I study the photos. The older one is forty-two, scarred and mean-looking, the kind of man who solves problems with his fists. The other is younger, maybe thirty-five, with the smooth face and expensive suit of someone who thinks he's smarter than he is.
"Put surveillance on both of them." I make notes. "I want to know everywhere they go, everyone they meet, and every phone call they make."
"Already done." Danil grins. "You think I've been sitting around the past month doing nothing?"
"I think you've been holding this organization together while I was playing house in Montana." The words come out more bitter than I intend.
"You weren't playing house." His expression softens. "You were surviving. There's a difference."
Before I can respond, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, and his expression shifts. "It's the investigators. The ones tracking Yuri's movements before the shooting."
"Put it on speaker."
Danil answers, and a woman's voice fills the office. Professional, clipped, all business. "We've found something. Yuri had been meeting regularly with a woman in the months before the shooting. Always at the same hotel bar downtown."
My spine straightens. "How regularly?"
"Once a week for three months. Always Tuesday nights, always the same table in the back corner." Papers rustle on her end. "We pulled security footage from the hotel. The angle isn't great, but we can see her. Auburn hair, elegant, well-dressed. She always paid cash, never used a credit card."
"Send us the footage," I say.
"Already sent."
I pull it up on my laptop, and Danil moves to stand behind me. The video is grainy, shot from a camera mounted near the bar's entrance.
Danil ends the call and we both turn to my laptop. The file loads, and I hit play.
The footage is grainy, the timestamp showing a Tuesday evening four months ago. The bar looks expensive, the kind of place where deals get made over single malt and lies.
"There." Danil points at the screen.
Yuri enters, and even through the poor quality video, I can see his nervousness. He's sweating, his movements jerky as he takes a seat at the back table. He orders something, probably vodka, and checks his watch three times in two minutes.
"He's terrified," I observe.
"Or excited." Danil leans closer. "Could be either."
Then she walks in, and everything about her screams control. The auburn hair catches the bar's low lighting. Her dress fits like it was made for her, elegant without being flashy.
"Look at how she moves," I say. "No hesitation. She knows exactly where she's going."
"She's done this before," Danil agrees.
The woman sits across from Yuri without greeting him, without any of the social niceties normal people use. She's all business. They talk, but the angle makes lip-reading impossible. After maybe five minutes, she slides an envelope across the table.
"Payment," I say.
"Or instructions."
Yuri takes it with shaking hands, and I feel disgust curl in my gut.
"Can you see her face?" Danil asks, leaning closer to the screen for a better look.
I rewind, pause, and zoom in. But the angle is wrong, showing mostly her profile and the back of her head. "Not enough. We need better footage."
"What about her mannerisms? Anything familiar?"
I watch her again, studying the way she holds herself. The confidence. The calculated movements. "She's not some hired messenger. This woman has power."