'Hello? John? You're breaking up.'
Everyone's a friggin' comedian. I said, 'This is important and highly confidential.'
'All right… do you want to meet?'
'I'm not allowed out.'
'She catch you?'
'Actually, I'm being protected at home by Special Operations.'
'Jeez. What the hell did you do?'
'I didn't do anything, Dick.' I asked him, 'Are you bug-free there? Phone and office?'
'Uh… yeah. I mean, I check.' He asked me, 'How about you?'
'I'm on a prepaid-minutes phone, and I'm pretty sure my apartment is clean.'
'Okay. But why are we concerned about that?'
'I'm glad you asked. Here's the deal. I'm looking for a guy named Boris. Russian born, former KGB, age about fifty, last known-'
'Hold on. Boris who?'
'I don't know. I'm asking you.'
'Don't you, like, work for the FBI? I mean, maybe they can help you.'
'I'm outsourcing this.'
'You mean this is official? I get paid?'
'No.'
'Jeez. Come on, John. This is risky business.'
'Let's say this is a private matter. Like a matrimonial. Maybe a credit check.'
'The last two times I did this for you, I was sweating getting caught and losing my license.'
'You licensed?'
'And my government contract.'
'Last known living in the D.C. area, three years ago. Are you writing this down?'
'You're an asshole.'
'After leaving the KGB, this man worked for Libyan Intelligence.'
'Who?'
'Then he defected-actually, escaped from Libya-with the help of the CIA and wound up in Washington, where I met him three years ago-'
'I really don't want to touch anything that has to do with the Company.'
'I'm not asking you to. My thinking is that when the CIA got through debriefing Boris, he went into this post- Soviet resettlement program that takes care of and keeps tabs on guys like Boris. But the CIA doesn't run this program in the U.S., so these resettled Soviets are usually turned over to the FBI to keep track of. Follow?'
'Yeah.'
'So Boris is registered with a local FBI field office somewhere.'
'Right.' He reminded me, 'I checked out a Russian for you last October. Guy named Mikhail something. He lived in Boston and I-'
'Right. Did you get my check?'
'I had to call the FBI field office in Boston for that one, and they started asking me why I needed this information.'
'For your job, Dick. And they gave you the info.'
'Yeah… but… it's a stretch.'
'Dick, if this wasn't important-'
'Okay. So you have no last name and only a last-seen time and place.'
'Right. Ex-KGB. Boris. How many could there be?'
'John, I need something more-'
'He smokes Marlboros and drinks Stoli.'
'Oh, why didn't you say so? Let me check my computer.'
'Look, I think we have two possible locations on Boris. Washington metro area and New York metro. That's where half these Russians wind up. So you call your FBI sources in both places and say… whatever.'
'Yeah. Whatever. What the hell am I supposed to tell them-?'
'Wing it. You're doing a background check for a security clearance. That's what the government pays you to do, Dick.'
'They usually give me the person's last name, John. Plus other useful information like where he lives, where he's currently working, and everything the guy already put on his government employment application. I do background checks on known people-I don't find people.'
'What happened to the old can-do Dick Kearns?'
'Cut the shit. Okay… here's what I can do… I can give the Bureau the name of a Russian guy I'm actually doing an FBI background check on… and I can say this guy seems to be in contact with a Russian guy named Boris who I need to check out, last name unknown, age about fifty, formerly KGB, worked for Libyan Intelligence, defected here, and was last seen in Washington three years ago.'
'Smoking Marlboros. Brilliant.'
'Yeah… and maybe if the FBI guy I'm speaking to doesn't ask me too many questions about how I already know so much about Boris, and if they don't want to look into this themselves, then maybe they'll come up with a Boris who fits the known information.'
'See? Simple.'
'Long shot.' He asked me, 'Where should I try first? D.C. or New York?'
I thought about that and replied hopefully, 'New York.'
'Good. I have better contacts at 26 Fed than in D.C.'
That reminded me to ask him, 'Is your job offer still good?'
'No.'
'Why not? I have great contacts at 26 Fed.'
'It doesn't sound like it.'
Dick did not ask me what this was about because obviously he did not want to know. But he did know that I was off the reservation again, plus, of course, I was under some sort of house protection, not to mention that I was asking about a job. So to give him a little clarification and motivation, I said to him, 'Kate is actually not good. She was attacked by an Islamic terrorist.'
'What? Holy-'
'She's okay. Knife wound to the neck. She'll be in the hospital for a few days, then back home under house protection.'
'Thank God.' He said, 'So… the assailant is still at large?'
'He is.'
'And he's looking for you now?'
'I'm looking for him.'
'Right. And this guy Boris, who worked for Libyan Intelligence-?'
'It's related.'
'Okay. If Boris is in the U.S., I'll find him for you.'
'I know you will.' I advised him, 'He could be recently deceased.'
'Okay. Dead or alive.' He asked, 'How do I contact you?'
I gave him my prepaid cell phone number and said, 'I need this in twenty-four hours. Less.'
'If you get off the phone, I'll get on it now.'
'Regards to Mo.'
'My prayers are with Kate.'
How about me, Dick? 'Thanks.' I hung up and finished my drink.
Dick Kearns had about a fifty/fifty chance of finding Boris. Maybe less. The odds of Boris still being alive were less than that. But if Dick found him alive, then Boris and I could talk about how to solve our common problem.
The alcohol was giving me a little buzz, and I hadn't gotten much sleep, so I lay back in the recliner, closed my eyes, and yawned.
