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Slade pulled on his night vision goggles and watched two men exit the white van and walk toward the darker van that had pulled into a parking place a short distance away. One man was tall and thin, and the other, short and stocky.
Big Dawg spoke into his ear. “Slade, hey man. We got facial rec on the short guy. He’s Dimitri Kazimir, a high-up in the Russian mob, straight from Moscow. Homeland has him entering the country a few days ago. He’s reputedly head of the human trafficking end of Bratva, the Russian Mafiya.”
Slade smiled broadly as he looked at the short, powerful man through his night goggles, “Big cheese, eh. The Russian mob.”
“Yeah, sending two close-up images to your phone.”
“Got ‘em,” Slade reported as he checked out the mob boss. “Guy looks mean,” he whispered to Big Dawg.
Big Dawg nodded, “Yeah, man, for sure. The guy next to him is a lower tier Bratva operative. We think he’s a U.S.-born Mafiya. I’m sending pics to you.”
Slade stared at Dimitri’s image and flipped to the other. It was a blond guy with a baby-face. His heart flipped as well. “Dawg, send this one to Stoddard right away. I think this guy is a double agent of some sort.” he gasped as realization flooded his senses. “Patch Stoddard through.”
“On it,” Big Dawg replied. “Stoddard, you know the guy with the blond hair?” he asked as his voice cracked through the headset. “By the way, I got Slade on the line.”
Stoddard saw the image and cursed loudly. “Hell, yes, he’s supposedly an FBI agent. Met him this evening. Talked to him a few minutes ago.”
Slade interrupted. “Hey, Dawg, guy said he’s FBI from Baltimore. Can you verify?” Slade asked as his stomach churned. Stoddard had said there was something wrong with the man, but he’d taken that to mean he’d been a cocky asshole. Not a guy playing the RPD.
“If he’s truly FBI, we’re into some serious shit. We’ll check it out,” Big Dawg assured him.
“Thanks, man. It looks like it’s heating up down there,” Slade observed.
“Yeah, We’re about to dance. Check it out,” Dawg said as he scanned the scene. He watched as two men emerged from the car. “Check out these thugs. You know them?” Big Dawg questioned, “Here are some close-ups.”
Slade shook his head as he squinted into the goggles. “Negative. No recognition from this distance. Anything goin’ on inside the trawler?” he asked as he watched the men on the dock greet each other warmly.
“Got twelve heat images. Could be anybody, crew, bad guys, contraband, slaves, who the hell knows?” Big Dawg guessed as he played with his camera equipment panning the view down to the shore.
“How long before trawler docks?” Slade asked as he watched the vessel rock back and forth in the freezing James River as it moved closer and closer to port.
“Less than five minutes. He’s already cut the engines back.”
“Thanks, man. Keep me posted,” Slade said as he turned his attention to his headset to update his men.