Griffon
Hit and Run
Re: Skin the Wolfe: Chapter 22:1 -Even More Secrets
Chapter 22 Even More Secrets
*
Alijosha Danilenko ordered the oak-grilled beefsteak tomato and wild mushroom
sauté as a starter and the Lobster Thermidor topped with a cream sauce of white
wine, shalots, tarragon, mushrooms, roasted peppers and brandy sprinkled with
reggiano parmigiano as main course. Gregor Kasparov had encouraged them to test
run his new menu for the upcoming summer holidays season at Miami and scrutinize
quality of food and taste very thoroughly.
Nevzorov went for an extra thick blue ribbon, prime tenderloin, flash marinated and
grilled tender over aromatic oakwood, the Forge's newest addition to its choice of
meats, together with a pasta appetizer of genuine Italian rigatoni cooked al dente
and served with a fresh primavera mix of fresh baby vegetables, garden spinach,
tomatoes, roasted peppers basil and garlic.
The third man at the table was Jacob Jarovsky, their "sales manager" for arms and
weaponry. Jacob was rather a fishy guy and chose from the extensive fish menu of
the restaurant.
"I believe, that you will like the new Chainti Classico I found in Italy. It is absolutely
glorious and worth each and every cent of its excruciatingly high acquisition prize."
Kasparov joked and served them a dark red, lightly sparkling grape juice that smelled
so nice, that even Valodija Nevzorov's stern features harboured a benevolent smile.
The three men spend some 20 minutes on foodstuff, wine and the Forge's famous
reputation for top quality. Kasparov shepherded them through a set of very tasty
antipasti, another result from his last trip to Italy and made them taste some fickly
'finger cups' of other European wines – a light rosé from the south of Germany, a
flowery white from the valley of the Rhine, four French ones, all from the Loire valley
and finally a Spaniard, that was so rich and full that already a gulp made you almost
drunk.
They complimented the man politely on his choices for the season, assured him that
Miami's rich and famous would appreciate and encouraged him to set the prices for
the delicacies high….the more expensive, the better! When Gregor had disappeared
into the premises, they turned to business.
"So Timofeij is doing well?" Jarovsky enquired. He had been the younger Belkin
brother's sponsor in their organisation and hoped to get him off the hitmen list and
into his part of the business. Timofeij was a great expert in small arms and would be
a very usefull addition to his sales team.
"Very!" Replied Nevzorov. "I got an e-mail from Alexandr Rossinski, the commander
of the Paris branch and he was quite impressed by our brother. Our French friends
have put their dogs onto the traces of CSI Wolfe and should shortly get back to
Timofeij with his location."
"What else from Rossinski?" Danielenko wanted to know. He had been the instigator
of the acquisition of a set of SAGEM surveillance systems for the 'Bratstvo's" storage
houses around Miami and felt rather incline to replace a command in order to also
protect a recently acquired facility at the docks, where they could receive shipping's
from overseas away from the prying eyes of US Customs.
"He made me some interesting offers, Alijosha. He has managed to lay hand on a
small size-high precision French radar system, which could be interesting for our
boats into Cuba and South America." Then turning to Jarovsky he mentioned two
dozen of Ground-to-Air Missiles of the Mistral type, that Rossinski's people had
bought from guys in Former Yougoslavia who were lightening their stocks to the best
offering party.
Jarovsky nodded. "I'd like to have Mistrals. They are the best in their category and
two of my clients would sell their grannies to get some."
"Done" Chuckled Nevzorov." And speaking of grannies, how's 'Babushka' doing?"
Babushka Danilenko was the 'Bratstvo' mascot. She loved all their boys dearly and
took good care of them, firmly believing that they were all good boys, who could not
even kill the proverbial fly.
"She is terribly stressed!" Replied Danilenko." She has to accompany our dear
Ramona to do some shopping and money spending for the new house in South
Miami's Homestead Quarter and you can imagine how it is, when two girls go
shopping with no upper limit."
"Ivan's a clever bastard…" Nevzorov tasted his riagtoni and nodded his approval, "
90 grand for 200 square plus dependencies is almost better an investment then
Rossinski's Mistrals. Perhaps we should give up our other lines of business and turn
to real estate."
