Tryzub

Chapter One-2

“So that's it,” Benny growled as Volkoff rose to leave. “Those are my choices.”

“Unless you can write me a check for fifty thousand dollars or plan to make your funeral arrangements,” Volkoff walked out the door. “Good evening, Mr. Terrazas.”

Hoyt arrived at the office the next morning after proposing to Bree the night before. He decided he would go over some paperwork before driving out to meet her for a picnic lunch that afternoon. Someone once told him that the higher up the ladder you went, footwork was exponentially replaced by paperwork. He thought that it would be different in the OCU, but he was sadly mistaken thus far.

Though some things changed, others remained the same. The piles of paper were replaced by the inundation of e-mails in his New Folder. He gnashed his teeth as he saw how many of these were personal items, secretaries planning office parties and sending congratulations to those being promoted or transferred. He often thought of requesting being taken off those lists, but that would be seen as snobbery that might never be forgotten. Camaraderie was of utmost importance in this line of work, and it was just as important that someone had your back in the office as it was out on the field.

“You are Hoyt Wexford?”

He looked up at the tall, athletically built man with the close-cropped hair, steely blue eyes, longish nose and thin lips. He wore a dark, well-tailored suit that was unusual for a beat cop.

“Yeah, last time I checked.”

“I am Alexander Tretiak from the Federal Security Service. I understood you were expecting me next week.”

“My pleasure. Have a seat.”

“I just thought I would come by and introduce myself. I know you weren't scheduled to be in today, but I figured I'd stop by and take my chances.”

“Well, I was in the neighborhood and stopped in to check my e-mail. I'm supposed to take my fiancée out on a picnic in a little while.”

“When's the big day?”

“Actually I just popped the question last night. It was my lucky day.”

“Congratulations. I won't keep you, we won't want you to get off on a bad start.”

“Not at all. She's used to the routine. She's gonna be a cop's wife, she knows her entire life schedule's gonna be subject to change.”

“You always try to make it up as best you can,” Tretiak gazed out at the impressive view from Hoyt's office window. “Have you gotten to look over any of the case files from Moscow?”

“Nah, I'm not opening that can of worms until Monday. We've got a briefing session ahead, so I'll get caught up to speed on all the gory details.”

“Have you gotten anything on the Chechen Mob lately?”

“No, I haven't. This is all news to me.”

“That's funny. Neither have I.”

“I—uh—,” Hoyt squinted at him. “Aren't you supposed to be the go-to guy with this?”

“My point exactly, Detective Wexford.”

“Hoyt.”

“Yes, Hoyt. I've been following the career of Sergei Karpov for the better part of the past decade. He was a key figure in the Russian Mob during the 90's before coming here to start his own family in Brighton Beach at the turn of the century. He is a very clever man with strong connections and investments back home. I believe he is using the Chechen terror threat as a smoke screen to distract the authorities from his own activities.”

“Well, you're talking terrorists as opposed to the Mob.”

“Precisely. If Karpov is able to blur the distinction before the US and Russian authorities, he makes it far more difficult to deal with them. Once the police begin searching for what may be dormant cells within the Chechen network, you may end up chasing ghosts. That will only increase anxiety, resulting in a greater focus which will divert efforts to take down Karpov.”

“Well, Lieutenant Tretiak—,”

“Alex.”

“Okay, Alex. The meeting Monday's about the Chechen Mob and how we're gonna stretch them out. Does anyone know you're planning to drop this bomb on everyone?”

“I don't think there's much of a difference between bureaucracies here or back home. Rocking the boat is not the way to hitch a ride. I was brought here to expedite the joint effort between our countries. Only I know the Chechens and I know Karpov. After a couple of weeks' surveillance I will know whether or not the Chechens are involved. It won't affect my judgment in doing what is necessary to cripple Karpov's operation. Of course, this will be impossible without your help.”

“So let me get this straight. Your people are sending you over here to break up the Chechen Mob and you're planning to go after Karpov.”

“I just want to give you an idea of what we may be facing out there. If there is a Chechen Mob, they will be ruthless in doing whatever it takes to remain invisible. Rest assured, if it is a ploy being used by Karpov, he will prove just as dangerous in protecting his cover.”

“All right, so we just sit up there Monday and nod our heads while they brief us on this Chechen Mob that doesn't exist.”

“What actually exists is a secret organization known as the Tryzub, the Trident. They are Chechen extremists whose networks are spread throughout Eastern Europe. They are similar to Al Qaeda in resorting to narcoterrorism in furthering their agenda. We suspect that the Tryzub has links to d**g cartels across Europe, though having no connection to the Russian Mafiya. Karpov and his associates would have our superiors believe that the Tryzub has extended its reach into New York, when in fact it is he who is expanding his own operation.”

“Sounds like you got a real hard-on for Karpov.”

