In 2004, Baranov moved all of CSN, save a handpicked headquarters liaison group, from the Lubyanka complex in Moscow, relocating to a close campus southeast of Moscow. The overwhelming majority of new CSN personnel trained and lived in the vast facility, which resembled a university setting. Close to ninety percent of CSN agents continued to live in the enclave long after initial training. At any given time, many of them were deployed as teams to different regions of the Federation and beyond.
The very nature of their work kept them from the static routines and lifestyles that made most FSB agents vulnerable to the street-level targeting of organized crime recruiters. When you had a family to support and protect, it was difficult to turn down the profitable offers made by the Bratva recruiters, especially when they started showing up at your children’s school to help them cross the street or carry their backpacks.
It was estimated that close to five percent of FSB agents at headquarters and in field offices throughout the Federation had some type of regular contact with an organized crime handler. The high percentage made it nearly impossible for the greater Organized Crime Division to secretly plan and execute high-profile busts against the different crime groups, so mid to lower ranking division personnel collected data on the different groups through stakeouts, informants, daily surveillance, and electronic surveillance, and the assistant deputy directors assessed the data to recommend impactful operations to CSN leadership. It was the best the FSB could manage over the past several years.
Prerovsky sensed someone in the room and turned around to find Alexei Kaparov staring wryly back at him, holding two large Starbucks cups.
“Don’t let me interrupt your deep thinking,” said Kaparov. “I can come back once you’ve figured out who disappeared from the wall. Unless you want a hint.”
“They let you out of your cage?”
“From time to time I’m set free to roam the building,” said Kaparov, approaching him with one of the coffees extended.
Prerovsky cracked a sly smile, ruining any pretext of not wanting to know why Kaparov was plying him with his favorite coffee. He checked his watch, thankful that Kaparov had waited until after six to pay him a visit. No doubt by design. Kaparov always came armed with Starbucks coffee when he wanted something. A quick glance around confirmed they were alone for the moment. Most of the division had left for the day, and he was the last assistant deputy director on the division floor. As the junior AD, he’d been tasked with making the changes to the flowchart for tomorrow morning’s briefing.
After Prerovsky accepted the coffee, the two shook hands vigorously for a moment; then Kaparov pointed at the empty position in the chart.
“It will be interesting to see who fills that void,” he remarked.
“Possibly nobody. Bratva business has carried on as usual in Moscow during his extended absence. They’re shifting more and more to a decentralized organization. A year from now, I’m not even sure we’ll have a chart that resembles the typical top-down pyramid shape,” said Prerovsky, glancing around to confirm they were still alone. “I assume you didn’t come by to talk about the current state of Moscow organized crime?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“The coffees give you away every time. I only wish I could be there to see you struggle with the rush-hour crowds to fork over your hard-earned money. No gift card this time?” said Prerovsky.
“I’m saving for retirement,” said Kaparov. “Do you mind if we step inside your office?”
Now he was intrigued. Kaparov knew more about Zuyev’s recent activities than anyone in his office, including Prerovsky. If anyone knew why Zuyev had been scratched from the lineup, it would be his former boss.
“Of course. Step inside my humble abode,” he said, motioning to the door next to the chart.
When Kaparov stepped inside, he shut the door.
“What’s up?”
“Did you get the background on Zuyev’s untimely departure from the land of the living?” asked Kaparov.
“No. I was just told to remove him from the chart,” said Prerovsky, signaling for Kaparov to take a seat. “Please. Can I interest you in something stronger than an overpriced coffee?”
“Now who’s prying whom for information?” said Kaparov, nodding his approval.
Prerovsky reached down and opened the lowest drawer of his desk, digging far back to retrieve an unopened bottle of Russian Standard and two shot glasses.
“The good stuff!” said Kaparov. “You spare no expense.”
“I’ve saved this for a worthy occasion, but tonight will suffice,” said Prerovsky.
“Very funny. I’m sure it won’t hold a candle to my usual poison.”
“It’s all poison in the end,” stated Prerovsky, twisting open the cap. “I assume you know the real story behind Zuyev’s demise? And I presume it has something to do with a former Russian scientist?”
“You presume well,” said Kaparov, accepting a full glass. “To what shall we toast?”
“To keeping our jobs,” stated Prerovsky.
“And staying out of prison,” Kaparov added, clinking Prerovsky’s glass. “I’m too old for that, and you’re too young.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said the younger agent, downing his glass with a grimace.
He didn’t care how smooth they claimed the good stuff was, it still burned going down when it wasn’t mixed with juice or soda. Kaparov swallowed the liquid without a reaction.
“I could get into real trouble drinking this,” said Kaparov. “I barely noticed it.”
“If you didn’t notice, I would suggest a temporary halt to drinking,” said Prerovsky.
“Since we both know that’s off the table, I’ll stick with the stuff that burns,” said Kaparov, sliding his glass across the desk. “After another sample of the good life.”
They raised their refilled glasses.
“To killing Reznikov,” said Kaparov.
Prerovsky’s eyes darted to the door. The scientist’s name was in the open, no longer one of the Federation’s dirtiest secrets, but that didn’t mean they were safe to throw it around casually, especially in the wrong context.
“Don’t worry. I shut it tight,” said Kaparov. “Unless the walls have ears around here.”
“If they did, I’d already be in prison, or dead.”
“You and me both,” Kaparov said.
“To killing Reznikov,” said Prerovsky.
He screwed the top on the bottle and started to collect the glasses. “How can I help make our wish come true?”
“Nothing as dramatic as before,” said Kaparov. He opened his worn black suit jacket and removed a thumb drive from the left breast pocket, placing it on the desk.
“A CSN raid barely missed him, or so it is assumed. Based on the evidence gathered, it appears that he initially escaped in a boat, accompanied by two men. They found the boat tied to a tree a few miles downriver from the site… and two bodies off a nearby trail. One with a gunshot wound to the head, the other with a stab wound to the throat. Care to guess their names?”
The warm flush in his face had been replaced by a cold tightening, the mellow vodka buzz gone.
“I’d be willing to bet my next paycheck that one of them was Zuyev,” said Prerovsky, reconsidering the bottle.