Danilenko chewed his tender tomato, watered it down with a hint of Chianti and
placed his knife and fork over the now empty plate. "That's how Rossinski and his
boys make most of their Euros. If you see their annual review, you start to doubt
that crime pays…."
The two other men howled with laughter over Danilenko joke.
"Well, getting back to business: Ramona has perfectly understood what her job is.
She will keep an extremely carefull and extremely discreet eye on our friend Horatio
Caine and report back to me on a daily basis. I will try and establish something like a
Caine schedule based upon this. I will also buy one of these fancy telescopes for the
boys and we set it up on the houses upper floor, so she can take some photographs
when the two little ones are asleep."
Jarovsky chuckled. "The loves and life of one Horatio Caine….that may be
interesting! Bye the way, I came across one Leo Rossi, a former Miami Private
Investigator and now recently released from jail for incitation to murder or
something and who has an edge with the Lieutenant. He offers a set of
"incriminating" DVD-Roms with footage…..shall we give it a try?"
"How much?" Danilenko enquired with great interest. Whatsoever to blacken the
reputation of Caine was good for him and worth some grands.
Jarovsky smiled. "Why shall we pay Alioshenka, when we can get it for free. Rossi's
big mouth and not very carefull….I will agree with him upon a meeting to vision his
stuff and if it is worth the while, I see him offed and we take what we need. Seems
to have also stuff on that Dusuqene woman and Shirova's whelp."
"Wolfe?" Danilenko was very much interested now. There was a guy in Miami who
had already done part of the job he intended to do. That might be a shortcut to tasty
mushrooms!
"Nothing! Bloke seems to be pretty straight and boring: No debts, no running credits,
no bad habits, no womanising, no good graces from the higher levels of his
authorities."
Danilenko nodded. "I have realised this to, Jacob; when I sniffed him out, all I found
was a steady girlfriend who's a journalist with CBS and a bit big mouthed and career-
hungry and some stuff concerning a mistake with their crime lab working protocol
that brought him a very heavy punishment for the proverbial 'next to nothing'!"
"What did the whelp do to merit a whipping from his boss?" Jarovsky asked with
curiosity. Rossi had simply told him concerning Wolfe, that he and one of the girls on
Caine's team –Valera- where non-entities. No fun!
"Didn't tell Caine that he liked the occasional game of poker!"
"Gambling debts?"
"No, not even that. He pays them off with legal money. Has some straight-laced life
insurance policy at 4,65% per year…thing a grandpa would subscribe to. Money from
an inheritance his Granny left him a couple of years ago…does not even play the
stock exchange. Gives him an additional monthly income of 10 grand after taxes!"
Nevzorov choked with laughter. A monthly income of 10 grands after taxes plus a
CSI salary. In a town like Miami, that Wolfe bloke was almost a case for welfare
aid….together with the 4000 bucks the MDPD'd give him per months, he'd hardly be
able to pay his girlfriend half the toggles Ivan just threw on some anonymous one-
night stand or pretty dancer in the Forge's Club after a nice show. His girls already
earned double only for showing their asses and long legs and they made still a
monstrous benefit with the Forge!
"Yes, my friend!" Danilenko replied with mock compassion…"That is really small
change…I think, we do the boy a favour to deliver him of his misery!"
The three men continued their lavish lunch, talking business, exchanging jokes and
planning their next steps against Lt.Caine and his CSIs.
**
Commander Regine Marais gave Lieutenant Horatio Caine a familiar smile and
greeted him cheerfully, when he entered the premises of the French Consulate at
Miami. Then she shook hands rather more formally with the huge, broad shouldered
and pleasantly looking older police officer, who accompanied him and whom Caine
introduced as Sergeant Frank Tripp.
Tripp made an instant good impression on Regine. He had something about him,
that made her trust the man immediately. And he had nice eyes…the eyes of a
honest man!
"Well,…" She motioned her male secretary, a youngish uniformed policeman from
'Gendarmerie Nationale" that he may bring coffee and cookies."…we had quite a
success in Paris. You may be surprised to learn, that our French problem, a certain
Alexandr Rossinski, Russian national, naturalised citizen of France in 2003, accepted
unblinking to assist our fake-mobster Commander Serge Poniatowski in his plans to
murder CSI Wolfe on the soil of France." Regine gave Tripp a smile and offered
gracefully to put sugar and milk into his coffee.
