Black Pawn (Michael Cailen Book 1) (21 page)

A plain white Ford pickup truck pulled in front of Brook's
house.  A man dressed in blue coveralls stepped out, wearing a matching
baseball cap and dark sunglasses.  Leather work gloves covered his hands.  He
checked his surroundings before retrieving a small tool bag off the passenger's
seat.  He knocked on Brook's door, and when there was no answer pulled a lock
pick from his pocket, quickly gaining entry.  He removed his sunglasses, revealing
hardened green eyes.  It was Evan.

He pulled off his leather gloves only to reveal the latex
gloves he was wearing underneath.  He placed the leather gloves and sunglasses
in the tool bag.  Something in the kitchen caught his eye.  Shoes, attached to
legs, and what he assumed was a dead body.  He unzipped his coveralls and
pulled a gun from his shoulder holster.  He walked slowly toward the legs.

He reached the wall separating the living room from the
kitchen and the whole bloody scene came into view.  The man attached to the
legs got off easy with a bullet to the head.  A second man was slumped over
unconscious.  The bullet wound in his leg and the fact that his hands were tied
suggested torture. Evan kicked his leg, startling him awake.  He looked up at
Evan with a touch of fear, uncertain of his intentions.  Evan just looked down
at him and grinned.

Rick finished filing the paperwork required to gain access
to Brook's phone records.  All he had to do now was wait for them to come in. 
It was 12:30 p.m. and he decided to head home for lunch.  He thought he could
relax and have a fresh view of the records when he got back.

Stepping into his small, but very clean apartment, he
breathed a sigh of relief.  The front door opened into the kitchen with the
living room just beyond it.  The difference in flooring was the only
distinction between the rooms.  A small table with chairs sat in the kitchen. 
The living room was furnished with a couch, a leather armchair, and an entertainment
center.

Rick had just put his keys on the table and his bag on the
floor when there was a knock on his door.  He figured it was his neighbor
across the hall.  She was in her mid-seventies and loved to cook, always giving
him food.

He smiled as he walked to his door. 

“What is it this time, Ingrid?” he asked as he opened his
door.

His jaw dropped at the sight of the man in his doorway.  His
height and muscular form alone would have intimidated Rick, but it was the
gruesome scars on his face and the look in his steely gray eyes that truly
terrified him.  Nicely dressed in a silver suit, the bulge under his jacket
suggested he was also wearing a shoulder holster.  Rick tensed in fear as the
large man grabbed him, shoving him back in the apartment.  The giant brute
breezed inside without a word, followed by a much smaller man that Rick
recognized from photos he'd seen at work.

The large man pushed Rick onto his couch and stood over him
while the smaller man took a seat in the leather armchair.

“Do you know who I am?” the small man asked with a thick
Russian accent.

Rick nodded nervously. 

“Vla... Vlad Milovich,” he stuttered.

Milovich smiled warmly.  It didn't ease the fear Rick was
feeling.  He knew all about Milovich and knew this visit was only going to be
bad.  Behind that smile hid a vicious and violent man.

“Good,” Milovich replied, still smiling.  “Rick, I need your
help.”

Rick gulped hard. “What do you need from me?”

“From now on Rick, you will work for me,” he stated.

“What do you mean?”

“You don't report to our friend Morgan any more.  You will
report to me now.  Do you understand?”

“What am I supposed to tell Morgan?”

“Nothing.”  His smile vanished.  “When you find something,
you come to me.  You do not tell Morgan.”

“I don't know if I can do that,” Rick said trembling and
shaking.

Milovich pulled a large envelope from his jacket and set it
down on the coffee table.  “Well, I am sure you will find a way,” he smiled.

Without another word, Milovich stood and walked out of
Rick's apartment followed by his formidable bodyguard.  Rick stared at the
envelope on the coffee table, forcing one of his shaking hands to pick it up. 
He pulled out the contents and felt a rush of adrenaline.  There were pictures
of a little girl playing on a playground, walking into a grocery store with her
mother and being buckled up in her car seat.  They appeared to span a couple
days since her clothes were different in each picture.

He didn't think it was possible, but his hands started to
shake more violently than before and soon he felt his whole body trembling.  He
cried as he stared at the pictures of his daughter knowing full well what they 
meant.  On one of the pictures, a phone number was written in large print with
a black marker.

AFTER TEN
minutes on his couch, trying to think of
what to do, Rick returned to his office.  Brook's phone records were waiting
when he arrived.  Ruling out friends and relatives, he then came across a
series of calls from prepaid cell phones.  Rick was intrigued.  He ordered
records for all the prepaid phones, including text transcripts.

