Cody Walker's Woman

After a long minute he sighed, then bent a hard gaze at Cody. “I’m just going to have to trust you to do the right thing, Walker. Trust you to tell me if you can’t be objective. And I’m not just talking about the New World Militia and the Russian Brotherhood.”

Keira’s name hung unspoken between them.

“You have my word on that, sir.” Cody shifted his stance slightly. “There’s one other thing. Keira was upset I told you about us last night. She said, ‘I had to tell him about you rescuing me. What will he think of me now?’” His voice roughened. “She’s the most conscientious agent I know. I would hate to think this would affect her career.”

D’Arcy didn’t say anything at first. Then he smiled slightly. “It’s almost funny,” he said. “When she told me you rescued her, she was determined to defend your career with the agency, no matter what happened to hers. And now you’re defending hers the same way.” He nodded. “You’ve made your point. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Cody took that for a dismissal, turned and walked out. Keira was waiting for him in the outer office, along with Sabbatino and Moran. He knew from her face that she had questions—not to mention a protest he could see she was dying to lodge. But she wouldn’t say anything, not in front of Sabbatino and Moran. He knew her well enough to know that.

“I don’t know about you,” he told her, ‘but I’m starved.” He included Sabbatino and Moran in his invitation. “Let’s grab some breakfast in the cafeteria before we do anything else.”

* * *

Michael Vishenko listened dispassionately to the voice on the phone speaking in code phrases. “One and two—failure. Three and four—success. Five and six—no data yet.”

“Thank you,” he said, then hung up. Even though the house was swept daily for listening devices, even though the men reporting to him were supposed to use disposable cell phones as he did, the lessons learned by the New World Militia years ago, along with his uncle’s training, stayed with him. The FBI could easily have him under surveillance, electronic and otherwise. Vishenko wasn’t risking anything being said that could incriminate him.

Three and four—success. He already knew about DeSantini and Brockway. The internet was a wonderful tool for getting news about anything, anywhere, anytime. He’d found the short articles on the explosions in New York and New Jersey, and the deaths of the two men, a half hour apart, late last night. He hadn’t even tried to repress the sense of exultation that had swept through him as he read the articles.

There had been a much longer article this morning that attempted to tie the two deaths together—some smart reporter had tracked the high-profile cases the two federal prosecutors had worked on, and had questioned the FBI about whether there was a connection between their deaths and the sensational trial of David Pennington eight years ago. The FBI’s “No comment at this time” response didn’t mean anything, but he wasn’t worried. Not yet.

One and two—failure. Those failures hurt. DeSantini and Brockway were secondary targets, as were D’Arcy and McKinnon—five and six. Callahan and Walker were the primary targets. They had murdered his father in cold blood six years ago. Not to mention both men had betrayed his father’s organization, the New World Militia, through their undercover activities, and by Callahan’s testimony at his father’s trial.

Not that Michael Vishenko cared about the New World Militia and the cause it espoused. The militia was just a tool. He knew there was little chance of a successful military overthrow of the United States government. But there was a way to power. The way he was pursuing through NOANC.

He smiled coldly and let himself be distracted for a moment. NOANC had been a brilliant idea. Super PACs were the way to go, he’d realized, even before his father had been murdered. Power—real power—only came through controlling the political process.

Even his uncle Alexei acknowledged that money and ruthlessness alone weren’t enough. The Russian Bratva couldn’t survive in this country without the payoffs to various government officials that allowed it to operate with impunity.