Frank blushed, thanked the small but very cute colleague and took his tiny cup. He
had learned beforehand that this Commander Poniatowski was an undercover agent,
specialised in the Russian mob and who was actually playing the role of Timofeij
Belkin, the younger brother of Dimitrij Belkin, whom Horatio had shot in his attempt
to free Billy Gantry.
Caine accepted a cookie from the silver plate, the young 'gendarme' held out politely
and sipped the strong, tasty coffee contently. The Chief had given him a free hand to
handle the cooperation with the French. He had been talking for several hours with
his French counterpart, the Prefect de Kersausson and the man had been able to
convince the MDPD chief, that acting together was of mutual benefit and that
getting the FBI involved would only bring harm to both their forces.
"Meaning, Commander, that now you can bring this Rossinski down on two high
crimes and get him booked for at least a life sentence?" Horatio was not very familiar
with the European legal system. He had quickly looked up France on the internet and
understood that they had much lower penalties then Florida in particular and the
USA in general.
Regine Marais nodded happily. The success of this operation would reflect upon her
career, too. If she performed well, she might find herself in the front row for
Washington DC or another flashy posting on the police forces diplomatic circuit. " We
have also been able to identify a very soft spot inside our Customs, which is already
worth most of our efforts. A precious catch, so to say. It was not just a lowly
executive, but a ranker who accepted money from the Russian mob for his good
services. At the moment, we decided to let him run, since we intend to use him in
the rest of our master plan."
"And which is?" Frank Tripp enquired. He did not really care about what would
happen in France. His business was Miami. But he wanted to talk to Regine. She was
absolutely gorgeous; clever, tough as nails, witty and …she had beautiful eyes. They
were like hazelnuts! A soft, comforting and warm brown that went excessively well
with her beautiful chocolate coloured hair. Frank was waiting for an answer, staring
at her and imagining what she'd look like, if she'd let that shiny hair out of its strict
bun….a dark angel probably!
Regine instantly turned from Lt.Caine, whom she found a bit stiff, boring and too
American to her taste to the other police officer. He was most charming and very
polite, so she was happy to please him and her authorities had not instructed her to
play secrecy. " Sergeant Tripp, " she explained in a gentle voice, "…we are going to
set them up. We want to be rid of them. The make too much mischief. We will try
and entangle them in an illegal arms deal. We learned from secure sources, that
Mr.Rossinski got hold of some French military hardware that was stolen from our
armed forces a couple of years ago and which we want really back. We believe, that
your "Miami problem" would be enchanted to buy these "things" and we trust you,
that you will restitute everything to us, once the operation has been concluded
successfully!"
Frank nodded happily. He had not understood a single word. Commander Marais
spoke in riddles, but she had the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen on a woman
and he was willing to listen to whatever bullshit, as long as she would look right into
his eyes.
Horatio Caine got the message immediately. He nodded. Commander Marais was a
tough and clever woman. She had said it all without saying a word. "Ok with me,
Regine! You have a deal."
Commander Marais took the offered hand. "If I may, Horatio! Perhaps you should be
a bit careful about coming here etc. We know that the Ismayilovskaya is rather good
in intelligence gathering and habitually has its eyes everywhere. Considering what we
know, you may be under surveillance…"
"I have been thinking of it!" Caine replied in his habitual down-to-business voice.
"This was also the reason, why I brought Sergeant Tripp with me. I think he should
be our liaison for the time being. He is probably less in the line of fire then I and my
CSIs…"
Regine nodded. That was an excellent solution. She would enjoy working with Frank
Tripp. And it would be easier to give the nice sergeant a honest smile then to
pretend with Lt.Caine…Regine had been to St.Cyr-Commissaire with Francois
Delveaux and JP Moulin and she had not hesitated to call JP in private, when she'd
received first orders from Paris. And from what Moulin had told her under the veil of
trust and friendship, she simply could not like Caine. They had their own lot of cold-
hearted bastards in the French police forces and she'd had bosses like Caine. A
superior who'd sacrifice his subordinate just for the fun of it was simply not her cup
of tea, even if the man seemed to be highly competent and a good professional.
Rather work with some good old copper with morals and a heart then with this high-
flying, career-oriented and evasive CSI.
