Musgrave felt his eyes bug out. “Oh, well, all right then. Sounds like you’re the fellow I need for this job.”
The limo stopped again in front of a lavish Russian restaurant in Dupont Circle. “I have another meeting. I’ll leave you two to hash out the details.” Federov slipped out of the car.
Aleksi Federov entered the over-decorated restaurant and nodded to the hostess. He made his way to the back of the room, acknowledging a few patrons as he wound through tables covered in red brocade and topped with gold candelabra. In the far corner, he parted a burgundy velvet curtain. Federov entered a private dining area with a semicircular booth and richly upholstered chairs where Nathan Bishop sat with a colleague so big he could barely fit in the space. Federov took the remaining seat. Nathan pulled a device from his ear, but the big man continued to listen to the conversation in the limousine.
Federov pulled the imposing ring off his pinky and tossed it on the table. “Dime store crap is turning my finger green.”
“The Hermitage was a nice touch,” Nathan smirked.
“My family descended from the Romanovs, please.” Federov released a booming laugh. “I almost choked on my drink. The closest the Federovs ever came to the Winter Palace was to clean the shit in the street.” Federov grew serious. “Before your father died, I owed him a favor. He may have been a svoloch, but he settled his debts.” Federov normally wouldn’t insult a father to his son, but he knew Nathan Bishop agreed that his old man was a bastard.
“Thank you,” Nathan replied.
Federov waived the gratitude away. “In this circumstance, we have mutual interests. Musgrave screwed me on a piece of interstate commerce legislation. He thinks I don’t know, or he thinks he's untouchable. Both presumptions are false.”
Nathan stood with the Russian and extended his hand. “I don’t foresee our interests aligning again.”
Federov returned the gesture. “No, probably not.”
Forty-five minutes later, Miles Buchanan, a.k.a. Caleb Cain, entered the alcove. Tox stood and greeted his twin brother with a hug before Miles took the seat Aleksi Federov had vacated.
Tox forked a pierogi. “Musgrave is after the journal and the flash drive. So now we know The Conductor's behind this. And that he has Cam.”
“Maybe.” Nathan was pensive.
“What's maybe?” Tox asked.
“The Conductor operates in the shadows, behind the scenes,” Nathan said. “Nobody in law enforcement even thinks he exists.”
Miles leaned forward. “You think The Conductor has manipulated someone into doing his dirty work.”
Nathan looked at both men. “I think it's a distinct possibility, yes.”
Tox slid his plate to the side. “The Conductor is uniquely positioned to know people who could be looking for Miguel Ramirez, for good or bad.”
Nathan agreed, “Hopefully, Cam's handler can shed some light on who those people are. I think it's a safe assumption that The Conductor isn’t going to draw attention or do anything to Cam until he has that journal and is free and clear from any blowback.”
Miles knocked on the table. “I’ll just have to take my time stealing it then.”