The Insider (30 page)

“And how about the case Detective Kovach is trying to make against me for Ben Fisher's murder?”

“I don't think it's as strong as they would like,” Jon said. “It wouldn't be hard to establish reasonable doubt. For starters, they don't have motive. They can place you with Ben immediately before his death. The fact that you deny that you met with Ben looks bad, even if it's true, but that doesn't prove that you killed him.”

“There is that video on Ben's cell phone.”

“Yes, if they had that, they would prosecute. Let's just hope it never turns up.”

“What about Claire?”

“They have nothing on her. She hasn't even been seriously threatened with charges. As far as they can tell, she's just your girlfriend and was kidnapped by the Russians to put more pressure on you. As long as no one figures out that she took those encryption keys, she'll be okay.”

“She may be okay with the SEC and DOJ, but what about the Russians?”

There was silence on the line. “I could talk to her, tell her that she should find a place to hide out for a while.”

“And my mother. They know where my mother lives. What am I supposed to do?”

“I think you should leave town. Don't leave the state, though, and keep me posted on where you're staying in case they decide to charge you.”

“You think I'm in danger?”

“I sure wouldn't hang around waiting to find out.”

“What about you? If I'm in hiding, they're going to figure that you would know where to find me.”

“Don't worry about me,” Jon said testily. “I know how to stay out of trouble.”

After his call with Jon, Will stood under a hot shower as the thoughts that had been ricocheting around in his head the night before began to order themselves. He was not going to simply hide out, waiting for federal agents to make their case against him or for Boka's men to come for him, or his mother, or Claire. And he had no interest in committing himself to the half-life of a witness protection program. Even if he went to prison, he was sure that the Russians could get to him if they wanted to. If he was going to extricate himself, he would need more information about Boka and what he wanted from him. He needed to know if his suspicions were right and it really was Richard Grogan who had betrayed him at the firm. And he also needed to find out who had Ben's cell phone and the incriminating video. The only place where he could go for that kind of information was Katya.

Will figured that Katya's workplace would be a neutral and relatively safe place where he could ask her a few pointed questions. The offices of Equilon Securities were located in an inauspicious building at Folsom and Second Street, an address that was fine if you were looking for a tattoo, not a growth fund. Most securities firms were located in the financial district a few blocks north, closer to the Pacific Stock Exchange, but commerce abhors a vacuum, and so many unlikely businesses were drawn to “SoMa,” the south of Market area, by favorable rental rates.

The directory in the cramped lobby showed Equilon Securities in Suite 302. Will took the elevator to the third floor and stood before the door to 302. There was no sign in the hallway and no sound of voices or ringing phones coming from within. Will recalled how busy the place had sounded when he had called Katya before their meeting at Justin Herman Plaza.

Will tried the door, which was unlocked. Inside was a large office suite that was almost entirely empty, except for some desks and a few disconnected phones. Will knew he was in the right place, though, because a glass placard bearing the Equilon Securities logo lay on the floor, propped against what had once been the reception desk.

Equilon Securities was a sham business—probably one of a long line of phony operations that the
mafiya
had used to defraud the gullible. The security guard downstairs told Will that Equilon must have moved during the night because he had shown up for work two days ago to find the offices deserted.

Next, Will went to Katya's house on Pacific Street, where he had spent the night with her, only to be greeted in the morning by Nikolai and Yuri. He sat in his car down the block from her building, waiting for her to appear. The morning fog burned off and the sun came out. The interior of the car warmed up and he rolled down the windows.

After an hour and a half, Katya emerged from the building, wearing jeans and a peasant blouse. Katya got into her Toyota Camry, which was parked out front, and drove away. Will followed her at a discreet distance as she made her way to Geary and the Russian restaurant Dacha. After parking on the street, Katya disappeared into the restaurant.

Will figured that the restaurant was probably under federal surveillance, particularly after his anonymous call linking Boka to the terrorist plot, so he parked his car far down the block. He knew that he shouldn't be seen anywhere near the place, but he wasn't willing to just wait for the next bad thing to happen. He watched the surly waitress arrive for her shift.

Screw it,
Will thought,
I'm going in
. He needed to know who at the firm had set him up, and Katya was the only person that he could ask. He knew that it was dangerous to walk into Boka's headquarters, but there was some security in knowing that the feds were watching. Boka and his men would certainly be aware of that, too.

When Will entered the restaurant, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom. Then he saw Katya sitting at a corner table, already observing him. As usual, he couldn't quite tell if she was smiling. In the past, the trait had lent her an appealing aura of mystery. Now it just annoyed him.

Will approached Katya's table. “I thought you'd be a little more surprised to see me.”

“I am surprised that you would come here,” she said. “Not a very good idea.”

“Why is that?”

“This is Boka's place. You should be running
away
from Boka.”

The waitress materialized at their table, waiting for their order with her customary pained expression.

“Vodkas,” Katya said. “He'll have a double.” After the waitress departed, she added, “I don't expect you to believe me, but it is kind of nice to see you again.”

“But you didn't think you would, did you? You thought Nikolai and Yuri would have killed me by now.”

Katya shrugged noncommittally, then stood up from the table and motioned for Will to stand. “I am willing to have this conversation with you, but first . . .”