***
Claire had been surprised to find the Alpha-Wolf and the cub peacefully in her
garden. Both had settled in the grass. The Alpha with a wicker basket, Ryan with a
plastic bowl from her kitchen. Paddy seemed to make good progress on the
raspberries. The basket looked rather full, while Ryan absorbed most of his harvest
directly, without intermediate processing. Claire smiled. From her studies and long-
term observation she knew, that the surviving Ice Age predator was not only keen on
raw, fresh meats, but also on berries and other sweeter goodies that nature would
provide during the seasons. But she had somehow expected that Ryan had grown
out of his steeling of fruit at age 32!
"So you do not want a cake tonight!" She called her guys happily.
Ryan's head turned around immediately. His eyes were guilty, his hands had a nice
colour of red and ripe. Paddy just lifted his basket. "It is almost full, dear!" He replied
cheerfully. "And I have cleaned your kitchen….so you can get to work immediately.
We are starving!"
Claire chuckled softly when she saw Ryan clean his guilty fingers on his trousers. He
was a nightmare. It was almost impossible to get raspberry juice out of cotton. The
younger wolf looked slightly more healthy and cheerful then the night before. His
face was less strained and the dark shadow under his eyes seemed gone. Only the
fact that he had splendid five-o'clock shadows suggested, that his face and jaw
probably still hurt like hell. Claire decided that she'd bully him out of his shirt and
ridden him of those infamous stitches….Even if she would not have known that one
of his closest friends in Miami was a vet, she'd have deduced it from the stitching.
Only vets were mad enough to try and fix shit that could not be fixed any longer. But
who cared about scars on horses or cows!
She was rather proud of Paddy. The bugger had been sensitive enough to not bother
his son and drag him in for some health-enhancing past times: Sitting in the sun and
nibbling raspberries was ok in Ryan's state. As long, as her step-son did not move
too much or try and make physical efforts everything was fine with Claire. She had
absolutely no intention of driving him to the ER at three in the morning with
breathing problems that resembled pneumothorax.
"You found my nice little breakfast?" She asked, walking over to the boys and placing
a caring hand on Ryan's shoulder. He did not flinch from her touch, which was a
good sign.
He gave her a smile. "Thanks, Claire! That was nice. And I loved your strawberry
jam."
She bend down and gave him a gentle kiss. "Whatever you like, sweet! How do you
feel?"
The words had been too softly spoken for Paddy to understand. Anyhow, the Alpha-
Wolfe was trotting towards the kitchen with his basket ignoring her bonding with the
cub. Paddy was a basic male; mostly stomach on two legs!
"I feel like shit, Claire!" Ryan confessed softly. "I have more colours then a naïve
wood painting from Ecuador!"
"Hush!" Claire replied. "That will go away in a couple of days." She sat on the grass
next to Ryan and put her arm around his shoulders….very carefully, not to hurt him."
We are going to have a nice lunch, then I will take care of this and I pull your
stitches…." She passed her hand softly through his short cut hair and over his face.
"Can you draw breath?"
Wolfe shrugged his shoulders. He could not, as a matter of fact. He was basically
sitting in the grass and nibbling raspberries like a child, because he had not to take
the decision to draw breath for good and he simply had not the courage to confront
the pain of doing so.
Claire was rather the diplomat of the family. She understood without words, what
Ryan tried to tell her. He wanted to go out with JP and Delveaux and that
Poniatowski bloke. He wanted to do whatever was necessary to get rid of his
"Russian problem" and continue with his life…..but his body refused to obey. She
placed her hand protectively over his head and pulled the younger O'Briain against
her slim shoulder. Part of Claire understood him perfectly well. She had been living
with his father through 15 years of Russian mob! Another part of her – the MD-
understood that Ryan did not have the strength to fight at this moment. He was
breathing heavily, like an old draught horse with an emphysema. And even for a
warm, French early summer day his skin was too hot…a bout of fever! Nothing
dramatic, but together with what she knew about his last few days simply…a bit too
much. She took his hand and helped him up, then shepherded him over to the
terrace and into a comfortably "chaise longue" with soft cushions. First he resisted,
but then he allowed her to push him into the cushions.
"You stay here, dear.." She said softly, " …and close your eyes for a while. I'll weak
you, when lunch is ready!" Claire pulled a cotton blanket over Ryan and left for the
kitchen.
