Chapter Eight
At the end of training on Friday, Rose closed her locker and sighed.
“Got you hooked, didn’t we?” Bubbles teased, leaning against a locker nearby.
Rose smiled. “I learned so much. Thank you.”
“Nothing like what you’d get out of camp.” Bubbles paused. “You are coming to Shabbat dinner, aren’t you?”
Rose knew it was Friday, and assumed that Hannah was Jewish, but Maji hadn’t mentioned anything. “Not that I know of. Is it a family thing, like Sunday suppers at the Big House?”
“It was, when we were all here.” A shadow passed over Bubbles’s face. “Hang on.” She left the locker room, only to return a moment later with a wide grin. “It’s a family thing. See you at six!”
Maji touched the mezuzah by Hannah’s front door, then let herself and Rose and Angelo in with a key. “Bienvenidos a casa Cohen. And Shabbat shalom.”
Inside, she threw the bolt on the door behind them, inhaling deeply. The house was filled with savory aromas of the promised dinner. Rose felt transported.
Maji looked disconcerted. “Papi?” she called out.
“Aquí, mija,” came a rich voice from the kitchen.
Angelo and Rose followed Maji into the kitchen, where a handsome man in his midfifties stood wiping his hands on a towel tucked into his apron. He smiled warmly, the corners of his mouth lifting a bushy mustache of the same coarse black as his hair, sprinkled with hints of gray.
“Papi!” Maji hugged him fiercely. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”
“Hannah said you couldn’t come to the city for a while,” he said, kissing her forehead. “So the city comes to you.”
“Mom too?”
“No puede. A prior commitment.”
Maji nodded, and let him go without further comment.
After introductions, Maji left Rose in the kitchen with her father and took Angelo upstairs to speak with Hannah.
Angelo screwed up his courage. Telling Hannah was a risk, but he didn’t see pulling his whole plan off without her. “If I could deliver more than what I’ve promised, would you back me?”
“That would depend. What more, and at what risk?”
He had to admire how much nothing her poker face revealed. “Sirko.” Still nothing. If catching Leonid Sirko, the world’s second biggest money launderer, didn’t impress her, he was fucked. “For the balance of power. I mean, if we take down Khodorov, Sirko will just step into the vacuum, right? Interpol might not care, but I sure as hell do.”
“Of course you do. And I agree. But I have two concerns.”
There it was. Hannah’s famous concerns. Well, her ability to think through the downside of any mission plan had saved the team members’ lives enough times. “I look forward to exploring them, ma’am.”
She smiled for the first time. “The colonel’s not here, Angelo. Please relax. And yes, you may call me Hannah, if you don’t forget yourself when we do have oversight again.”
His bark of a laugh brought Maji to the open door frame. “Am I missing happy hour?”
“Your godmother’s a pistol,” Angelo admitted, sorry he’d assumed Maji had gone downstairs already. “What are you skulking around for?”
She raised a hand and backed out into the hallway. “Just passing through.”
“Bubbles should be here anytime,” Hannah noted.
Maji gave a little faux-salute and turned toward the stairs. “See ya at supper.”
Angelo waited until his friend’s footsteps had faded. “First concern?”
“Ah, yes. When Justice freezes the Italians’ accounts, there will be some shuffling in this region. Nothing too disruptive. But when Interpol ties up business for Khodorov and Sirko, the fighting among the second tier of major players who want to take over will hurt a great number of people, and in the end just put new leaders on the same field, possibly a syndicate or two. Have you thought about this?”
“For years, Hannah. For years.” Since he was eight or nine, in point of fact. Mob politics were woven into Grandpa Stephano’s chess lessons. “What’s number two, then?”
“The obvious. How do you plan to reel Sirko in without Khodorov knowing? Because if he does find out, you know what he’ll do.”
Angelo frowned at the reminder. The thought of Khodorov having every member of his family killed slipped into his mind whenever he slowed down too much, relaxed too much. “I’m thinking Sirko needs to steal the program. But not until it’s ready.”
“Naturally. We can manage the timing, I’m sure.” She paused, her brow furrowing. “But destroying both major players will only break the monopoly. So many would rush forward to try and take their place.”
Angelo smiled wryly. “Yep. We’d still be playing Whack-A-Mole, like we do with terrorist cells. I’m worn out on that.”
“Well, it is the nature of organized crime. A hydra, with no head to cut off.”
“Skip the head. The beast eats money. Cut that off, it dies.” He noted with satisfaction that Hannah seemed intrigued, not skeptical. “I’m working on a sleeper virus, to suck all the funds from their accounts, then go do the same to every account they’ve ever done business with.”
Now Hannah looked worried. Did she think he couldn’t pull that off? “The collateral damage could be enormous,” she said. “Have you thought about how to prevent an economic collapse? Or even just the likely damage to honest citizens who may have unwittingly done business with them?”
She was right. There were trillions of dollars, euros, yen, whatever, involved. Thousands of fronts that provided real services, real jobs. Millions of people could be hurt. Angelo sighed. “So you can see why I’m not floating this idea to JSOC.”
