Chris Kuzneski - The Hunters

At that point, the whole group tuned him out.

Cobb looked to Jasmine for clarification. ‘What were you saying?’

She looked at Cobb. ‘You were right: we got it all wrong!’

Before she could explain, the entire train compartment lurched when the diesel engine coupled with the other cars. Jasmine nearly fell to the floor, but she hardly noticed.

She was too overjoyed by her insight.

Vargunin stepped away as the roll call officer dismissed the constables. ‘Sergeant Rusinko,’ he called. ‘A moment please.’

A tall woman with short, brown hair looked over to see who was calling. She quickly gathered herself, then approached in a brisk, business-like manner.

‘Sergeant Rusinko,’ Vargunin said. ‘This is Colonel Viktor Borovsky.’

Anna gasped softly. For an instant her eyes widened, brightened, and her mouth dropped open. ‘Of Special Branch?’ she blurted. Then her face changed again, a flash of mortification battling with competence for control.

‘At ease, Sergeant,’ Borovsky chuckled, once he had gotten over his own surprise. ‘An elder god has not descended from the firmament.’

Vargunin looked at Anna with a we’re-never-going-to-let-you-forget-this expression before turning to the colonel. ‘It would appear your reputation has preceded you, sir.’

‘Apparently,’ Borovsky said drily. ‘You know me then, Sergeant?’

She looked nervously at the warrant officer.

‘Not personally, sir, no,’ she said. ‘We’ve never met.’ Her own face attempted a twitching smile, but failing that, her stare shifted to one of open respect. ‘But everyone knows about your achievements, sir.’

‘I am a great man,’ he teased.

‘Sir, the explorations and discoveries you undertook in your youth, your heroism and patriotism, your exemplary military career-’

Borovsky held up a hand, shaking his head with amusement. ‘All right, Sergeant. I remember them well. I was just doing my job, which is all I ask of anyone.’

Anna obviously disagreed but was respectful enough to say nothing more — at least, with words. Her eyes still reflected admiration bordering on awe.

Her warrant officer got the conversation moving again. ‘Tell Colonel Borovsky your impressions of the incident between our officers and the local RNU chapter, Sergeant.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She looked up at Borovsky from her full five feet, nine inches. ‘An unusually violent confrontation, sir. We’ve been having increasing conflict with the members of the RNU here. They seem to be growing more aggressive and flagrant.’

‘Seem to be?’ Borovsky interrupted. ‘Or are?’

Anna stopped as if she had been pinched. ‘They are.’

‘Go on. Omit nothing, including your impressions.’

‘Sir, they are stepping up their black market activity. In addition to selling stolen electronic goods, accessories, jewelry, and bootlegs, they are now dealing in information. Identity theft, illegal databases, passport numbers, internet passwords, bank account numbers, credit card security information, arrest records, even tax returns — all stolen from government agencies.’

‘Stolen how?’ Borovsky echoed.

‘Hacked,’ Anna said. ‘Or leaked.’

‘Leaked,’ Borovsky repeated. ‘For money.’

Vargunin wasn’t certain whether his superior was being critical of the profit motive or of the mentality that allowed a person to put personal gain before the sacred duty with which they’d been entrusted: preserving the security and honor of the nation. For his part, Vargunin wished he had the courage to do that. Then, at least, he could afford the kinds of comforts that would make his private life less stark.

‘Money,’ Vargunin said grimly. ‘Selling such information to the highest bidder is a lucrative business. We estimate that the black market for such information is around fifty million dollars a year.’

‘And that is just for the exchange of the raw data,’ Anna added. ‘Breaking into bank and insurance accounts, into private e-mail accounts for purposes of blackmail, into arrest records of officials who want to keep their prostitution arrests secret, these all generate hundreds of millions in revenue above that.’

Vargunin glanced at his old friend. ‘That is why I’m having to learn new skills — to stay two steps behind the con men instead of a dozen.’

Anna continued. ‘Perhaps Officers Gelb and Klopov insisted on a better cut of the action, and the emboldened RNU members confronted them.’

Borovsky stared at her, displeased by the accusation.

‘You asked for her impressions,’ Vargunin reminded him.

The senior officer relaxed. ‘Do you think that is what happened?’

For the first time, Anna’s eyes wavered, looking at her fellow officers in her peripheral vision as they slowly dispersed for their rounds. ‘That was the consensus of the investigators.’

‘Based on any evidence?’ Borovsky asked.

‘Cash folded in the hands of the officers,’ she said.

Vargunin snorted.

Borovsky looked at him. ‘Do you doubt this?’

‘I don’t dismiss it,’ he said in measured words. ‘But I stand by my earlier remark. The crime scene was still too neat.’

Borovsky considered that while he regarded the young woman’s face. She was in her early thirties. Olive eyes, small, straight nose, and a flat mouth with lines at either bottom edge from too much frowning. Strong jawline and high cheekbones. Good, Slavic stock. Impressive mental attitude: deductive, alert to the thoughts of veterans and colleagues, but not necessarily seduced by the collective weight of their opinions. Borovsky was curious to know whether she joined the police because of the reform bill or in spite of it.

He turned toward his old friend. ‘Is Sergeant Rusinko still assigned to this case?’

Vargunin was taken slightly aback. ‘Well, the case hasn’t been officially closed as of yet.’ His emphasis on the word ‘officially’ told both of them that he wanted it to be. ‘So, yes. Technically, she is still assigned to it.’

‘Good,’ Borovsky said with a nod. Then he looked at Anna as if his old friend no longer existed. ‘Show me Marko Kadurik’s body, please.’

Once everyone had steadied themselves, Cobb motioned for Jasmine to take the floor. He stepped to the side, leaned against the workstation, and crossed his arms in anticipation. He was pleased to note that even Garcia was looking at Jasmine, not his computer screen.

‘We got what wrong?’ Garcia demanded.

‘Everything,’ she said as she started to pace back and forth in the center of the train compartment. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I mean, it’s so obvious . Who knows? Maybe I was distracted by the violence, or maybe I’ve been worried about Andrei, I’m really not sure now, but this is something I should have focused on much earlier-’

‘Jasmine!’ Cobb blurted to stop her rambling.

She glanced at him, frazzled.

He flashed a warm smile to calm her down. ‘Relax. Just relax. Don’t worry about the past. Just take a deep breath, and tell us what you figured out.’

She did as she was told and took a deep breath.

He gave her a moment. ‘Better?’

She nodded. ‘Better.’

He smiled again. ‘Good. The floor’s still yours.’

She paused for a second to gather her thoughts. ‘As I was saying, we’ve been looking at things all wrong. Instead of focusing on who protected the treasure, we should have been trying to figure out who moved the treasure to begin with. And if you think about it, history tells us that there’s only one person who could have moved that much gold out of Moscow at that time.’