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“Public record. I’m looking at a copy right now.”

“Good. Send it to me. And cc Marcus. Are your guys from Chicago on scene?” Rapp asked.

“They got there an hour ago and we have a Rapid Deployment Team on standby.”

“Good.” Rapp took a half loop around Sheridan Circle and continued one short block before taking a right onto Decatur Place. The place he was looking for was on S Street, but he wanted to drive past the back first to see if there was anything of interest. Up ahead on his left he got his answer. “Hey, Art, I gotta run. Thanks for the info and call me as soon as you hear anything else.”

Rapp hit the end button and then hit the speed-dial button for Marcus Dumond. A few seconds later the computer genius was on the line. “Marcus . . . you’re gonna get an email from Art in the next few minutes. It’s going to have a copy of a deed and title for a farm in Iowa. It was purchased a few months back by an LLC. An attorney out of New York handled it. Do you think you could get into his system and find out where the money came from?”

“To buy the property?”


“Shouldn’t be a problem. Give me an hour or two.”

“Thanks. Call me as soon as you find anything.” Rapp slowed down and looked through his heavily tinted windows at the back entrance to the big property. A serious man with a dog was on the other side of the gate. At the end of the block Rapp hung a left on Twenty-second and then another left on S Street. A third of the way down he pulled over and dug out the business card. It was a local number, so he skipped the first three digits and punched in the next seven. A woman answered on the second ring.

“Mr. Sidorov’s private line, how may I help you?”

“Peter, please.”

“May I have your name?”

“No thanks. Just tell him it’s his friend from last night. He gave me his business card at the club,” Rapp said as he looked through his windshield at the recently purchased $8 million federal style home. “Trust me,” he said to the young woman, “he’ll take the call.”

Rapp didn’t have to wait too long. Sidorov’s familiar voice came on the line and said, “Mr. Rapp, good to hear from you so soon. Have you decided to come work for me?”

Rapp cringed at the thought that the FBI’s counterespionage boys might be listening in. He would have to play things really straight while they were on the phone. “I was actually thinking you could come to work for us.”

Sidorov had a good chuckle and then said, “I don’t think you can afford me.”

“Probably not, but I thought I’d play to your newfound love of freedom and democracy.”

“Yes, that would be your only chance. Now listen . . . I had friend in Russian intelligence fill me in on your exploits this morning. You are a very interesting man. A dangerous one as well, according to my source.”

“Only if you piss me off.”

“Well,” he said dramatically, “I hope I have not offended you.”

“Not yet.”

“You didn’t seem too pleased last night.”

“I was more upset with your new business associate than you.”

“He was only trying to make a little money. I can’t begin to imagine trying to live on one of those pensions they give you.”

“I don’t suppose you could, with your high-flying lifestyle, but that’s not really the point. He knew the rules and he broke them.”

“And me?” Sidorov said a bit tentatively.

“You didn’t break any law that I’m aware of.”

“Well.” He laughed. “You don’t know me yet.”

“I know enough. I made some calls as well.”


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