“Let me explain myself,” Alex narrowed his eyes. “I have no love lost for the Chechens. I had friends who were among those murdered at the Dubrovka Theater in Moscow in 2002. If we come across the trail of the Tryzub, rest assured I will stop at nothing to eliminate them. However, as a murderer, d**g dealer and extortionist, Karpov stands favorably alongside them. My reason for coming here is to give you my opinion before we proceed. If you feel uncomfortable, perhaps we can come to a resolution before attending the meeting.”

“No, I'm good,” Hoyt held up a hand. “I just don't want to get smoke blown up my arse from either side, if you know what I mean. I've got plenty of experience with terrorists, I'm sure you know. I got here by helping take down the Octagon last year.”

“Yes, I was given access to your dossier. Tell me, did you actually get to meet the Nightcrawler? That must have been quite an experience.”

“Just the one time, at the Statue of Liberty. He was on the way up to the torch and I was vacating the area, so it wasn't much of a meeting.”

“He survived a three hundred and fifty-foot drop that day. It seems he was not as lucky the second time.”

“Well, a body was never recovered. Us New Yorkers like to think he's alive and well out there somewhere.”

“And that he's learned his lesson about taking the law into his own hands,” Alex rose to leave, reaching over to shake Hoyt's hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

Hoyt could not help but chuckle as Alex headed off for the elevator. He could only imagine the reaction if he learned Hoyt would be having a picnic with the Nightcrawler in a couple of hours.

Sabrina Brooks had her own taste of the Siberian Express at BCC that Wednesday. She, Jon Aeppli, Ryan Hoffman and Micah Malloy were elated upon learning they were granted the research contract for the US-Russia AIDS serum project. Once the celebration ended, they prepared for their meeting with their Russian coordinator that morning. As it turned out, they found that their guest was not what they had expected.

Dariya Romanova was a beautiful girl from the city of Omsk. A graduate of the Moscow State University at Lomonosov, she had a degree in chemistry and had spent her internship in nuclear medicine research at the Kurchatov Institute. She had jet-black hair, china blue eyes and an hourglass figure. Sabrina found it amusing that it was lost on her team, as Ryan and Micah were gay and Jon was a middle-aged married man.

“Let me just say I am very pleased to be here in New York to be working with you on this project,” Dariya spoke with a thick Siberian accent. “I am very confident that we will be making history here in a very short time. I have heard many good things about this Company and am quite sure that this will be a wonderful experience.”

“Well, this is what you might call a cottage industry in that we're a tightly-knit family business,” Jon focused his steel-blue eyes on her. “We keep no secrets from one another and work as a unit in everything we do. If anyone has a good idea or something to contribute, we put it right on the table to see if anyone can make it better. Anytime you have any suggestions, we'd want you to speak up so we can keep everything running smoothly.”

“I certainly appreciate that,” Dariya was sincere. “My greatest wish is to make a positive contribution to our success.”

“We've got a personal commitment to this project,” Micah spoke up. Though Ryan was a closet queen, Micah had come out a long time ago. “We have friends and relatives who have contracted this disease. There are a lot of people depending on us, not to mention the millions of victims around the world.”

“My heart goes out to you,” Dariya sympathized. “I myself have more than a couple of friends in Moscow who have been afflicted. I wake up every day hoping that it might be the day that we can make the dream come true.”

“I thought gays were illegal in Russia,” Ryan suppressed a grin.

“Don't pay attention to him, he's always teasing,” Sabrina waved a hand at him. “I'll show you around, take you to your office and help you get situated. If you need anything any of us will be right here for you. Okay, guys, let's get out there and clean up this AIDS mess once and for all.”

Things were happening so quickly she had scarcely enough time to absorb it all. She got a call at nine on Monday morning informing her that BCC had been awarded the Government contract. She next learned that her father's old colleague Benny Terrazas was assigned to the development end of the project. She had not spoken to Benny in quite some time, and he was glad to hear from her though downplaying his excitement over the new development. They agreed to meet for dinner that Friday in celebrating their good fortune as well as discussing how they could coordinate their efforts in pursuing their goal.

They decided to reserve a table for seven at Delmonico's, advertised as the oldest restaurant in NYC. The classic décor was highlighted by chandeliers illuminating the elegantly-curtained windows and the traditional china and white linen table settings. They met there at six PM, Hoyt Wexford and Benny Terrazas greeting them in the waiting area before the maître d' escorted them to the Dickens Alcove. They ordered drinks and appetizers before the waiter left them to their casual conversation.

“This is a wonderful place,” Dariya gazed around at the resplendent settings. “There are places like this in Moscow which are either too expensive or too exclusive. If you can afford a week's pay to eat there, you have to make reservations months in advance and hope some politician is not in need of your table.”

“Let me tell you, honey,” Micah batted his eyelashes, “You don't know how many times my boyfriend and I showed up at restaurants and received the exact same treatment. You wouldn't happen to have a girlfriend, by any chance?”