Chapter 22 Even More Secrets
*
Alijosha Danilenko ordered the oak-grilled beefsteak tomato and wild mushroom
sauté as a starter and the Lobster Thermidor topped with a cream sauce of white
wine, shalots, tarragon, mushrooms, roasted peppers and brandy sprinkled with
reggiano parmigiano as main course. Gregor Kasparov had encouraged them to test
run his new menu for the upcoming summer holidays season at Miami and scrutinize
quality of food and taste very thoroughly.
Nevzorov went for an extra thick blue ribbon, prime tenderloin, flash marinated and
grilled tender over aromatic oakwood, the Forge's newest addition to its choice of
meats, together with a pasta appetizer of genuine Italian rigatoni cooked al dente
and served with a fresh primavera mix of fresh baby vegetables, garden spinach,
tomatoes, roasted peppers basil and garlic.
The third man at the table was Jacob Jarovsky, their "sales manager" for arms and
weaponry. Jacob was rather a fishy guy and chose from the extensive fish menu of
the restaurant.
"I believe, that you will like the new Chainti Classico I found in Italy. It is absolutely
glorious and worth each and every cent of its excruciatingly high acquisition prize."
Kasparov joked and served them a dark red, lightly sparkling grape juice that smelled
so nice, that even Valodija Nevzorov's stern features harboured a benevolent smile.
The three men spend some 20 minutes on foodstuff, wine and the Forge's famous
reputation for top quality. Kasparov shepherded them through a set of very tasty
antipasti, another result from his last trip to Italy and made them taste some fickly
'finger cups' of other European wines – a light rosé from the south of Germany, a
flowery white from the valley of the Rhine, four French ones, all from the Loire valley
and finally a Spaniard, that was so rich and full that already a gulp made you almost
drunk.
They complimented the man politely on his choices for the season, assured him that
Miami's rich and famous would appreciate and encouraged him to set the prices for
the delicacies high….the more expensive, the better! When Gregor had disappeared
into the premises, they turned to business.
"So Timofeij is doing well?" Jarovsky enquired. He had been the younger Belkin
brother's sponsor in their organisation and hoped to get him off the hitmen list and
into his part of the business. Timofeij was a great expert in small arms and would be
a very usefull addition to his sales team.
"Very!" Replied Nevzorov. "I got an e-mail from Alexandr Rossinski, the commander
of the Paris branch and he was quite impressed by our brother. Our French friends
have put their dogs onto the traces of CSI Wolfe and should shortly get back to
Timofeij with his location."
"What else from Rossinski?" Danielenko wanted to know. He had been the instigator
of the acquisition of a set of SAGEM surveillance systems for the 'Bratstvo's" storage
houses around Miami and felt rather incline to replace a command in order to also
protect a recently acquired facility at the docks, where they could receive shipping's
from overseas away from the prying eyes of US Customs.
"He made me some interesting offers, Alijosha. He has managed to lay hand on a
small size-high precision French radar system, which could be interesting for our
boats into Cuba and South America." Then turning to Jarovsky he mentioned two
dozen of Ground-to-Air Missiles of the Mistral type, that Rossinski's people had
bought from guys in Former Yougoslavia who were lightening their stocks to the best
offering party.
Jarovsky nodded. "I'd like to have Mistrals. They are the best in their category and
two of my clients would sell their grannies to get some."
"Done" Chuckled Nevzorov." And speaking of grannies, how's 'Babushka' doing?"
Babushka Danilenko was the 'Bratstvo' mascot. She loved all their boys dearly and
took good care of them, firmly believing that they were all good boys, who could not
even kill the proverbial fly.
"She is terribly stressed!" Replied Danilenko." She has to accompany our dear
Ramona to do some shopping and money spending for the new house in South
Miami's Homestead Quarter and you can imagine how it is, when two girls go
shopping with no upper limit."
"Ivan's a clever bastard…" Nevzorov tasted his riagtoni and nodded his approval, "
90 grand for 200 square plus dependencies is almost better an investment then
Rossinski's Mistrals. Perhaps we should give up our other lines of business and turn
to real estate."
Danilenko chewed his tender tomato, watered it down with a hint of Chianti and
placed his knife and fork over the now empty plate. "That's how Rossinski and his
boys make most of their Euros. If you see their annual review, you start to doubt
that crime pays…."
