Derek Walsh tried not to fidget as he stood in the lobby of Thomas Brothers Financial. It had only taken a moment to retrieve his security plug from under the bench in the courtyard. Agent Stratford shuddered when she realized he had used chewed-up gum to hold the plug in place.
It was almost eight thirty in the morning, and the building was starting to get busy. Tonya Stratford stood right next to him with her FBI badge on a chain around her neck. He wasn’t sure if she was advertising that he was in her custody even if he wasn’t in handcuffs or if she didn’t want anyone to bother them. Either way he stood there and noticed the suspicious look from the security guards who last week had greeted him warmly every time he walked through the doors. Now they regarded him as a thief and possible traitor. Everyone in the building knew the story by now. He had been on the news as a “person of interest.” That was as good as being convicted in most people’s minds.
Whatever happened with the investigation, he knew he didn’t want to come back here. Not only did the unwelcome feeling push him toward the door, but now he knew he needed to contribute. Once he realized he was a small cog in a big plan and someone was trying to undermine the U.S. government, he felt that old spirit well up inside of him. He had to fight back.
They slipped onto an elevator and jumped off at the 31st floor. Agent Stratford, who had one hand wrapped around his right arm, said, “You wait here for a minute. I’ll run through the office to make sure none of our people are there. If they are, we’re going to avoid them long enough for you to stick in the security plug and pull off the photos you want. We’ll decide our next move after that.”
Walsh just nodded his head. It was a good plan and what he’d wanted to do all along. He watched as she pushed through the double glass doors that led to his former offices. He could picture Ted Marshall or Cheryl Kravitz already in the office and directing their small army of traders. They would be back up to speed by now as long as the entire financial community hadn’t lost faith in the company.
He stepped over to the giant window that looked over the courtyard and along the street. There were still a few signs of damage from the protests. A statue at the end of the courtyard lay on the ground. Some of the low hedges had been trampled and not replaced. For the most part the city had done a decent job cleaning up the broken glass and all the trash the protesters had discarded. It wasn’t quite on the scale of the mess the Occupy Wall Street people had made, even though the protest had been more violent. The sheer amount of garbage the Occupy people had produced was mind-boggling. This was just annoying.
He noticed more policemen, several of them wearing body armor and MP-5 submachine guns strapped around their chests. The city was still tense after the bombing of the subway in lower Manhattan and several other attacks. The few news reports he had caught were speculating that the explosion and shootout in Brooklyn where the Russians had kept him captive were part of the terror plot.
Unable to stand still, he reached into his pockets, then absently cracked his knuckles. He wanted to get this over quickly.
Then he heard a male’s raspy voice say, “Hello, smart guy, remember me?” As he turned around, strong hands clasped around his upper arms and shoved him to the floor. The violent action stunned him, but as his head cleared he realized he was looking straight up into the face of Tonya Stratford’s angry partner, Frank Martin.
Joseph Katazin took a moment to lean against the park bench at the far end of the courtyard in front of Thomas Brothers Financial. His ankle throbbed, his ribs were still sore, he had a headache, and now his back was starting to cramp up. This was not how he envisioned his career as a spy. He needed some sleep, two Advil, and a decent meal.
The one thing that sustained him was the success of the operation. The Russian military was on the move, and he had helped buy time and distract the U.S. as well as its NATO partners. His meeting with his contact had been short but did wonders for his morale.
His new assistant, Jerry, made it clear he didn’t like any show of weakness, but he kept his mouth shut. Lucky for him, because in his current mood, Katazin wanted to shoot him. They were both armed with handguns, and that should be all they needed. His biggest concern was that Walsh could now recognize him. Before, he was just a vague face; now he had spent time with the marine, and he doubted he would be overlooked.
Katazin turned and said, “Let’s wait closer to the door.”
Jerry spoke English with a thicker accent. “What if he doesn’t show?”
“Then you still get paid and you might have a job working with me over the weekend. Is that so bad?”
Jerry held up both of his hands and said, “Just asking.”
“But we can’t fool around. If we see this guy, we need to cap him and get moving quickly. Understood?”
Jerry nodded.
They slowly made their way along the outer edge of the courtyard until they were almost in front of the entrance. He would be able to see anyone coming from quite a distance away, and just in case Walsh was moving quicker than he thought, he would easily catch anyone coming outside from this exit.
40
Derek Walsh felt the barrel of the gun in his ribs as the older FBI agent shoved him into an empty elevator. Just as the doors were closing Walsh said, “You don’t understand. I’m here with your partner. I’m working with you guys now.”
The red-faced man said, “You’re not working with me. You caused me too much shit to skate on any of this.”
Walsh was a little confused and kept expecting Agent Stratford to stop this. He also wondered why the FBI agent hadn’t handcuffed him. He said, “Can you just call Agent Stratford?”
“I’ll call her after you’re secure in lockup. We need an arrest on this whether she knows it or not. I am doing her a favor. By the time you work your way through the system, you’ll understand how much trouble you’re in. And I know the guys in the city holding cell will treat you right. That’s why I’m taking you there instead of the federal corrections holding facility downtown.”
Walsh was trying to think what he could do. He realized if he punched this man, even Tonya Stratford wouldn’t be able to help him. It felt like the elevator was closing in around him as he became short of breath and started to sweat. This guy was completely out of his head.
The FBI agent said, “Did you think it was cute having those protesters rough me up the other day? Or how you were able to walk away from a scene that involved three FBI agents being wounded? I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re about to have a reality check.”
The elevator opened, and the FBI agent shoved him out into the lobby. As they made their way to the doors that exited into the courtyard, Walsh considered the chances of this guy shooting him if he ran. If he couldn’t outrun this tub of lard, maybe he didn’t deserve his freedom. He took in a couple of deep breaths just before they got to the door and planned how he would sprint ahead and get his distance right from the beginning. He would head to the end of the courtyard and turn down the same street where he had followed the Russian.
Walsh glanced over his shoulder just as he reached the front door. The FBI agent was still only two feet behind him. That might be all the lead he needed.
Joseph Katazin stood a few feet from the stairs leading to the entrance to Thomas Brothers Financial. Jerry, standing next to him, might as well have been one of the decorative pillars in front of the door. But maybe he could attract enough attention that no one would notice Katazin. He was still formulating a plan about what to do if they saw Walsh coming up the courtyard. Right now his easiest option was just to shoot the former marine and be done with it. He didn’t waste any time explaining this to Jerry. Anyone who didn’t want to wear a coat on a cool day like this because he wanted to show off his biceps wasn’t smart enough to understand the intricacies of international espionage.