The Untouchable

Chapter 94

"You see, I didn't cheat," Daniel snapped, yanking away from the hand reaching out. "I've got the appointment at a specific time, and I'm late because of you. Let me go already, Andrei!"

"I get it," Sennoy said, grinning as he gave Daniel a once-over. "I'll let you go now, don't worry. How long will the paperwork take?"

"Probably a while. I don't have any ID on me to prove who I am. I couldn't get any info from the American authorities without tipping off the Bystritskys. I'm not even sure if they can check everything on my end," Daniel said impatiently, shooting glances at the imposing American Embassy building. "I don't know exactly how long it'll take, but I'm guessing a few hours."

"That's too bad, I won't wait around. My guys will pick you up when you're done," Sennoy squeezed his knee briefly before pulling his hand away. "Go on."

Daniel hopped out of the car, fidgeting with his scarf, and headed straight for the embassy's fence. The fear had left him; his only worry now was that Sennoy might change his mind and drag him away before he could get his passport. But it seemed Sennoy was determined to prove his good intentions - well, that was his problem.

The guard, hearing his name, buzzed him in without moving from the door. After what felt like an eternity, just as the automatic door clicked open, letting Daniel inside, Mr. Mason rushed out of the building. A surge of excitement nearly overtook Daniel as he took that first decisive step onto embassy grounds.

"Hello, Mr. King," Mr. Mason shook his hand enthusiastically and gestured towards the entrance. "I want to sincerely apologize for not being able to assist you last time. But I assure you, this time we'll do everything in our power to get you home."

"Hello," Daniel said stiffly as they walked. "Thank you... I understand that the process for re-issuing my passport will be quicker this time? I need to leave as soon as possible - you've seen the materials I sent, and you know a delay could cost me my life."

"I understand completely," Mr. Mason said, opening the heavy door. The wind tugged at his neatly combed hair, and the cold had already turned his nose and cheeks pink. His once cold, detached eyes now seemed confused and sincere. Good, that would make things easier.

Daniel felt a familiar sense of focus, like before a big exam. Everything else could wait. They passed through a long corridor, rode up an elevator, and the number of tense people around them grew with each floor. Daniel shook hands, greeted people, memorized names and titles, and even braced himself when meeting the ambassador. He moved stiffly with his distinguished escort to the meeting room.

He spoke clearly and concisely - his rehearsed speech flowed effortlessly. He didn't falter even when the consular staff paled or gasped in horror at his monotonous recounting. They listened attentively, kept him waiting an unbearably long time, but they finally listened and believed him. The files and notes he'd provided were a compelling prelude to his story.

This time, he delivered his account in a perfect consulting storytelling style: he hooked them with a chilling teaser, backed it up with facts, and maintained the role of a victim - detached, depressed, yet simmering with emotion. Just as a victim of such cruelty should appear. He finished speaking, leaving the room in stunned silence, broken only by heavy, shocked breaths as he locked eyes with the ambassador. The ambassador cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, and spoke in a sonorous voice, carefully modulating his tone to convey support. He, of course, gently led the conversation toward the need to publicize Daniel's story and sue all involved parties.

As expected.

Daniel listened politely, paused dramatically, and then coldly cut him off.

"Thank you, but no."

Had the ambassador been Russian, Daniel would have responded even more curtly with just a firm "no" - the only kind of answer that would have worked. But he was dealing with a different mentality now, one where such a response might be seen as rude or a sign of instability. No, no one would dare make him out to be unhinged.

The ambassador, sensing his lack of response, grew cautious and started talking about the possibility of material compensation for emotional damages and the need to protect other citizens from similar injustices. Daniel listened calmly, not letting the anger raging inside him show. Where had they been when he was being broken? How many letters had he written to the consulate, begging for help? How many horrors had he described to them?

He must have looked indignant because the ambassador, finding no reaction, paused and asked.

"What do you want, then, besides getting your documents back, Mr. King?"

"To be transported out of here and left alone. I'm not getting involved in any political games; I don't have the energy for that. Also, Mr. Ambassador, I need help getting my mother, Olga King, out of Rikers prison. She's mentally ill and needs treatment, so I want to change her conditions. I know Rikers isn't under your jurisdiction, but I'm sure you can influence the right people. Her case should have been reviewed long ago anyway - Rikers isn't meant for long-term incacerations. I've already filed a petition for a psychological evaluation, and I plan to get her out of there as soon as that's done. I hope you'll assist with that," Daniel paused to sip some water, then continued confidently. "As for compensation, I'll decide the amount myself. I'm a legal co-owner of Alexander Bystritsky's bank accounts, so I'll take what I'm owed from there."

"I don't agree with your stance, but I'll respect it. I'll see what I can do about your mother's situation. Normally, it's not difficult to have someone declared mentally ill and transferred to a treatment facility. Your decision to handle compensation on your own makes sense - you'll get more and faster than through the courts. But given the materials you've shown us, those accounts could be frozen at any moment," the ambassador leaned forward, waiting.

"They won't be," Daniel replied curtly. "I'll time it right. Now, if we're done here, can we move on to the paperwork?"

"We can proceed. But know this, Mr. King - if you ever change your mind and decide to go public, we can offer protection for both you and your mother. You'd be placed in the witness protection program," the ambassador said, his hope barely concealed.

"And spend my life hiding under a fake name?" Daniel smirked skeptically. "Thanks, but that doesn't sound too appealing."

"I see, Mr. King. That's unfortunate," the ambassador replied, his mood darkening as he stood, followed by the others. "Our staff will assist you with the paperwork. You're welcome to stay on the embassy grounds until your departure, and we'll also provide you with some financial support."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Ambassador," Daniel said, shaking his hand and repeating his thanks as they walked out. "I truly appreciate your help."

"You're welcome, Mr. King," the ambassador sighed, clearly disappointed - probably because Daniel's story could have been a significant asset. His irritation was hard to miss. "Good luck."

Relief washed over Daniel as he settled into the comfortably impersonal office apartment. He moved to the window, parting the blinds to peer down at the tiny black Gelendewagen far below. Sennoy's people were probably getting just as anxious as Sennoy himself about why Daniel hadn't come out or answered his phone.

Sennoy's a fool if he thinks Daniel is going to let him control him. That self-important pakhan thinks he's some kind of puppet master, pulling the strings of Bystritsky's old crew and making Daniel dance like a puppet.

But really, he's just a puppet himself - a dumb one at that.