“Indeed. I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended that you shared it with me. You understand the position it puts me in.”
Angelo nodded. “If I can’t convince you that I can do it, and address your concerns, you won’t have to blow the whistle. I’ll drop the sleeper virus and just stick with stinging Khodorov and Sirko. I promise.”
* * *
Rose found herself oddly at home with Maji’s father. While she poured herself a glass of white wine, he hummed to himself, tossing salad in a large wooden bowl. “What smells so heavenly, Mr. Rios?”
“Sal, por favor. Come, taste.” He lifted the lid off a large pot and held a spoonful for her.
Savoring the creamy stew of squash, beans, corn, and tomatoes, she closed her eyes in pleasure as she recognized the dish from her last fieldwork trip. The Quechua women of southern Peru had taught her to make it. “Porotos granados?”
“Claro! A favorite of all true Chileans—and Maji.” He beamed at her. “Y aquí…” He lifted a second lid with a flourish. She leaned over it, inhaling deeply.
“Mazamorra? Can you get choclo here?”
“Pues, if you know somebody in the city.” He waggled his eyebrows and Rose giggled.
Bubbles and Maji appeared in the kitchen doorway together, playfully shouldering each other to reach Sal first. Maji gave way and Bubbles torpedoed into Salvador Rios, wrapping him in a tight embrace before he could stumble from the force of her enthusiasm. From the way he chuckled fondly as they separated, Rose guessed the friendly ambush was a tradition.
“No Rey?” Rose asked, peering through the doorway to the empty dining room beyond.
“Had to work tonight.” Bubbles frowned. “He wanted to meet you, too. But maybe when you come back.”
Bubbles showed Rose how to set the dining table. In addition to the place settings, they set out little candles in candleholders, and small glasses for the Kiddush wine. Rose counted the chairs.
“Who else is coming?” she asked.
“Nobody. That one’s for Ava.” Bubbles’s face crumpled, and Rose enfolded her, letting her cry. “Sorry,” Bubbles said, pulling away after a moment. “This would have been our first Friday night all together again.” She looked around for a tissue, pulled a handful from a box nearby, and blew loudly.
Sal emerged from the kitchen and put an arm around Bubbles. “He gives and He takes, mija,” he said, his tone tender.
“Well, He can just…go to hell!” Bubbles sobbed, and ran into the kitchen. The back door slammed.
Sal looked mournfully at the empty chair.
“Who’s Ava?” Rose asked him.
“Hannah’s wife,” Sal replied. “She was like a mother to Bubbles.”
Maji stepped out of the little powder room tucked under the stairs. “Something up?”
“Tu hermana. Le duele su corazón.” He tilted his head toward the back door. “Afuera.”
Maji passed them briskly, slowing only to give her father’s arm a squeeze. The screen door banged a second time.
As they filled the serving plates, Rose could hear Maji and Bubbles on the back porch, their voices rising and falling, punctuated by more nose blowing. They came to the table red eyed, holding hands. Hannah led the group through the candle lighting, the Kiddush, the hand washing, and the blessing of the challah.
After a brief silence while everyone tasted the stew, Angelo asked, “Aren’t you supposed to crack the door for Elijah?”
Hannah broke out laughing, wiping her eyes as the outburst subsided. “Oh, she would have liked that one. You’re thinking of Passover, dear. That seat’s for Ava, my late wife.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Angelo looked uncharacteristically nonplussed. “I never heard of that tradition.”
“It’s new to our family,” Hannah replied.
“How long after do you do it?”
“I don’t know yet,” she answered, tears again welling in her eyes. “Until I can bear to stop, I guess.”
Over dessert, Rose asked Hannah about her particular interpretations of the kosher edicts. They exchanged thoughts about fair trade, organic farming, humanely raised animals, and the like, ignoring the rest of the table as they delved into the intersection of traditional food cultures, modern agribusiness, ethics, and theology. When the rest of the table fell silent, they finally looked to their four companions.
“Sorry,” Rose said with a sheepish smile. “Occupational hazard.”
“Guess where Rose did her fieldwork,” Sal said to Maji.
“Peru,” Maji responded, digging her spoon into the cobbler as if it might escape if she paid it less attention.
“And I’m going back next week,” Rose said, ambivalence creeping into her tone. “Maybe you’d like to join us for brunch tomorrow,” she said to Bubbles, “at the Harborview.”
“Um,” Bubbles said, looking questioningly at Maji.
Maji and Angelo started a debate in Arabic.
Rose glared at them. “Both of you, cut it out.”
Bubbles snorted. “She’ll drive you nuts like that,” she assured Rose. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Knowing anything would be a start,” Rose grumbled.
Bubbles gave her a wink. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I know where you sleep,” Maji warned Bubbles, crossing her arms.
“Girls…” Hannah said.
Bubbles mimed holding a phone to her ear and smiled at Rose, who couldn’t help but smile back.