Mike Faricy: Russian Roulette

“Okay, Agent Dziedzic, I…”

“Just kidding, I go by Val. But if we’re talking business it should probably just remain Agent Dziedzic.”

“Okay, Val, listen, the reason I’m calling is I’m wondering if we might get together. There might be some business involved, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy ourselves in the process.”

“Does that actually work?”

“Enjoying our…”

“No, your lame line, enjoy ourselves in the process? You gotta be kidding me.”

“Well, actually, I was thinking that we could get together, there is someone I’d like you to meet. I think you might find her interesting. Almost as interesting as me, but not quite.”

“This have anything to do with the Alekseeva investigations?”

“It might.”

There was a long pause.

“You know they basically have me doing go-for work on that, running for coffee if they need some, taking messages. So if you’re hoping to work some sort of deal or trade or inside scoop I’m not in the communication chain. You’d have to run anything like that through Agent-In-Charge Peters.” Her disdain was almost palpable when she said his name.

“I’m guessing you might have a little more to offer than running for coffee and if nothing else you might be able to pick up a good bit of background information. Would it be a good career move? I don’t know, you know what they say, nothing ventured nothing gained.”

“Peters know about this?”

“If he knew, do you think I’d be making the call?”

“Where can I meet you?”

We met in a Holiday station. I had to gas up my new loaner, a nondescript Toyota Camry. Just about anything would have been a step up from the pimped-out Hummer.

“You sure know how to romance a girl,” she said, after pulling alongside and climbing out of her car.

It was a warm day but not insufferably hot, and the humidity had blown out of the region at least for the moment.

Dziedzic wore sandal things with little heels, a form-fitting pair of jeans, and a white blouse, two buttons casually undone. The curls in her hair bounced as she walked around her car. The highlights in her hair shone in the sun. She did not look like my perception of an FBI agent.

“Oh charming, health food?” she said leaning into my open window.

I was sitting behind the wheel, wolfing down a very large Butterfinger candy bar. The humidity may have dropped but it was still warm enough to melt the chocolate. In an effort to avoid any mess, I had created just that, crumbs melting on my shirt and a smear of chocolate on the edge of my mouth, which I now proceeded to wipe off and then licked the chocolate off my fingertips.

“Oh, so sexy,” she said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite.

“I’m practicing working undercover and blending in. Thanks for coming, Val.”

“I think you’ll need a lot more practice. And what happened to your nose?” she asked looking at my stitches.

“Oh just ran into someone I’d been looking for.”

The claw marks down the side of my face had more or less healed. The swelling on my lip had gone down although it was still split. There was still a major gash across the bridge of my nose, bits of thread exposed from each of the stitches. My black eyes had mostly faded, but in their fading left yellow and green bruises.

“Hey, hop in, I’ll take you over,” I said.

We exchanged pleasantries on the five-minute drive. As we approached the park where we were going to meet Hale and Nikki I pulled over to the curb, turned the car off.

“Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to arrest Braco Alekseeva. We have an informant who has given us information. Some of which was passed on to you guys.”

“Is that what got Peters all hot and bothered about that little bank?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I knew he wouldn’t move that fast unless there was someone pushing him.”

“We didn’t actually push, but I think he figured he had an opportunity to move way past one local bad guy up here in flyover land. Make it look like he was taking a real hard line on money laundering operations all over the country.”

“And he told you guys to what, back off?”

“Actually, no. He had one of his toads tell us to back off, not to do anything that would screw up their investigation.”

“Agent Fahey?”

“Fahey?”

“Bayard Fahey, sort of soft-featured, blondish hair, rosy cheeks, blinks incessantly.”

“I don’t know, could have been. Actually the guy just made a phone call, we never talked to him in person.”

“Charming, can’t beat the personal touch.”

“So here’s the deal, Val. We’d like you to talk with our source. I can tell you she has been instrumental in just about completely shutting down Braco’s trafficking operation. Cutting his Internet brothel off at the knees. And, she is the source for all the information regarding the bank in Valdem. She’s provided account names and sort of assisted in the recovery of a number of women and girls forced into prostitution. We’re not asking you to derail any investigations or federal indictments or anything like that. We’d just like you to talk with this source, see if you can help us, and maybe help yourself and her at the same time. Fair?”

She seemed to consider this for a long moment.

“I’ll talk with her, see what comes out of it. If there are any illegalities I can’t ignore them or if you’re looking for some sort of federal exoneration it is not in my purview to offer such.”

“Yeah, we understand that. We just don’t want Braco to get away, maybe relocate in Chicago or somewhere else and continue to make life miserable for everyone he comes in contact with.”

“Okay, I’ll certainly listen.”

We followed a winding road past a couple of ball-fields, past a playground with swing sets and monkey bars, then drove on a little farther to the picnic area. Aaron, Hale, and Nikki were sitting at a picnic table in the shade, drinking coffee. We parked and walked the short distance from the street up a slight hill.

“Val, I think you know Billy Hale with I.C.E, and Aaron LaZelle with St. Paul,” I said once we were in the shade.

“Agent Dziedzic, sorry I don’t have any coffee to offer you. I foolishly thought Haskell here might have had a little more on the ball,” Hale said. His ankle was still in the walking cast and extended along the length of the picnic-table bench. Nikki sat across from Hale with her back facing us as we approached. Aaron sat next to her.

“Val, this is Nikki Mathias, the woman who’s provided so much assistance to us. Nikki, Agent Val Dziedzic with the FBI.”

Nikki appraised Val coldly.

Val said something in Russian, smiled and extended her hand. Nikki replied, took her hand tentatively then quickly let go and stared at the tabletop.

“Please, please sit down,” Hale directed Val next to Nikki then started to bring her up to speed as I grabbed a spot next to his foot.

“I’m not sure what Dev has already told you so let me start at the beginning jump in with any questions. Aaron, Nikki, I get anything wrong, you correct me, okay?”

Nikki nodded, Aaron smiled ever so slightly.

Hale began with a general overview of the Task Force dating back twenty-four months. Then walked his version forward, looking a couple of times at Nikki for agreement, she nodded her head occasionally but continued to stare at the tabletop. Having come to know her a little better I was pretty sure there wasn’t much, if anything, she missed. He casually skirted around the shooting of Sergie Alekseeva and Villas whatever his name was, storming over the top of the river bluff a few days back. He did mention the call centers, the illegals, the underage girl forced to drink vodka and about to be raped by a fat guy in jockey shorts. Maybe embellished with a little positive spin Nikki’s role in stopping that particular activity. Gave a not-so-flattering take of the FBI’s role and Agent Peters by extension. Val didn’t blink. Then Hale concluded with, “So, while I understand the importance of the bank, the money laundering, and how that particular prosecution will relate to a broader picture my concern, our concern, is the trafficking aspect of things. Braco in particular.”