Full Black - Brad Thor [97]
CHAPTER 40
Ralston didn’t know Aleksey Lavrov from a hole in the ground. Informants could be notoriously unreliable, especially somebody else’s. They liked settling scores by turning parties against each other. That Marty Sevan vouched for the guy didn’t mean Lavrov was without an alternative agenda. Until he was sure, Ralston knew enough to play his cards close to his vest.
Ever the exceptional reader of people, Sevan noted Ralston’s reticence and said, “Before we proceed, it would probably be helpful if Aleksey gave you a bit of background on himself.”
“Yes, that would be helpful,” Ralston replied.
The attorney gestured to Lavrov, as if he were coaching him for trial, and nodded for him to speak.
The husky man reached for his cocktail and took a long sip before setting it back on the coaster. After drying his mouth with the back of his meaty hand, he cleared his throat and said, “I work with the FBI’s Los Angeles field office. I am a naturalized American citizen, but Russian by birth. I work in the office’s Russian organized crime task force.”
Ralston’s eyes flicked to Sevan. What was he getting him into?
“Don’t worry,” the attorney said. “Aleksey is an informant for the task force. He’s not an agent.”
“I am one of the FBI’s sources within the Russian community,” Lavrov clarified.
“And what’s your connection to Mr. Lavrov?” asked Ralston.
“I’m his attorney,” said Sevan. “I actually arranged his relationship with the FBI’s Los Angeles field office, in exchange for dropping certain charges that had been brought against Aleksey.”
“And he owed you a favor.”
“Aleksey is a very smart man who realizes that it pays to have a good lawyer. Right, Aleksey?”
The heavyset man nodded.
Ralston looked at the Russian warily. “So what do you have for me, Aleksey?”
“Mr. Sevan explained to me that you think the men who tried to kill your friend, Mr. Salomon, were Russian. More specifically, Russian Spetsnaz. Correct?”
“Correct.”
Lavrov rubbed his chin. “Please. I am not being disrespectful, but many American people watch movies and think every Russian is Spetsnaz.”
Ralston looked at him. “Mr. Sevan did not explain to you who I am, did he?”
“He told me you work in movies. That you make sure people understand how to shoot guns and drive cars. I assume then that you are a stuntman. Correct?”
“You’re partially correct,” Ralston replied, glad Sevan had not told the man everything about his past. “I am a technical consultant on films. Before that, I was in the U.S. military. I have worked with Russian Spetsnaz before.”
“Then you must have been someone very important in the military. Russian Spetsnaz are not easy to kill. They are very difficult to kill. Even regular Russians are not easy to kill, but you killed four Spetsnaz?”
Ralston didn’t want to get into details with Lavrov. “You will have to take my word for it, Aleksey.”
“You are sure that these men were not Russian mafia, maybe?”
“One of the men had a tattoo right here,” he said, pointing under his arm. “It was his blood type, in Cyrillic.”
“This is Spetsnaz,” Lavrov relented. “You are correct.”
“So who in Los Angeles would have been able to coordinate a Spetsnaz hit team?”
The Russian thought about the question for a moment. “You would be looking at someone with experience within the Russian intelligence services. The FSB, or what used to be called KGB. Same people, same mentality, same game plan. Only the name is different. I can think of three men.”
Three? Ralston thought. He was going to have his work cut out for him. “I’ll need names, addresses, and what kind of security they may have.”
Lavrov held up his hand. “One of the men has been in Russia visiting family since the beginning of the summer. Another man is very old and lives in a nursing home. I don’t think these are the men you want.”
“Why not?”
“Besides one being out of the country and the other needing a nurse to feed him?”
Ralston knew that the