The Hunted

In Russian, Volevodz replied very coolly, "You're a wanted felon. I'm here to take you back."

"Then you're going to be disappointed," replied Alex in English.

"Am I?" Volevodz stayed with Russian so the Fibbies couldn't understand a word. He had arrived two weeks before, after a call from Tatyana to Tromble offering his services and expertise.

The Konevitches' year of dodging and ducking was over. No more hiding behind his wife's name. Nicky's boys had been chasing ghosts in Chicago for a year, cowering in an embattled outpost in a forlorn corner of the city, and coming up empty. What they could not do, the FBI handled with speed and ease. A polite inquiry to the INS revealed the Konevitch address, working situation, and immigration status. Another call to the IRS revealed the full details of their financial status. All information the FBI gave Volevodz that he passed on to Nicky, via Tatyana. Hide-and-seek was over, a new game was about to begin.

One way or another, dead or alive, but on a plane to Russia, Konevitch was going to lose.

"I don't think I will," Volevodz countered, arrogance rising to full pitch. "You've tangled with the wrong people. There will be no second chance, Konevitch. You're a fool, you should have taken the deal."

"Think again. I have political asylum."

"I strongly advise you to come along willingly. This is inevitable, believe me. Make it easier on all of us."

"Get out of my apartment. Now."

A switch to English. "What will you do, Konevitch? Call the police? These are the police," he said, nodding his sharp chin in the general direction of the two agents by the window.

They smiled and waved. Real smartasses.

Elena bared her teeth and said to the two agents, "You should be ashamed of yourselves. Even in Russia, citizens aren't treated this way anymore."

"How much did you pay for this place?" one of the agents asked without a trace of curiosity. It was a statement of fact, an accusation, or, worse, a verdict.

"None of your business," Elena shot back.

"Nine hundred and seventy thousand," the agent replied, scowling. "Almost a million bucks. Lotta money. Cash, too. Where'd it come from?"

Alex placed a hand on Elena's arm-they were deliberately goading her. It would do no good to answer, so she stifled her reply.

"You stole it," the agent said, directing a long finger at Alex. "You robbed your own investors. You fled with hundreds of millions of dollars. You're crooks who lied to the immigration board to procure your status. You're nothing but lying thieves."

Elena had passed the point of rage. She was going to have her say, no matter what. "That's a lie. I don't know what this man told you, but he's a liar. You're stupid and he's a liar. Get out."

More smiles from the two agents. Large slack jaws, bunched shoulders, simple responses-actually they did look a little stupid.

Before things escalated, Alex decided to put an end to this. He stared coldly at the pair of agents. "Am I under arrest?"

No reply.

"Under investigation?"

The start of a nod, before it quickly turned into a crick of the neck that needed to be rubbed.

"It's time to call my lawyer," Alex announced, moving with feigned confidence toward the phone.

About two seconds passed. "There'll be time enough for that later," one of the agents said. It sounded like a threat.

Alex kept moving toward the phone. The agents appeared nonchalant, but the threat of a loudmouthed attorney showing up at this scene clearly unnerved them. No wonder. Without a warrant they had broken into a private residence, vandalized thousands of dollars' worth of property, then begun questioning a suspect without reading his rights. Worse, a foreign official without any legal status had been invited to the smashmouth party.

Any lawyer worth his salt would have their balls on a plate.

Alex lifted the phone and faced the two agents. "Give me your names. My lawyer will want them," he demanded.

They shuffled their feet and seemed to shrink. They exchanged matching looks of confusion.

"We'll be going now," one of them mumbled, one foot planted, ready to bolt.

"Not with my computer, you won't," Alex insisted.

"We're seizing it as evidence. Have your lawyer take it up with our lawyers," one said derisively. Having gotten the last word, and after firing off a final set of contemptuous looks, they walked quickly out of the apartment. Volevodz had that thin smile as he filed past Alex and Elena.

Alex slammed the door behind them, a loud shot that shook the walls.

Elena couldn't take her eyes off the mayhem in their apartment. Her only photograph of her parents had been torn out of the frame; it was on the floor, ripped into dozens of tiny pieces. The vindictiveness of it turned her stomach.

"Alex, I'm scared."

"So am I."

"What does this mean?"

"It means it's not over."

"Why would the FBI allow that man inside our home?"

"I don't know."

"We need to see MP, right away."

Alex lifted the phone.

Elena began picking up.