"Someone using the same techniques just destroyed our entire Maine shipping operation," I say.
He gives a low whistle, settling back in his chair. "How bad?"
"It's a complete loss," I say. "Especially our men, we lost five."
"You must go with Dmitri and visit the families," Father says gravely. "They will need to see you when they hear the news."
I close my eyes, nodding. This is one duty I have not had to do yet as Sovietnik.
"Why do you ask about Krasniqi?" Father says. "When we last had eyes on him, he was in some bullshit rejuvenation clinic in Switzerland, just outside of Gstaad."
"He couldn't do anything like this now, right?"
Father shakes his head. "It's not possible," he says. "Aside from being dead or nearly so, he would no longer have the manpower or the resources to pull something like this off."
"So, someone is targeting us trying to look like Krasniqi is responsible," I say, kicking away a still smoldering piece of timber. "I know you keep track of all your former contacts, father. Do you have anyone who kept you informed of his moves back then?"
"Let me take a look and see who might be able to help us." He pauses for a minute, watching my face. "I know this is bad, moy syn. It is the thing you'll never get used to and if you did, you would no longer have the right to be Sovietnik. Their loss should always cause you pain."
"Yes, well…" I close my eyes for a minute as the last of our men are loaded into the van, and the door is closed with a final clunk "I don't think there's ever a chance of that."
"Do you want me to tell your mother that tonight's dinner is canceled?" he says kindly. "It's hardly a night when you want to host a family party."
"No," I say. "Let's do this. The distraction will be welcome after today, and getting to know the family will be good for Caroline. She has no one now," I add, surprising myself. "Aside from Liria. It will be good that she has all of you as well."
Father chuckles, "Your mother is so excited. At least one of her reprobate sons has been married off. Fortunately, since she's not Russian, you won't get the immediate demand to procreate."
Fuck.
I could clearly picture the expression on Caroline's lovely face as I tell her that she's expected to become pregnant immediately.
Not that I ever will. When we have children, if we have children at all, will be her decision. No man in our family forces a pregnancy on his wife. That said, an image of a small child with her mossy green eyes and sassy tongue gives me more happiness than it should.
"I will see you tonight, Father, thank you. I'll appreciate any contacts you can find for me."
"Of course. Take care, son," he says gently.
***
Privet, syn - Hello, son in Russian