Chapter 54: Ivanskaya Bratva

TL: LittlePeach

The tears Owl No. 5 burst into the moment he laid eyes on me seemed to carry one hell of a long story.

"I! I-I-I.... I, I thought you'd s-sold me off to this c-cod plant!"

"Aha."

"No matter how much I kept going Sunny Kick, Sunny Kick, they all pretended not to understand, so a few days ago I actually begged them to at least pay me a wage if they were going to work me...."

Apparently the sense of injustice far outweighed any emotion at our reunion.

Watching him pour out his grievances, frozen lips trembling, honestly, I'd been wondering the same thing myself.

"Nikolai. Why didn't you put this man on a smuggling boat and send him home?"

At that, Nikolai grinned.

"Hey, Sunny Kick. I thought you'd sold this man to our plant as a slave. That wasn't it?"

"Eek!"

Owl No. 5 blanched and started trembling all over.

We'd known each other so long that Nikolai had more or less pieced together what we'd been saying in Korean.

"Kidding. Truth is, I was trying to send him off somehow. But a problem came up."

"A problem?"

"About half a year ago my father retired, and the plant changed owners. So whether I can smuggle someone out or not isn't up to me anymore."

"Ah, is that right?"

What was there left to hide at this point?

Back in my Defense Intelligence Command days, I was once put on an operation the Special Task Force ran off the books.

It was called Operation Russian Defection Route.

For it, I scrubbed my Defense Intelligence Special Task Force identity, joined a Russian PMC, a private military company, and lived as a mercenary.

The goal was to co-opt a number of local assets from the inside and build an unofficial defection route linking Russia and North Korea.

All told, it lasted about three years.

"I even called to tell you, but the number came up disconnected?"

"Ah, sorry. I've been breaking a lot of phones lately."

"Anyway, I figured if something seemed off, you'd come find me yourself."

The man in front of me, Nikolai, was one of the contacts I'd built up in those PMC days.

He retired around the same time I did, saying he had to help out at his father's plant, and on the strength of the friendship we'd built, he became the local asset who helped smuggle my defectors out by sea.

For an unofficial defection route, it was nothing grand.

I'd send a defector to Nikolai under the name Sunny Kick, and he'd use his own discretion to carve out a corner of a refrigerated container and smuggle them into Busan Port.

"So who's the new boss?"

"My sister."

"Your sister? Yelena, was it?"

"Yeah. That's her."

"As I recall.... you always said she was an absolutely terrifying person."

When I tilted my head, Nikolai grinned.

"That's right. I used to curse her out as an elephant of a bitch, every single time."

"Haha...."

Anyway, I got the picture.

Now that Nikolai's sister had inherited the plant, handing out berths on smuggling boats at his own discretion was apparently no longer an option.

"But if you want to keep smuggling defectors out through our plant, you'd be better off talking to my sister directly. She's in Vladivostok for a bit, so she'll be back soon."

I nodded readily.

Though whether negotiations could possibly go smoothly with the terrifying figure he kept trash-talking as an elephant, I had no idea.

"Let's head to the office and thaw out first."

"Sounds good. I brought a bottle of vodka as a gift."

"I was wondering what you had in your hand. Honorary Russian, as always."

We all stepped out of the frozen plant together.

Owl No. 5 hurried ahead in stiff, frozen little steps.

"Ugh. I think I've seen every cod head I'll ever need to see in my life in there."

"Hey, Comrade Worker. Quit whining and have a drink."

As Owl No. 5 crouched down in front of the office stove, Nikolai, watching him, held out a small tray bearing three glasses of vodka.

The air was chilly anyway, so we each picked up a glass.

"Kahh. So, Sunny Kick, you retired and went back to the homeland... what do you do for a living these days?"

"Oh, you know. Smuggling people out, same as this."

"Yeah? I always figured a guy of your caliber would've ended up something like a black agent for South Korea's NIS."

Owl No. 5, mid-sip of his vodka, flinched and hunched his shoulders.

While Nikolai shrugged with feigned nonchalance, I made a point of giving no reaction at all.