Soon Rick was armed with text transcripts and more phone
records.  The texts were what you would expect from two people romantically
involved.  On the first prepaid phone, there were only calls to Brook's cell up
until the final days it was used.  There were a couple calls to another cell. 
The owner of that phone was a Joshua Lavene.  The name seemed familiar, but he
couldn't think of where he'd heard it before.  He moved on to the other two
phones.  The second phone had calls to Joshua Lavene and Brook Fosters.  The
last phone had only calls to Brook Fosters and two other prepaid cell phones.

After requesting records for the final two mystery phones, Rick
ran a check on Joshua Lavene.  As he looked over the file, it finally dawned on
him where he'd seen the name.  Josh had worked with Michael.

Rick looked back at the text transcripts.  Brook used the
name Jake a few times in her texts to the prepaid cells.  Rick's eyes lit up as
he remembered that Jake had been Michael's cover name when he went undercover. 
Michael was using the prepaid cell.

Rick scribbled something on a piece of paper and stuck it in
his pocket.  He walked down the street to the back of a bar where there was a
pay phone.  With trembling hands, he dialed the number written on the picture
of his daughter.  Someone answered, but said nothing.

“Hello?”  Rick asked but there was no response.  “I have
information.”

A few more seconds of silence passed and Rick was about to
hang up the phone when Milovich finally answered.  “Hello, Mr. Hamilton. I'm
glad to see you accepted my offer.”

“You didn't really give me a choice.”

“What do you have for me?”

Rick took a deep breath and released it slowly.  He didn't
want to do what he was about to do but he didn't have another option.

“I think I know where they are.”

“They?” Milovich asked.

“Yeah.”  Rick was slightly confused.  “Michael Cailen and
Jessica Nickoli.”

There was a long pause.  Rick worried he misunderstood what
Milovich wanted from him.

“Jessica Nickoli is alive?” Milovich asked finally.

“Well, yes.  Her death was faked so no one would look for
her.  You didn't know?”

There was another long pause.  Rick was sweating now and his
hands shook badly.  His anxiety level was at an all-time high.

“Where are they?”

“I think they're getting help from a man named Joshua
Lavene.”  Pulling out the paper in his pocket, he read off Josh's address to
Milovich.

“Is there anything else?” Milovich asked.

“That's it for now.  I'll call if I find anything.”

“I'll be waiting.” Milovich replied ominously just before
hanging up.

Michael and Brook had been driving silently for nearly three
hours before Brook announced she had to use the restroom.

Michael sighed.  “We can stop at the next rest stop, but we
have to get a few things clear first.”

“What kind of things?” she asked.

“Those men in your house, they were after your brother and
they would've done anything to get to him.  The only reason you were still
alive when I got there was because they hadn't gotten what they wanted from you
-  his location.  Once they had that, you would've been dead, if you were
lucky.  Do you understand?”

Brook started to feel sick.  She was reliving the terror of
being tied up on the floor, helpless to stop the violent attack.

She nodded, but didn't look at him.

“The people behind this are very powerful and have their
fingers in a lot of pies, including law enforcement.  You will not have
anywhere to go or any place to hide if you run away.  You go to the police and
you are as good as dead.  Even if they believe you, they will not be able to
protect you.”

“What did you mean 'if I was lucky'?”

“There are worse things than being dead.”  He looked her up
and down. “A pretty thing like you ...  they would've had their fun for days or
weeks, maybe even made some money selling you into slavery.”

He was trying to scare her.  It worked, she was petrified. 
He needed her more afraid of them than him.  She started trembling.

“Do you understand the danger you are in?”

She nodded.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a rest stop.  Michael
parked the truck in front of the building and got out.  Brook joined him on the
sidewalk and they walked in together.  He kept a close eye on her looking for
signs she might try to run.  He didn't see any, in fact quite the opposite. 
She walked close to him and didn't seem to want to leave his side.

They walked in the building and headed towards the
restrooms.  It was a typical rest stop.  Large bathrooms, a small food court
with a couple of fast food restaurants, a modest convenience store connected to
the building and just beyond that were the gas pumps.

Michael stood outside the women's restroom while Brook went
inside.  A few stalls were occupied and a woman was washing her hands at the
sink.  Brook nervously walked in one of the stalls and shut the door.   She
emerged a few moments later and the lady at the sink had been replaced with
another woman who looked extremely tired.  Her blonde hair was disheveled.  She
was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt with flip flops.  She rifled through a
small travel bag, desperately searching for something.  Brook walked up to the
sink next to her as the woman found what she was looking for.  She pulled out a
tube of face wash and started washing her face.  Brook glanced down at the
woman's cell phone on the sink next to her.  The woman's face was buried in the
sink and her eyes were closed as she tried to rinse off the soap.  Brook
entertained the thought of snatching her phone and making a desperate call to
police.  But Michael's warning kept ringing through her head. 
Even if they
believe you, they won't be able to protect you.
 What if he was right?