The two other men howled with laughter over Danilenko joke.
"Well, getting back to business: Ramona has perfectly understood what her job is.
She will keep an extremely carefull and extremely discreet eye on our friend Horatio
Caine and report back to me on a daily basis. I will try and establish something like a
Caine schedule based upon this. I will also buy one of these fancy telescopes for the
boys and we set it up on the houses upper floor, so she can take some photographs
when the two little ones are asleep."
Jarovsky chuckled. "The loves and life of one Horatio Caine….that may be
interesting! Bye the way, I came across one Leo Rossi, a former Miami Private
Investigator and now recently released from jail for incitation to murder or
something and who has an edge with the Lieutenant. He offers a set of
"incriminating" DVD-Roms with footage…..shall we give it a try?"
"How much?" Danilenko enquired with great interest. Whatsoever to blacken the
reputation of Caine was good for him and worth some grands.
Jarovsky smiled. "Why shall we pay Alioshenka, when we can get it for free. Rossi's
big mouth and not very carefull….I will agree with him upon a meeting to vision his
stuff and if it is worth the while, I see him offed and we take what we need. Seems
to have also stuff on that Dusuqene woman and Shirova's whelp."
"Wolfe?" Danilenko was very much interested now. There was a guy in Miami who
had already done part of the job he intended to do. That might be a shortcut to tasty
mushrooms!
"Nothing! Bloke seems to be pretty straight and boring: No debts, no running credits,
no bad habits, no womanising, no good graces from the higher levels of his
authorities."
Danilenko nodded. "I have realised this to, Jacob; when I sniffed him out, all I found
was a steady girlfriend who's a journalist with CBS and a bit big mouthed and career-
hungry and some stuff concerning a mistake with their crime lab working protocol
that brought him a very heavy punishment for the proverbial 'next to nothing'!"
"What did the whelp do to merit a whipping from his boss?" Jarovsky asked with
curiosity. Rossi had simply told him concerning Wolfe, that he and one of the girls on
Caine's team –Valera- where non-entities. No fun!
"Didn't tell Caine that he liked the occasional game of poker!"
"Gambling debts?"
"No, not even that. He pays them off with legal money. Has some straight-laced life
insurance policy at 4,65% per year…thing a grandpa would subscribe to. Money from
an inheritance his Granny left him a couple of years ago…does not even play the
stock exchange. Gives him an additional monthly income of 10 grand after taxes!"
Nevzorov choked with laughter. A monthly income of 10 grands after taxes plus a
CSI salary. In a town like Miami, that Wolfe bloke was almost a case for welfare
aid….together with the 4000 bucks the MDPD'd give him per months, he'd hardly be
able to pay his girlfriend half the toggles Ivan just threw on some anonymous one-
night stand or pretty dancer in the Forge's Club after a nice show. His girls already
earned double only for showing their asses and long legs and they made still a
monstrous benefit with the Forge!
"Yes, my friend!" Danilenko replied with mock compassion…"That is really small
change…I think, we do the boy a favour to deliver him of his misery!"
The three men continued their lavish lunch, talking business, exchanging jokes and
planning their next steps against Lt.Caine and his CSIs.
**
Commander Regine Marais gave Lieutenant Horatio Caine a familiar smile and
greeted him cheerfully, when he entered the premises of the French Consulate at
Miami. Then she shook hands rather more formally with the huge, broad shouldered
and pleasantly looking older police officer, who accompanied him and whom Caine
introduced as Sergeant Frank Tripp.
Tripp made an instant good impression on Regine. He had something about him,
that made her trust the man immediately. And he had nice eyes…the eyes of a
honest man!
"Well,…" She motioned her male secretary, a youngish uniformed policeman from
'Gendarmerie Nationale" that he may bring coffee and cookies."…we had quite a
success in Paris. You may be surprised to learn, that our French problem, a certain
Alexandr Rossinski, Russian national, naturalised citizen of France in 2003, accepted
unblinking to assist our fake-mobster Commander Serge Poniatowski in his plans to
murder CSI Wolfe on the soil of France." Regine gave Tripp a smile and offered
gracefully to put sugar and milk into his coffee.