'Is he fishing?'

I tipped the drink back in one gulp and asked, just as nonchalant.

"What made you think that?"

"No, it's just, the timing is awfully convenient. A few days ago, off the coast of Vladivostok, North Korean soldiers and the Russian mafia tried to make some kind of deal, right? And the Primorsky Regional Security Bureau raided the scene and rounded them all up."

Owl No. 5, listening beside us, hunched his shoulders yet again.

Only natural; the whole reason he'd been dispatched to Russia was to film that very deal.

"But then, as it happens, five NIS black agents who'd come over from South Korea got scooped up along with them? And right when I heard that news, some Korean showed up at my door dropping the name Sunny Kick. Going by the timing, I figured this guy had to be an NIS black agent. And in that case, wouldn't the Sunny Kick who asked me to smuggle him out be an NIS black agent too?"

A perfectly reasonable inference.

Under the nervous, trembling gaze of Owl No. 5, I gave a light shrug.

"Smart. You've got it right. I'm an NIS black agent."

"I knew it!"

At that, Owl No. 5's jaw dropped in horror.

His face was asking if it was really okay to just spill it like that.

But playing dumb here would only pile up needless misunderstandings.

Nikolai and I were going to be seeing each other for a long time to come.

"In exchange, I'd like you to keep it a secret. The whole point of calling someone a black agent is that they're never supposed to show on the surface, right?"

"Of course. Don't worry. I can't go throwing mud on a friend's business."

Russian men believe friendship is proven in silence; between friends, a secret of this size could be shared freely enough.

In any case, I'd just learned something new.

"By the way, sir, are the other NIS agents being held in Russia right now?"

Since my cover was blown anyway, I spoke freely with Owl No. 5.

The glass he'd been sipping at had nearly reached the bottom.

"Mm-hm. That's right. They were running an op and got grabbed, every last one, by Russian Security Bureau agents."

"How did you manage to dodge the disaster, sir?"

"I was working alone, doing my own thing, so I was pretty far from the scene. The moment something smelled off, I ran straight here."

I clicked my tongue, feeling a little sheepish.

If I hadn't gone out of my way, just to be on the safe side, to tell him about Ocean Sigma, Owl No. 5 wouldn't have been written off as missing; he'd probably be detained at the Security Bureau along with the Russia Team.

'Did I stick my nose in for nothing?'

Then, around the time the glasses ran dry, Owl No. 5, flushed with drink, fumbled something out of his padded-jacket pocket.

It was a small camera.

"But if I'd been caught, they'd have taken this too."

"Did you get something on film?"

"I couldn't get the deal itself properly, but I did catch one strange scene."

The camera's battery had drained completely while he worked inside the freezer plant.

"Here you go."

"Spasibo."

His own curiosity apparently piqued, Nikolai handed over a charger from the office.

The moment the camera came back to life, Owl No. 5 played back a video.

"This first part isn't much to look at, honestly. It's the North Korean agents and the Russian mafia making contact to trade missile technology."

The figures on the screen were five or six men who looked like North Korean agents and two or three Russians.

They picked out one of the many fishing boats moored at Vladivostok Port and went aboard.

"But now! This is where the Regional Security Bureau agents, who'd already caught the scent, came storming in."

"Hm."

Soon the mood on screen flipped in an instant.

Armed Security Bureau agents swarmed in and stormed the fishing boat, and before long they were hauling out the North Koreans and mafia men inside under arrest.

At the edge of that pandemonium, other Security Bureau agents dragged four or five unidentified figures out of another building set some distance away.

"Those are our NIS Russia Team people."

"Aha."

"But here's the real problem. From here on.... watch closely."

As the scene gradually settled, the camera's focus glided into a zoom on one spot.

Handcuffed men were being led to vehicles by Security Bureau agents.

Among them, one man, handcuffed like the rest, was led by someone's hand away from the group and quietly spirited off to the side.

"Oho?"

Just then, Nikolai, who'd been huddled up with us watching the footage, let out an exclamation for reasons unknown.

"Sunny Kick, do you know who that is?"

"Who?"