Katya patted him down for a wire, and when she was satisfied, they sat down again at the table. “Okay, ask your questions. Maybe I can even answer a few of them.”

“First, how can I trust anything you say?”

“There's no need to be insulting,” she said. “You know you can't trust me. I think we established that. But you don't have anyone else to ask, do you?”

“What is your role here, anyway? Were you sleeping with Yuri?”

“Yuri and I had known each other for a long time. We were together sometimes, on and off. We understood each other.”

“So what exactly is your connection with Boka?”

“He looks after me.”

“But what is it that you actually
do
?”

“What they ask. Sometimes it's as simple as working as a receptionist in one of their fake businesses. Sometimes they need me to be nice to someone like you.”

“You know there's another word for that.”

She smiled, as if she couldn't begrudge Will his opinion of her. “Someday, Boka is going to finance my restaurant, and then I'll be on my own.”

“If you think that someone like Boka will ever give you anything, then you're not as smart as I thought.”

“Who are you to say? You don't know Boka, do you?”

“No, but am I wrong about him?”

Katya didn't answer, turning to the waitress, who had brought the vodkas. The waitress lingered for a moment, probably trying to decide if they posed a threat to the glasses or crockery. Katya said something to her in Russian, and she returned to the kitchen, appeased.

“You and your friends knew about the Jupiter deal, and you knew right away that I had been assigned to take over from Ben. That tells me that you are working with someone else at the firm. I need to know who that is.”

“We do have a mutual acquaintance. I was going to say a friend, but I guess that is not the right word.”

“Who is it?”

“I can't say. I probably shouldn't have said that much.”

“I thought it was strange that you knew about the company.”

Katya smiled. “I could have known that. And, like I said, I do read the
Chronicle
. Okay, maybe I exaggerated about the
Wall Street Journal
.”

“How did you know I would be at that club?”

“We followed you from your office. Simple.”

“You knew they were going to torture me, maybe kill me.”

“I knew that Yuri had a lot riding on the deal. He was just doing what he thought was necessary. As he used to say, ‘It's not personal, just business.'”

“Yeah, that sounds like Yuri, all right.” Even from the grave, Yuri continued to pay homage to Coppola.

Will continued, “This isn't just business. Did you know that they threatened my mother—my mother who's in a nursing home?”

“I am sorry about that, Will—really. But that's not my part of the job. You can try to make me feel guilty if you want to, but that's not a very good use of our time, is it?”

“I need to know who has Ben Fisher's cell phone.”

“I really don't know, Will. And I couldn't tell you if I did.”

Will tossed back his vodka and stood up. “Is there anything else that you can tell me about the person who gave you my name?”

“It's someone you wouldn't expect.”

“That doesn't exactly help, does it?”

“If I say anything more, I'll have to answer to Boka. You're really not so dumb. You'll figure it out.”

Searching for a cigarette, Katya rifled through her purse just as she had when she first caught his attention in the Whiskey Bar.

With a small look of triumph, Katya produced a cigarette from her purse, then looked up to meet his gaze. He stared back at her with contempt.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, she stood up and stepped in close, as she had that first night in her apartment on Pacific Street. Then she leaned upward on her toes and kissed him, but the kiss was nothing like their first. Their teeth struck as she pressed her lips hard against his in a kiss that would have been the perfect complement to angry sex. Will found himself returning the kiss in the spirit in which it was given. Finally, she broke away, biting his lip and giving him a shove in the chest.

Will touched his finger to his lip. When he drew it away, it was smeared with blood.

Like a fighter breaking from a clinch, Katya stepped back from him. Her face was flushed as she stood watching him, waiting for him to leave, adjusting her skirt. There was absolutely nothing left to say.

As if on cue, a door at the rear of the restaurant opened. It was the same door that Valter had left through the night that Nikolai and Yuri had brought him there. Two men emerged, wearing matching Puma tracksuits in chocolate brown and moss green, respectively. One was tall, with short blond hair and a puffy, vaguely misshapen face; he looked like a once-handsome middleweight who hadn't stopped boxing quite soon enough. He wore the jacket of his tracksuit zipped all the way up like a turtleneck. His companion was stocky, dark, and hirsute, like a cross between a shot-putter and a trained bear cub, with a dense thatch of matted fur exposed above the zipper of his open jacket. A gold medallion nested in the thicket of chest hair.

“Come with us,” the tall man said, taking his arm. “Boka would like to see you.”

“I'm not going in there,” Will said, pulling away. “There are people who know that I came—”

“Now is not the time to plead for your life,” he said. “That comes later.”

The Russian track team forcefully escorted him through the doorway at the rear of the dining room. He was led down a short corridor thick with cigarette smoke into an office. Inside, the tall man patted him down, doing a much more thorough job than Katya had. When he was satisfied, he motioned for Will to take a seat in a chair in front of a large desk.

Behind the desk sat a small, well-groomed man in a three-button, gray Armani suit. The man had a hard, unlined face; he looked like he had been designed in a wind tunnel. The man's eyes were fixed on some papers before him on the desk.

Will almost smiled. Ignoring the newly arrived guest was a classic method of asserting dominance. Will had first encountered the technique when he was a first-year associate arriving in a partner's office with his first completed assignment.