Неизвестный - 6. Justice For All

“How was the lamb?” he asked.

“Delicious.” Talia sipped her wine, aware of the glances from the mostly male diners. Only a few years ago, women had not been welcome as members of the elite business club, and she wagered that Kratos had not been welcome either. At one time his lineage would have been enough to deny him entry, but now, money was the main requirement. Money legitimized everyone and abolished social divides, at least on the surface.

“Might I hope that the reason for your lunch invitation was simply that you wanted my company?” Kratos inquired, reaching across the table to stroke Talia’s hand.

Carefully, she shifted her hand to her wineglass, not wanting to make the movement appear as a rejection to him or anyone who might be watching. Swirling the claret before sipping, she allowed the wine to linger on her tongue, inhaling slowly, savoring the bouquet. She knew he was watching. His eyes were hungry. “I’ll need some time to breach Sloan’s system.”

“But you can do it.”

Talia smiled. “Of course.”

“Good.”

Talia was silent as the waiter glided up to the table. When he inquired if there was anything else she needed, she replied, “Espresso, please.”

“Very good, madam. And for you, sir?”

“Just coffee.”

When he disappeared as soundlessly as he had arrived, Talia said,

“Someone like her could be very valuable.”

“What do you mean?” Kratos asked.

“She could do anything she wanted and no one would have the expertise to detect it. And she has direct access.” Talia shrugged.

“Interviews, files, evidence—all of it.”

“Can’t you do the same thing?”

“I’m touched by your faith,” Talia said with a faintly mocking

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lilt. “Yes, given enough time. But I can guarantee that Sloan’s primary agenda right now is to make the central files as impregnable as possible.

It would be so much nicer if she were helping us get in rather than working to keep us out.”

“What kind of leverage do we have?”

“This.” Talia reached into her purse and withdrew the photograph of Sloan and the blonde in the ambulance. She’d added another clipping after searching newspaper archives that morning.

Kratos took the two photographs and stared at the woman who had caught his attention in the surveillance videos. The caption said her name was Michael Lassiter. Michael. She was wholly feminine, and the androgyny of her name only heightened her allure. Enjoying his instantaneous erection, he brushed his thumb along the outline of her body. “Sloan’s lover?”

“It would appear so.”

“We can’t touch her.” He shook his head. “Not after all the attention our Russian friends stirred up recently.”

Talia laughed softly. “You can’t honestly think I was suggesting something as crude as that, can you?”

Kratos frowned. “What then?”

“How would you like to get to know Ms. Lassiter personally?”

“I’d like nothing better,” he said, his gaze drifting to her mouth.

“Almost nothing.”

v

Avery Clark didn’t keep Rebecca waiting long, once she’d found his office in the warren of hallways lined with nondescript wooden doors and frosted glass windows. She announced herself to the lone secretary in the tiny waiting room and had just settled into an uncomfortable, thinly upholstered chair against the wall when Clark himself opened another unadorned door at the rear of the room and gestured her inside with a surprisingly friendly smile.

Rebecca followed him into the inner office and closed the door, waiting for him to walk around behind his plain gray metal desk before she sat in yet another uncomfortable chair in front of it. With his jacket off and his white shirt sleeves rolled up, Clark was standard government issue—somewhere between thirty-five and forty, brown hair, dark steel-

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framed glasses, conservative haircut, conventional suit, dark tie, plain shirt. Wedding ring, hip holster, sharp eyes.

“Lieutenant,” he said, settling into the fake black leather desk chair. He tilted back slightly and swiveled a few degrees from side to side. “Back to work already? Glad to see that injury isn’t slowing you down.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca replied, wondering just how glad Clark really was to see her back on the job. Her headache had ratcheted up the moment she’d walked into the federal building. She doubted the dull throbbing behind her eyes had anything to do with her injury. She’d never liked the politics of law enforcement, but now that she’d been promoted, she had no choice but to navigate the murky waters populated by self-interested elected officials, federal agents, and local police.

Power and control were the sought-after prizes, and public perception often more important than results. It wasn’t a game she liked, but she had to play.

“I appreciate you all helping us out,” Clark said.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice on that, since you went over our heads with the plan.”

Clark shrugged, his smile still in place, his expression a mixture of false innocence and self-satisfaction. “Time was of the essence, so I just wanted to avoid getting bogged down in red tape. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

“What I’d appreciate,” Rebecca said, holding his gaze, “is a look at the statements from Irina Guterov and the other girls in that house, along with whatever you have on the Russian connection to local crime.

You want us to do your legwork and the brass agrees. I don’t intend to do it blind.”

“Well,” Clark said as if he were thinking, “the girls didn’t really give us much. They don’t know very much. Most of them don’t even speak English.”

“Irina does.”

“True, which is why we can use her.” Clark’s eyes narrowed.

“Girls like Irina are not that easy to replace. The Russians need women like her to indoctrinate the new girls into the system. The fresh ones have to be taught how to behave at private parties, what to expect when they go to a video shoot, how to handle johns at the clubs. They’re going to want her back, and soon.”

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“I agree.” Rebecca crossed her legs, letting her arms drape casually along the wooden armrests. His casual dismissal of the plight of the girls, all victims, even Irina, grated on her. But she hadn’t come to fight a battle she couldn’t win. “What makes you think we can trust her?”

“She doesn’t want to go back to Russia.” Clark shrugged. “And then there’s the matter of her sister. She wants to find her. She wants to protect her. All things considered, we’ve got serious leverage.”

“Where is her sister?”

Clark shook his head. “No idea. The sister arrived here after Guterov. Not that long ago, apparently, as some sort of reward for Guterov’s cooperation in running the other girls. Except the Russians didn’t put them together the way they promised.”

“Using a little leverage of their own,” Rebecca mused. Keeping Irina obligated to them—first with promises to bring her sister to this country, then by stringing her along and keeping them apart.

“Yes. Threats against families are one of the traditional means of controlling these girls.”

“So the sister might not even be in the city.”

“Possibly, although she probably is. They don’t cycle them out of here that quickly, and I suspect they’d keep her close in case Guterov threatened to stop working if they didn’t produce her.”

“I don’t want Irina trading my officer for her sister,” Rebecca said.

“Now that she’s back on the streets, she might be tempted to do that.”

Clark looked unconcerned. “She knows we can pick her up and deport her.”