“We have photos and video but they’re forty-eight hours old.”
I skim through the report. “What about the money?”
“We’re combing through incoming deposits to Venezuelan banks but it’ll take time. Venezuela isn’t exactly friendly with us at this moment. Most likely he’s been moving assets via crypto currency. Possibly even utilizing NFTs. The thing is, so many new avenues keep popping up that by the time we manage to crack one wallet the assets have already been transferred. He’s probably washed this money so many times the Pope could use it for a pillowcase and never feel a second of guilt.”
Not exactly the smoothest analogy but I get his gist. “Next steps?”
“We have resources in the region trying to ascertain if he’s still in the area.”
“But we’re positive this is him?”
“We’re awaiting fingerprint comparisons.Ifthey can retrieve any viable prints. Once that’s confirmed, yes, we’ll be absolutely positive this is him.”
“Confidence level now?” I ask.
“Extremely high, sir.”
I sit back and read through the slender binder. It’s less than ten pages. “No idea where he’s been holed up since now?”
“Not yet, Mister President. We’re working on deciphering his current alias and when he arrived in Venezuela to track that backward to other possible aliases. It’s likely he landed in South America somewhere else and traveled overland, possibly changing identities as he went. He might have even traveled to Cuba first and received a new identity there before heading to South America. Several of his known associates have strong ties with the Cuban regime.”
As I peruse the information I shove back my frustration that even though I’m the head of the most skilled intelligence agencies in the world I cannot find one fricking guy. “And we still don’t have evidence of him committing any crimes?”
“Perhaps financial crimes,” the second briefing agent says. “Depending on how he moves money into the US. Or if he does. It also depends on what he does with it.”
Unfortunately, suspecting him of doing something isn’t proof and I won’t green-light an operation for something like this on the basis of a suspicion and nothing more. “Besides the crypto-currency aspect there could be a literal Russian nesting doll of holding companies and trusts.” I slam the binder shut and drop it next to me on the sofa. “And that’s if he’s still actively controlling the money and hasn’t passed it on to some off-shore trust or corporate holding.”
“Or religious organization,” the lead briefer says. “Which is what we’re focusing on now. There were a couple of transactions recently that, while not illegal, definitely threw up some red flags and resulted in SARs from the respective financial institutions. We’re trying to track the funds back to their sources.” Suspicious Activity Reports from banks help law enforcement by flagging activity that might otherwise escape notice.
I decide to go there. “SARs tied to the Family or their affiliates?”
The briefers exchange an uncomfortable look. “Potentially, sir,” the second briefer says. “But the recipients are registered as churches or religious non-profits with the IRS.”
“Of course they are.” I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling for a moment. If only it could speak and render me some helpful advice based on its decades of observation of those who occupied this office before me.
I finally return my focus to the briefers. “Track the money,” I say. “Whatever you need to do.But,” I add, “if it looks like it came from legitimate sources, or is being utilized for legitimate reasons, drop it immediately. Understand? Don’t try to make the evidence fit the theory.”
They nod. “Yes, Mister President,” they reply in irritating unison.
I return the binder. “Let’s get this over with. What’s next?”
CHAPTERSIXTY-FIVE
I knowI warned Jordan I’d be fucking him right after my PDB but the problem is we reallydoneed to hold the morning staff meeting first.
Priorities, yo.
Obviously I’m not trying to insinuate that fucking Jordan isn’t a priority for me, but when compared to doing my job as POTUS…
I mean, I’m notcompletelyoblivious to the immense weight of my responsibilities. Besides, anticipation will increase the tension for Jordan, keeping his focus totally on me, and amplify the enjoyment for both of us.
After my PDB ends and staff assembles in the Oval where Casey-Marie calls the meeting to order, I try not to watch Jordan where he’s leaning against the wall over by the door. He’s working on his phone, which is completely normal for him during these meetings unless there’s something he needs to pay direct attention to. Jordan’s job isme, and the reason he’s here is in case there’s anything I need, or if any matters crop up requiring coordinating my schedule logistics, which he is in control of.
Today my focus wavers between the information I learned earlier about Belyaevskin, and other issues needing my immediate attention, which are being brought up in this meeting.
I have increasing concern about the Russian’s objectives, especially now that he’s popped up in our hemisphere. But since we don’t have proof of a crime—yet—I can’t publicly do anything, much less say anything about him.
“Mister President?” I glance over at Casey-Marie’s tone and notice Jordan’s now paying attention, too.