Frank blushed, thanked the small but very cute colleague and took his tiny cup. He
had learned beforehand that this Commander Poniatowski was an undercover agent,
specialised in the Russian mob and who was actually playing the role of Timofeij
Belkin, the younger brother of Dimitrij Belkin, whom Horatio had shot in his attempt
to free Billy Gantry.
Caine accepted a cookie from the silver plate, the young 'gendarme' held out politely
and sipped the strong, tasty coffee contently. The Chief had given him a free hand to
handle the cooperation with the French. He had been talking for several hours with
his French counterpart, the Prefect de Kersausson and the man had been able to
convince the MDPD chief, that acting together was of mutual benefit and that
getting the FBI involved would only bring harm to both their forces.
"Meaning, Commander, that now you can bring this Rossinski down on two high
crimes and get him booked for at least a life sentence?" Horatio was not very familiar
with the European legal system. He had quickly looked up France on the internet and
understood that they had much lower penalties then Florida in particular and the
USA in general.
Regine Marais nodded happily. The success of this operation would reflect upon her
career, too. If she performed well, she might find herself in the front row for
Washington DC or another flashy posting on the police forces diplomatic circuit. " We
have also been able to identify a very soft spot inside our Customs, which is already
worth most of our efforts. A precious catch, so to say. It was not just a lowly
executive, but a ranker who accepted money from the Russian mob for his good
services. At the moment, we decided to let him run, since we intend to use him in
the rest of our master plan."
"And which is?" Frank Tripp enquired. He did not really care about what would
happen in France. His business was Miami. But he wanted to talk to Regine. She was
absolutely gorgeous; clever, tough as nails, witty and …she had beautiful eyes. They
were like hazelnuts! A soft, comforting and warm brown that went excessively well
with her beautiful chocolate coloured hair. Frank was waiting for an answer, staring
at her and imagining what she'd look like, if she'd let that shiny hair out of its strict
bun….a dark angel probably!
Regine instantly turned from Lt.Caine, whom she found a bit stiff, boring and too
American to her taste to the other police officer. He was most charming and very
polite, so she was happy to please him and her authorities had not instructed her to
play secrecy. " Sergeant Tripp, " she explained in a gentle voice, "…we are going to
set them up. We want to be rid of them. The make too much mischief. We will try
and entangle them in an illegal arms deal. We learned from secure sources, that
Mr.Rossinski got hold of some French military hardware that was stolen from our
armed forces a couple of years ago and which we want really back. We believe, that
your "Miami problem" would be enchanted to buy these "things" and we trust you,
that you will restitute everything to us, once the operation has been concluded
successfully!"
Frank nodded happily. He had not understood a single word. Commander Marais
spoke in riddles, but she had the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen on a woman
and he was willing to listen to whatever bullshit, as long as she would look right into
his eyes.
Horatio Caine got the message immediately. He nodded. Commander Marais was a
tough and clever woman. She had said it all without saying a word. "Ok with me,
Regine! You have a deal."
Commander Marais took the offered hand. "If I may, Horatio! Perhaps you should be
a bit careful about coming here etc. We know that the Ismayilovskaya is rather good
in intelligence gathering and habitually has its eyes everywhere. Considering what we
know, you may be under surveillance…"
"I have been thinking of it!" Caine replied in his habitual down-to-business voice.
"This was also the reason, why I brought Sergeant Tripp with me. I think he should
be our liaison for the time being. He is probably less in the line of fire then I and my
CSIs…"
Regine nodded. That was an excellent solution. She would enjoy working with Frank
Tripp. And it would be easier to give the nice sergeant a honest smile then to
pretend with Lt.Caine…Regine had been to St.Cyr-Commissaire with Francois
Delveaux and JP Moulin and she had not hesitated to call JP in private, when she'd
received first orders from Paris. And from what Moulin had told her under the veil of
trust and friendship, she simply could not like Caine. They had their own lot of cold-
hearted bastards in the French police forces and she'd had bosses like Caine. A
superior who'd sacrifice his subordinate just for the fun of it was simply not her cup
of tea, even if the man seemed to be highly competent and a good professional.
Rather work with some good old copper with morals and a heart then with this high-
flying, career-oriented and evasive CSI.