"The man in cuffs right there. That's Viktor Ivanov, boss of the Ivanskaya Bratva."

Ivanskaya Bratva.

Translated literally, something like Ivan's Brotherhood.

And at the heart of it, Viktor Ivanov.

"He runs a PMC called Slavia Security."

"And how do you know that?"

"He's my sister's boss. She's with Slavia Security. So I run into him now and then, and every single time he tries to woo me over, telling me to come work under him."

"Oh...."

Which made this Viktor, on the surface, head of the private military company Slavia Security, and underneath it all, the mafia boss of the Ivanskaya Bratva.

"But I'd already done that kind of work until I was sick of it, so I turned him down. Instead of joining, I took some position, what's it called, advisory board member? Now and then I'd draw up combat training and CQB curricula for their men."

"So your sister's a member of the organization, then?"

"Not just any member. She's the fund manager."

"Hm. A big shot."

Nikolai grinned and nodded.

He might trash-talk her as an elephant of a bitch, but hearing his own family praised still puffed him right up.

"I don't know about great, but she's damn impressive. You know what my sister did the moment she inherited this freezer plant? She overhauled the whole business on the spot and turned it into a money-laundering channel for the Bratva."

"Wow...."

"When it comes to sheer drive, the woman's a bulldozer. I can't even begin to guess how badly she wants to climb inside the Bratva."

"Then do you happen to know who that is, standing right beside him?"

I jabbed a finger at the other figure on screen, the one who'd walked Viktor safely out.

Nikolai nodded readily.

"That's Mikhail Volkov, director of the FSB's Primorsky Regional Security Bureau."

"What's their relationship?"

"As you know, the Russian mafia keeps close working ties with the government. In mafia genealogy, Mikhail and Viktor are practically brothers. They cover for each other."

"Aha."

The concept of the mafia in Russia was qualitatively different from the plain mafia the rest of us imagine.

They weren't a simple criminal organization like the Triads; they were businesses in their own right, and their intimate ties to Russian officials let them function like government agencies as well.

Criminal organization, business, and government agency all in one.

The form they call the Iron Triangle.

'I think I've got a rough idea just how tight they are.'

And in the middle of it all, this man, Mikhail Volkov.

From the moment he casually plucked out a criminal his own Security Bureau agents had arrested and walked off with him, I'd pegged him as FSB brass.

The director of the Primorsky Regional Security Bureau was, in rough military terms, a heavyweight on the level of a division commander.

Then, out of nowhere, Nikolai tilted his head with a puzzled look.

"Weird, though. From what I heard, Viktor pulled a gun that day and got shot full of holes resisting.... so how is he alive and well here? And with Director Mikhail, no less?"

"He resisted with a gun?"

"Yeah. So does that make this the fabled 'badass footage of the dearly departed, filmed while he was still alive'?"

Owl No. 5, who'd been eavesdropping, tapped anxiously at the camera screen.

"No.... watch the video closely from here."

Back to the screen.

Viktor and Mikhail walked calmly along until they neared the fishing boat where the back-channel deal had gone down just before.

Standing before the long row of boats, the handcuffed Viktor bummed a cigarette off Mikhail and began to smoke.

The two men on screen, chatting away, looked every bit as friendly as the old pals Nikolai said they were.

After a good long smoke together, Viktor apparently felt the urge to piss; he stepped up to the very edge of the dock and started undoing his trousers.

That instant.

- Bang.

There was no audio recorded, and yet it was as if the sound rang out anyway.

Mikhail had put the muzzle to the back of Viktor's head and pulled the trigger without mercy.

Viktor's corpse, head half blown apart, slowly went slack.

Then, a splash.

"...."

The body dropped into the sea between the fishing boats and vanished from sight.

"...."

"...."

Mikhail put the gun away, puffed at what remained of his cigarette, and flicked it into the sea.

Then he turned and walked off with the lightest of steps.

In that instant, I knew.

'Thank God I brought up Ocean Sigma, just to be on the safe side.'

If Owl No. 5 hadn't come to Ocean Sigma, it probably wouldn't have ended at "missing".

