Maelstrom

Chapter 6: A Big Break

"Officer Lärke Hellström not only graduated summa cum laude from Yale Law School and at the top of her class in the police academy," DiMarco recited from a scrap of paper he'd produced from his pants pocket, "She has been working very successfully undercover with Vice for the past six months."

I had to wonder how Lt Washington had really characterized my work in Vice; perhaps DiMarco hadn't actually spoken to my old boss and was basing that evaluation strictly on my arrest record. "She fits the general age and physical profile for an Asylum employee, and has a few years of bartending experience in Europe. Correct, Officer Hellström?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, sir," I confirmed. "I tended bar in Stockholm and later in Paris."

There were a few sniggers from the assembled officers. Amalia snorted. "Ooh-la-la. Sounds like some tough gigs."

The lieutenant continued to address me directly. "Over the next week or so, you'll be putting together a new undercover alias to get a job at Asylum. Ramirez, Wu, and Griffith – you'll all be helping with this, since we're on a tight schedule."

DiMarco pointed his finger at the young men who must have been Wu and Griffith to emphasize his next point. "Our intel puts Alkaev in New York sometime next month. That alias needs to be absolutely solid and she needs to be firmly established by the time he gets here; I don't know how we'd get another run at this."

The lieutenant looked around the room, making eye contact with every one of his detectives. "We have enough problems in this town without the Santiago cartel setting up shop here. I don't want them in our city. The chief doesn't want them in our city. The Commissioner doesn't want them in our city. The Mayor doesn't want them in our city. This guy," he tapped the remote on the smartboard again, leaving more blue dots, "is our key to taking them down or kicking them out; we just don't know how yet. It's up to all of you to find out. Dismissed." There was a heavy scraping of chairs and a low rumble of conversation as the bureau's detectives shifted gears to start their other work.

"Hellström, Ramirez, Griffith, Wu." I stood awkwardly at my chair while the rest of the detectives filed out of the room past me, a few shooting welcoming smiles or giving me friendly tips of imaginary top hats as they left. Griffith and Wu came over to where Ramirez and I waited.

Detective Wu held out his hand. "Matt," he said, giving my hand a vigorous pumping. "James," Griffith added, barely meeting my eye. I shook his hand briskly as DiMarco stepped up.

"Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk before the briefing. Lt Washington said it would be better not to contact you at home, and that he would take care of prepping you." I felt my lips tighten a bit at that and forced them to relax.

"Not a problem, sir," I assured him.

"You clear on this whole thing?" he asked.

"Well, I'm sure it's a tough club to secure employment at, sir, but I'll do my best."

DiMarco's friendly demeanor suddenly chilled by several degrees and his roughened face hardened to granite. I felt like my bowels abruptly liquified, and I clenched unconsciously against the sensation. "Let me put it this way, officer," he said sternly. "I need eyes inside that club, and having a few 30- and 40-somethings try to pass themselves off as regulars isn't going to cut it. I need someone who's there day in, day out, after hours, behind the scenes, known and trusted but essentially invisible. With security all in-house, bar staff is our only option. If you can't be that person, we have no use for you in this bureau."

"I understand, sir."

The stern line of his mouth softened almost imperceptibly, making it about as flexible as marble. "Do you speak Spanish?"