The Russian's Greed by Cap Daniels (feel good books to read .TXT) 📕

English class, her phone chimed, and she held it up. “It’sAgent White. That was fast.”

Anya motioned towardthe phone. “Answer!”

Gwynn chuckled andstuck the phone to her ear. “Davis.”

“Davis, it’s White.Give me her phone number.”

Gwynn recoiled. “What?”

White scolded. “Giveme a phone number for this Skipper character. I’ll make the call.”

“Hang on a second.”Gwynn covered the mouthpiece with her palm and turned to Anya. “AgentWhite wants Skipper’s number so he can call her.”

Anya let the long listof what could go wrong run through her head before reciting thenumber. Gwynn relayed the ten digits to her boss, and he hung upwithout another word. Gwynn was left, once again, staring at hersilent phone.

“Is everything okay?”

Gwynn looked up.“Everybody’s hanging up on me today.”

Anya ignored thecomplaint. “I am concerned about what will happen when Agent Whitecalls Skipper.”

“Why?”

“The people on theteam are very close. They are more than friends and what you wouldcall coworkers. They are like a family. Skipper will tell everyone onthe team about the conversation with your boss, and they will try tofind me.”

Gwynn shook her head.“Agent White won’t let that happen. He’ll make sure Skipperunderstands the nature of this operation, and he’ll insist shekeeps the information limited to those who have a need to know.”

“I think you do notunderstand. I am part of this team, and knowing where I am, and if Iam safe, is something every member of team—the team—needsto know. If Agent White wants her help, Skipper will demand to knowwhere I am and if I am hurt.”

Gwynn sucked a breaththrough her teeth. “Making demands with Agent White is never a goodidea, no matter who you are.”

* * *

Department of Justice, Washington, D.C.

Supervisory SpecialAgent Ray White stared down at the ten digits scribbled on his deskblotter and ran his hands through his graying hair. The initialgraying had purely been a function of the number of years he’dspent on Earth, but the most recent additions to the field of graycould be directly tied to Operation Avenging Angel, specificallyGwynn and Anya.

Ray silently rehearsedthe conversation before dialing the Silver Spring, Maryland, number.

Three rings later, ayoung woman’s unmistakably Southern accent filled his earpiece.“This better be good. I’m busy, and whoever you are, you’reinterrupting me.”

Ray shook off theunexpected tone. “Is this Skipper?”

“Who’s calling?”

“I’m Special AgentRay White with Justice, and I’m trying to locate an analyst namedSkipper.”

“Well, you’ve gotthe wrong number, Agent White . . . as if that’s really your name.Now, leave me alone. I told you, I’m busy.”

It was Ray White’sturn to find himself staring at a phone with no one on the other endof the line.

Seconds later, Gwynn’sphone rang, and she answered on speaker so Anya could listen in.“Yes?”

“Davis, it’sWhite.”

“Yeah, I wasexpecting your call.”

“Listen, I called thenumber you gave me for Skipper, and I got a woman who’d never heardof anyone by that name.”

Gwynn looked to herpartner and shrugged.

Anya said, “You’rebeing vetted, Agent White. Skipper—this is not her real name, bythe way—will determine if you are who you say you are, and if shethinks you’re important enough, she’ll call you back.”

“Do you have me onspeakerphone?”

“Yes, sir,” Gwynnsaid. “Anya suspected you’d be calling back, so I answered onspeaker.”

“Next time, let meknow. Will you?”

“Yes, sir. I’msorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,Davis. Be better. Now, Anya, what makes you think she’s vettingme?”

“This is what shedoes. If she wants to talk with you, she will call you back.”

“I’m afraid that’llbe impossible. All calls leaving this building are routed through aswitchboard that eliminates caller ID tags, so your Skipper doesn’thave my number.”

Anya covered her mouthto keep White from hearing her chuckling. “Trust me, Agent White,if Skipper wants your number, she already has it.”

“We’ll see aboutthat,” he said. “In the meantime, what is this woman’s realname?”

“I am sorry, but I donot know. She is always only Skipper.”

“Yeah, sure. Look,I’m only doing this to appease your ridiculous desire to get thedancer and her mother out of Russia. If you and this Skipper personwant to make that harder for me, I’ll simply drop the whole thing.I don’t care.”

“I could talk withher and ask for her help. She would do this thing for me.”

White grunted. “Hangon a minute. I’m getting another call.”

He clicked over. “AgentWhite.”

“Okay, you check out.You’re really with Justice, and your name really is Ray White. Whatdo you want?”

Ray shook off the shockand leaned back in his chair. “First things first. You should knowI’m sort of a friend of a friend, you might say.”

Skipper said, “We’reway past first things, White. I already told you I’m busy. Now,what do you want?”

Ray let out a longbreath. “I want you to find out why someone is dead.”

Skipper groaned.“People die for only one reason, Agent White. Lack of oxygen totheir brain, regardless of what a coroner writes on their deathcertificate. Goodbye.”

“No, wait. Don’thang up. I need to know how and why one specific Russian wasmurdered.”

“A Russian?”

“Yes, a Russian.”

Skipper was suddenlyinterested. “What’s this Russian’s name, and when were theykilled?”

“That’s the thing,”White said. “I don’t know the full name.”

“Goodbye, AgentWhite. You’re wasting my valuable time.”

“No, no . . . wait.Here’s everything I know. If you don’t want to help after Ifinish, you can hang up.”

“I don’t think youunderstand, Agent White. I can hang up anytime I want.”

“Yes, that’s true,but just listen for two minutes. After that, I promise to never callagain.”

Skipper looked at herwatch. “The clock is ticking, and you now have one hundred tenseconds.”

“Okay, I need to knowhow and when the brother of Viktor Volkov was killed. He lived in ornear Moscow, I believe, and he had a daughter named Anya Volkovna.She’s a dancer in the Bolshoi second company.”

Silence consumed theline until White believed she’d hung up. “Skipper?”

The silence continued,and White reached for the disconnect button to click back over to hisproblem children in New York.

An instant before hepressed the button, Skipper said, “Is Anya alive?”

White felt a bead ofsweat form on his forehead. “Of course she’s alive. She’s onlyfifteen years old.”

“Not that Anya, AgentWhite. Our Anya.”

White felt at leasthalf a dozen of his ulcers turn to raging pits of fire in hisstomach. Suddenly he was standing on the precipice of a mighty chasmbetween doing what was right and doing