***
Claire had been surprised to find the Alpha-Wolf and the cub peacefully in her
garden. Both had settled in the grass. The Alpha with a wicker basket, Ryan with a
plastic bowl from her kitchen. Paddy seemed to make good progress on the
raspberries. The basket looked rather full, while Ryan absorbed most of his harvest
directly, without intermediate processing. Claire smiled. From her studies and long-
term observation she knew, that the surviving Ice Age predator was not only keen on
raw, fresh meats, but also on berries and other sweeter goodies that nature would
provide during the seasons. But she had somehow expected that Ryan had grown
out of his steeling of fruit at age 32!
"So you do not want a cake tonight!" She called her guys happily.
Ryan's head turned around immediately. His eyes were guilty, his hands had a nice
colour of red and ripe. Paddy just lifted his basket. "It is almost full, dear!" He replied
cheerfully. "And I have cleaned your kitchen….so you can get to work immediately.
We are starving!"
Claire chuckled softly when she saw Ryan clean his guilty fingers on his trousers. He
was a nightmare. It was almost impossible to get raspberry juice out of cotton. The
younger wolf looked slightly more healthy and cheerful then the night before. His
face was less strained and the dark shadow under his eyes seemed gone. Only the
fact that he had splendid five-o'clock shadows suggested, that his face and jaw
probably still hurt like hell. Claire decided that she'd bully him out of his shirt and
ridden him of those infamous stitches….Even if she would not have known that one
of his closest friends in Miami was a vet, she'd have deduced it from the stitching.
Only vets were mad enough to try and fix shit that could not be fixed any longer. But
who cared about scars on horses or cows!
She was rather proud of Paddy. The bugger had been sensitive enough to not bother
his son and drag him in for some health-enhancing past times: Sitting in the sun and
nibbling raspberries was ok in Ryan's state. As long, as her step-son did not move
too much or try and make physical efforts everything was fine with Claire. She had
absolutely no intention of driving him to the ER at three in the morning with
breathing problems that resembled pneumothorax.
"You found my nice little breakfast?" She asked, walking over to the boys and placing
a caring hand on Ryan's shoulder. He did not flinch from her touch, which was a
good sign.
He gave her a smile. "Thanks, Claire! That was nice. And I loved your strawberry
jam."
She bend down and gave him a gentle kiss. "Whatever you like, sweet! How do you
feel?"
The words had been too softly spoken for Paddy to understand. Anyhow, the Alpha-
Wolfe was trotting towards the kitchen with his basket ignoring her bonding with the
cub. Paddy was a basic male; mostly stomach on two legs!
"I feel like shit, Claire!" Ryan confessed softly. "I have more colours then a naïve
wood painting from Ecuador!"
"Hush!" Claire replied. "That will go away in a couple of days." She sat on the grass
next to Ryan and put her arm around his shoulders….very carefully, not to hurt him."
We are going to have a nice lunch, then I will take care of this and I pull your
stitches…." She passed her hand softly through his short cut hair and over his face.
"Can you draw breath?"
Wolfe shrugged his shoulders. He could not, as a matter of fact. He was basically
sitting in the grass and nibbling raspberries like a child, because he had not to take
the decision to draw breath for good and he simply had not the courage to confront
the pain of doing so.
Claire was rather the diplomat of the family. She understood without words, what
Ryan tried to tell her. He wanted to go out with JP and Delveaux and that
Poniatowski bloke. He wanted to do whatever was necessary to get rid of his
"Russian problem" and continue with his life…..but his body refused to obey. She
placed her hand protectively over his head and pulled the younger O'Briain against
her slim shoulder. Part of Claire understood him perfectly well. She had been living
with his father through 15 years of Russian mob! Another part of her – the MD-
understood that Ryan did not have the strength to fight at this moment. He was
breathing heavily, like an old draught horse with an emphysema. And even for a
warm, French early summer day his skin was too hot…a bout of fever! Nothing
dramatic, but together with what she knew about his last few days simply…a bit too
much. She took his hand and helped him up, then shepherded him over to the
terrace and into a comfortably "chaise longue" with soft cushions. First he resisted,
but then he allowed her to push him into the cushions.
"You stay here, dear.." She said softly, " …and close your eyes for a while. I'll weak
you, when lunch is ready!" Claire pulled a cotton blanket over Ryan and left for the
kitchen.