She washed her hands and grabbed a paper towel.  She looked
back at the phone as she dried her hands.  The woman had lifted her head from
the sink and was looking at herself in the mirror as she tried to wipe the
water off her face with her hands.  She looked exhausted.  Must have been on
the road for a while, Brook thought.  She threw the paper in the trash and
walked out of the restroom.  Michael was waiting for her just outside the
entrance.  He was carefully watching her for any signs of guilt or fear, such
as she might be feeling if she had attempted to get help while out of his
sight.  He saw no evidence of that, and she looked him right in the eye as she
approached.  He gave her a reassuring smile.

AROUND FOUR
o'clock in the afternoon, they rode into
a small, dusty town in Pennsylvania.  They stopped about halfway down a small
dirt road.  To the right, surrounded by tall grass and weeds was a tiny house
at the bottom of a small hill just off the road.  With half the shingles
missing and one window boarded up, it looked more like a glorified outhouse
than a home.

“I think this is it,” Michael said as he stared at the
wretched building.

“It can't be.  My brother wouldn't live here.”

Michael reached over Brook's legs and pulled an ammo clip
from the glove box.

“What are you doing?” Brook was suddenly fearful of his
intentions.

Michael quietly changed the clip in his gun and cocked it. 
“In case your brother has company.”

Brook felt uneasy as they slowly drove down the dirt
driveway to the house.  Michael was expecting someone to look out wondering who
was there.  The fact that no one did and the condition of the house made him
wonder if he was too late and Dominic had moved on.

They stepped out of the truck and walked to the front of the
cabin.  Michael kept Brook in front of him.  If her brother was home, it would
be better if he could easily see her.  He knocked loudly with no response.  He
looked around and knocked again.  This time they heard a thump from inside
followed by the sound of empty beer cans banging together.  A few seconds later,
the front door flung open and a very hungover man stood in the doorway with a
sleepy and bewildered look on his face.  He rubbed his bloodshot brown eyes and
brushed his brown, shaggy, unwashed hair away from his face.

“Nicky?” Brook seemed truly surprised to see him.

Dominic's eyes groggily turned to Brook. “Brook?  What are
you doing here?” he said, still half asleep and trying desperately to discern
what was happening.  Before he could figure it out, Michael shoved his gun in his
face.

“What are you doing?” Brook shrieked as Michael pushed the
pair inside the tiny cabin.

“Shut up and sit down,” Michael commanded and they obeyed.

Still confused but now much more awake, Dominic mustered the
courage to ask, “What's going on?”

“Ronald Sanders.” Michael didn't want to waste time with
small talk or explaining why he needed information.

“Wha.. what about about him?”

“What was he into?”

“He's dead.” Dominic seemed bewildered.

“I know that.  What was he into?”

With the gun still in his face, he wasn't going to play
games.  “Drugs, he smuggled drugs.”

“What else?”

“What do you mean what else?”

“What's his connection with the CIA?”

Michael saw a change come over him.  Pale and more nervous
than before, he denied knowing anything about it.  Michael could tell that was
not the case.  “I'm here for information, not your life.  But if I don't get
information, well... let's just say I'm not leaving empty-handed.”

“Jake, please.” Brook started crying.

“Brook, why don't you tell your brother what happens to
people who don't answer my questions.”  Michael's face showed no emotion and
the look in his eyes sent shivers down her back.

“Nicky, please just tell him,” she pleaded.

“Okay, okay. Just please don't hurt us.”

“I'm only after information,” Michael assured him.

“He was an informant for the CIA.  But he wasn't a good
informant.”

“What do you mean?”

Dominic hesitated but seeing how terrified Brook was, he
answered, “He gave them false information.”

“Why would he do that?”

The more questions Michael asked, the more reluctant Dominic
was to talk.

“I want answers!” Michael shouted.

“Because he was getting paid to!” Dominic shouted back.  “He
got paid to steer them away from Milovich's operations.”

“Vlad Milovich?”

Dominic nodded.  “Look man, I don't want any part of this. 
I had nothing to do with that, please just leave me out of it.”

“You're already in it, Nicky. Milovich's men paid your
sister here a visit trying to find you.  I didn't get the feeling they were
looking to hire you.”

Dominic tensed and a look of terror filled his face.
“They're after me?”

“Yes, and your sister isn't safe.  Was there someone inside
the CIA working for Milovich?”

“Yeah, Ronald mentioned him a few times.  I don't remember
his name.”   Dominic's mind was racing and he was having trouble concentrating.

“Think!” Michael shouted.

