Kirk Russell - Dead Game

“I warned those fools thirty years ago they needed to be prepared for military-type assaults.”

“You also looked me in the eye for years, and I have a hard time with that, Tom. You made the phone calls tipping us, and we thought you were a man of your word. Now it turns out you weren’t.”

“It’s all a lie.”

“Ludovna kept a record.”

“Of what?”

Marquez studied him, saw his eyes drop to the desk, then gambled.

“Of everything.” He pointed at Beaudry’s computer screen. “What do you think the Feds are doing right now?”

“I wouldn’t have any idea of what they’re doing.”

“Do you think they’re sitting in the office wondering what happened? No, they’re burying the dead and they’re furious. They’re going to find out who and how, so they’re questioning everybody remotely tied to the Russian mob.”

Marquez reached over and touched the screen.

“I was there when those car bombs went off.” He turned his wrist to read his watch. “I’m going to give you sixty seconds to start telling me the truth.”

He didn’t take his eyes from Beaudry’s face as he sat back down, but he knew Beaudry well enough to know he would let the clock run out, and he did. The sixty seconds passed without Beaudry looking up. But he didn’t challenge Marquez either. Then he began to talk.

“It was because of gambling. I had a problem I couldn’t control until I went through a program.”

“You took fishing parties out and let them catch whatever they wanted as long as you got some extra money.”

Beaudry nodded, said, “I’m sorry for it now. I’d take Ludovna and the people working with him out on the boat. They wanted sturgeon, and I know where to find them. We traded. He paid gambling debts of mine. The KGB sonofabitch had money when he landed here. He told me the U.S. government helped him move here. I think it was the goddamned FBI. Then, when my sickness was at its worst the people in Vegas I’d borrowed from wanted to collect everything. They wanted me to sell everything to pay them. They didn’t want to wait anymore.”

“Do you think Ludovna knew them?”

“I don’t really know. If he does he’s worse than I thought.”

“So with him you only traded illegal fishing trips for cash. He serviced some of your debts for you.”

“Yes, but when they wanted everything right away, I had to put the business up for sale. Then my sister died in a fire and left me life insurance money. I paid them with that.”

“You sold the business too cheaply to Crey.”

“How do you know that?”

Marquez played on Beaudry’s fear of conspiracies now. Black helicopters, UN takeovers, FBI plots to overturn the Constitution, turn us into zombies with drugs.

“Because the FBI tapped everything. They listened to every sound you made.”

“Then you know I didn’t want to sell to him any more than I’d wanted to sell to the people I’d borrowed from in Vegas.”

“Then why did you sell to Crey?”

“I was afraid not to. I knew the FBI wasn’t going to help me after the way it ended with them, and Richie made it sound like his investors already knew about my business. I thought it was the Vegas money coming back, and they’d decided they were going to get the business after all.”

“What did you think Crey was going to use the sport boat for?”

“For the same things I did.”

“Poaching and taking out regular customers.”

Beaudry nodded again. “Richie knew Ludovna. I knew he’d take him out.”

“So you sold out knowing Crey was going to use your business to poach whenever he could, and that was okay because that’s what you’d done all those years you were helping us.”

“I am sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, sir, I truly am.”

Baird came down from headquarters ,met him on Ninth, and they walked across the capitol lawns toward J Street. There were school buses, children grouped out in front of the capitol building getting ready for a tour of the capitol, and after they’d threaded their way through the kids Marquez explained.

“Beaudry told me this morning he sold way too cheap because he was afraid he was dealing with the same guys he’d borrowed from to pay his Vegas debts. He thinks they scouted his business after he said he’d sell it to pay what he owed. On his own or with the mob, Ludovna bought Beaudry’s business using Crey as a front.”

“That’s the way it strings together?”

“I think so. Ludovna went out on the boat enough times to decide he wanted the business. He knew Crey was an ex-con with no prospects so loaned him the money with a lot of conditions attached. Crey gets to own the business, but the catch is he’s also got a debt to pay off to Ludovna and has to provide a steady supply of sturgeon. What we’re selling Crey is making its way to Ludovna.”

“But we can’t prove that.”

“Not yet, and we don’t know whether Ludovna is tied in with this Las Vegas group either. When I’ve talked to the FBI about Ludovna they haven’t been too interested.”

“I remember Beaudry. Didn’t he help us out? Didn’t we give him CalTIP money?”

“Yeah, we did, and he turned in a few poachers. They were probably crowding his boat and taking all the good fish.”

Marquez and Baird moved away from the capitol lawns, Marquez laying out what the SOU was doing now, partnering with Crey. At a street corner as they waited for the light to change, they overheard two young men, one asking the other, “Did you hear the FBI blew away one of those guys they’ve been looking for? Up in Seattle.”

Marquez turned to the young men, interrupted their conversation. “When did that happen?”

“Like an hour ago. Not the Karsov dude, but the other one.”

The light changed, and Marquez and the chief crossed. They walked on for another half hour, in part for Baird’s health. Baird’s doctor had him on a high dosage of statins and an aspirin a day. He’d been told to exercise regularly, so he walked. But now they ducked into a bar Baird knew had a TV. The bartender changed the channel to news, and they watched. It only took a few minutes to get the gist.

Rain slicked off the coat of the CNN reporter in Seattle. She interviewed a bystander who’d witnessed the gun battle with Filipovna. Filipovna had attempted to shoot his way out when they knocked on the apartment door.

“They must have known where to wait for him,” Baird said as they came back out into sunlight. He slowed and turned toward Marquez. “You got your three-week extension and now we’re down to the last risks I’m going to okay. What happened to the FBI has shaken me. If we’re dealing with any of the same people that’s very disturbing, but I agree, we’re at a crossroads where we either give in or stop them. I’m trusting your judgment. If you’re wrong, God help both of us.”

Marquez nodded.

“Make sure you keep me in the loop.”

Marquez found Raburn on his houseboat, trimming out his new windows. He had a couple of sawhorses set up on the Astroturf. A gallon paint can of quick-drying primer and a brush were nearby. The Astroturf around the sawhorses was dotted with white paint drips, and Raburn dipped his hand into the river and scrubbed primer off his fingers.

“I was a lot happier before I got mixed up in any of this.”

“Next time don’t shoot your windows out.”

“Next time don’t force me to lie to a guy who wouldn’t have a problem killing me.”

“You may remember I asked you to stop working with him. I told you if he calls you and asks for sturgeon, you refer him to me.”

“It doesn’t quite work like that.”

“Then you’re not telling me what’s going on. You’re holding back. If you’ve been doing that since we got into this, then you haven’t kept your word.”