He'd obviously have been silenced the exact same way as Viktor, who died in that footage.

*****

The same hour.

The Primorsky Regional Security Bureau, FSB, Russia.

Three people were in the director's office.

Mikhail Volkov, the room's owner, started by lighting a cigarette.

"Whew...."

He looked back and forth at the man and woman standing side by side before his desk, and held a long silence.

Around the time the cigarette had burned halfway down, Mikhail opened his mouth, his expression grave.

"I hadn't told the two of you, but a few days ago Moscow sent down an envoy to review the overall state of administration in our Far East region."

"...."

"And before I could even tell everyone to keep their heads down for a while.... Viktor picked the worst possible timing to attempt a back-channel deal with North Korea."

"...."

"With the envoy down from Moscow watching, I had no choice but to send special forces straight into the scene of the deal. But Viktor, of all things, chose to pull a gun and resist on the spot.... and so the deployed agents shot him dead then and there."

"...."

"Afterward, I cleaned up the scene as best I could and made certain no harm would come to the Bratva."

Mikhail glanced at the man standing to the right of the desk.

Aleksei Borisov, aide of the Bratva and Viktor's right hand.

"His death is a great pity, but the wheel must keep turning. So from now on, Aleksei, you will take charge of the Bratva as its boss. As a member of the Brotherhood, that is my decision."

In that instant, the corners of Aleksei's mouth twitched.

Cheering inwardly at winning the seat he'd craved for so long, he bowed with impeccable courtesy.

"It is an honor, Comrade Director. I shall honor the will of our late boss Viktor and strive to run the Bratva with a steady hand."

"Mm. I'm counting on you."

Then Mikhail's gaze shifted to the woman standing on the left side of the desk.

Yelena Nikolaev, fund manager of the Bratva and Viktor's left hand.

All the while she'd been listening to the conversation, she had been chewing hard at her lip.

"Yelena. Do you have some objection to my decision?"

Yelena, who had stood there in silence, lifted her eyes briefly.

Something faintly crooked flickered across her alluring features.

"No, Comrade Director. I was merely mourning our foolish late boss, with what pity I could spare."

"Ha. Mourning, is it."

At her composed answer, Mikhail smiled gently.

"How kind of you. Thoughtful, too. Yes. Let us raise a glass to Viktor, who gave his very best for the Bratva, and for the Security Bureau, all these years."

To commend her good heart, Mikhail took three crystal glasses from a desk drawer.

He poured from the vodka sitting on the desk and handed the glasses around.

"To Viktor."

"To Viktor."

"To Viktor."

The three of them tossed the vodka back in one go.

Soon the sharp scent of alcohol filled the office.

Before the heat of the liquor scorching its way down his throat had even faded, Mikhail went on.

"In any case, I'll say it once more. Everyone keep your heads down and sit tight. This year is shaping up to be an unusually cold summer."

"Because of the envoy from Moscow?"

"Yes. A man named Vladimir, and he's as thirsty for results as I am. Which must be why he's playing dumb, right to my face, about my breaking up this North Korean deal. Ignore my achievements and hunt only for my failings, that's the idea.... Tsk."

Aleksei exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke like a sigh.

"Because of that mosquito of a man, an unavoidable sacrifice had to be made."

"Truly.... a most regrettable affair."

"But this crisis has come back around as a golden opportunity, so it is a fortunate thing indeed."

"By opportunity, do you mean the NIS agents apprehended along with the rest?"

Mikhail nodded at the question from Yelena, who had been keeping her silence.

"That's right. As luck would have it, we apprehended the NIS agents at the scene, all in one sweep. Which has left us with excellent hostages."

At that, Aleksei, as if refusing to be outdone, followed with a question of his own.

"And how do you intend to make use of them, Comrade Director?"

"Heh heh...."

As if he'd been waiting for precisely that question, Mikhail broke into a smile.

Then he squared his chest and let the vodka's fire pour boldly out of him.

"In exchange for quietly sending those agents home alive, I intend to extract the specifications of USFK's THAAD missiles."

*****

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