Dominic closed his eyes trying desperately to remember the
conversations he had with Ronald.  “Uhhh... Morgan.  I think his name was
Morgan something.  I don't remember.”

“Edward Morgan?”  Michael remembered the name they found on
the drive they got from Alex.

“Yeah, that's it. And he had an assistant or something,
Rick.  Rick Hamilton.  I remember because I thought of the basketball player,
Richard Hamilton, when I heard his name.” Dominic laughed nervously for a brief
second before returning to a look of worry.

“How were they involved with Milovich?  What did they do?”

“Rick just worked for Morgan.  Did whatever he was told.  I
don't really know what Morgan did for Milovich.  I just know he would tell
Ronald what to say to the CIA, what information to give.”

“Are you leaving anything out?”

“That's all I know.”

Michael believed him.  He tucked his gun in his back
waistband.  “It's not safe for you to stay here.  You need to take your sister
and find someplace to hide.”

“Why are they after me?”

“Milovich is nervous and is trying to tie up loose ends. 
You're a loose end.”

“But I haven't said anything to anyone.”

Michael grinned. “You just did.”

A bright flash in the corner of his eye caught Michael's
attention.  He looked out the window and saw it again coming from the tall
grass at the top of the hill.

“Get down!” he yelled as he dove to the floor.

A bullet shattered the window burying itself in the wall
behind where Michael's head used to be.  Brook and Dominic quickly followed
Michael to the floor.

“They followed us!” Brook cried in terror.

“No one followed us,” Michael countered.  “They must have
found you the same way I did.”

Evan gave Brook's hard drive to Morgan and it didn't take
the CIA's tech team long to find Nicky the same way Jessica did.  Evan learned
from Colt that the Russians were looking for Brook's brother.  He took an
educated guess that Michael was as well, and after getting an address he set
out on the road.  Hoping to get there before Michael left, he was pleased to
see his truck still in the driveway.  Grabbing an assault rifle and scope from
the trunk of his car he crawled through the tall grass until he could see the
house.  He soon had Michael in his sights.  Unfortunately for Evan, Michael
dove to the ground just as he pulled the trigger.

“I'm getting too old for this,” Evan muttered to himself.

He kept his sights trained on the house, but couldn't see
anything.  Knowing how dangerous Michael was kept him from approaching the
house.  He had almost declined the mission, but he just couldn't pass up the
money.

“Is there anything at the bottom of the hill behind your
house?” Michael asked Dominic.

“Umm ... there's a river and past that there's some
farmland.”

“Let's move to the back door.”

Crawling, Dominic led the way to the kitchen with Michael
and Brook behind him.  Michael peeked out the backdoor window, scoping the tall
grass and trees.  It was clear.

He opened the door and turned to Dominic.  “You and Brook
need to leave.  Stay low and get as far away from here as possible.  Don't come
back.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know yet.  But I don't need you hanging around.”

With Dominic and Brook out of the way, Michael pulled the
gun from his waistband and tried to formulate a plan.  Right now there was only
one shooter, but he didn't know if more were on their way.  He needed to
neutralize this guy and get out quickly.  He glanced around the kitchen looking
for anything useful.  A T-shirt was draped over one of the kitchen chairs.  He
looked up at the ceiling fan.  He didn't know if it would work but he threw the
shirt over one of the blades of the fan and turned the fan on low.  He needed
to distract the shooter and was hoping the moving shadow cast by the shirt on
the fan would draw his attention.  He fired a few blind shots out of the front
window and then bolted out the backdoor, down the hill.

EVAN WAS
straining himself looking for any sign of
movement.  He worried that maybe they had escaped.  He panned around the house
looking for any sign of life in the tall grass until suddenly shots shattered
the front window.  He quickly moved his scope back to the house.  The shots
were harmless and didn't even come close to him.  He wondered if perhaps
Michael wasn't as good as everyone thought he was.

Some movement in the house caught his eye.  A shadow was
moving in the kitchen.  A wall blocked his view of what was causing it.  There
was something odd about it.  It had a strange repetition.  He stared at it
trying to figure out what it was.

“You looking for me?” A voice behind him spoke.

Evan's head whipped around and he was confronted by Michael
aiming a gun at him.

Michael went down the hill and used cover to sneak back up
the side so he could get behind him.  If Evan had been more alert, he might
have seen Michael darting between trees off to his right but he was too
distracted by the strange shadow to notice.

“Don't make any sudden moves,” Michael warned.

Evan swallowed.

“I guess you are as good as everyone says.”

Michael relieved him of his rifle, tossing it away from them
into the grass.  “On your knees, hands on your head, cross your ankles.”

Evan did as requested while Michael kept the gun directed at
his head.