By Any Means (11 page)

W
hen Kostya looked out of his windows, he saw cornfields amid subdivisions stretching for miles. He and Lev were headed to New Palestine, a largely rural bedroom community on the city's east side. Iskra Konev, the young woman he had met at his daughter's home, gave him the general location, while Leonard Wilson, a local politician and soon-to-be prosecutor, gave him the specific address. As he gazed out his window, he saw a community on the precipice. New roads stretched through once-pristine fields, while road crews hurried to complete projects designed to accommodate the expected deluge of new residents.

Almost an hour after leaving his downtown house, the road narrowed and forests once again surrounded the street. They had reached the east side of the suburb, well past the area the developers had touched. Lev slowed the car, and Kostya peered left and right, looking for a break in the tree line that would indicate their turn. He pointed at a carved, wooden sign for the Dandelion Inn about half a mile up the road.

“That's it.”

Lev grunted and turned onto the gravel road Kostya had pointed out. A thick copse of trees shielded the inn from prying eyes, but in the center of the glade stood a two-story farmhouse with a slate roof and a porch running the entire length of the first floor. Two young women in bathing suits sunned themselves on the front lawn. They looked up when Lev parked but quickly went back to their lounging when he didn't acknowledge them.

“Women,” he said.

“I see,” said Kostya. “Let's try not to disturb them.”

The Dandelion Inn occupied a historic Greek revival mansion that looked very much like the White House. Kostya walked through an unlocked wooden front door that was twice as tall as him and into a formal oval-shaped entryway. A gently curving staircase on the right side of the room led to a second-floor landing, while hallways branched left and right into additional rooms. It smelled like cinnamon potpourri.

Kostya cleared his throat, hoping to get someone's attention. Almost immediately, a woman with shoulder-length straw-colored hair, softly tanned skin, and a set of very full lips stepped out of the hallway on the right side of the room. Fashionable wire-rimmed glasses covered emerald green eyes and a white blouse that accentuated rather than concealed curves covered her torso. Under other circumstances, Kostya would have thought she looked like a very attractive librarian. Her eyes told a different story, though. They moved quickly from him to Lev and then back, probing and evaluating both men in a glance.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked, smiling and slipping her glasses into the front pocket of her shirt. “I'm Ann.”

“I hope so, Ann,” said Kostya, mimicking her smile. “My youngest daughter is getting married in a few months, so we're looking for a place to house my family when they arrive.”

Her smile quickly turned into a polite frown.

“Oh, bad luck. We're one of the few bed-and-breakfasts in the region to offer the full line of services that we do, so we're booked pretty tight this summer. I'm not sure if we can accommodate a wedding party until this winter.”

He didn't bother forcing any emotion into his face; he hadn't expected to be offered a room.

“That is truly bad luck,” said Kostya. “Perhaps we can take a tour anyway. I occasionally bring potential business associates into the area, and I'd very much like for them to have somewhere nice to stay.”

“I'd be happy to give you a tour,” she said, smiling again. “Let me grab the phone in case someone calls. Just this way.”

She led them down the hallway from which she had emerged to a simple, square room with a wide oak desk and two comfortable, brown leather chairs in front. A picture window overlooking the front yard allowed in light and gave them a view of the lawn, including the sunbathers. Kostya looked at Ann again and smiled.

“What sort of business are you in?” she asked. “If you don't mind my asking, of course.”

Kostya glanced at Lev. The big man shut the door.

“No, I don't mind you asking,” he said, slowly lowering himself into one of the chairs in front of her desk. She took the hint and sat down. “I'm in the entertainment industry, and I've heard good things about the services your staff provides. Everyone I've spoken to who has stayed here has left well satisfied.”

A quizzical look passed over Ann's face, and she tilted her head to the side before speaking.

“We do strive to provide an excellent guest experience.” She batted her eyes, but not in an overt attempt to be provocative. It looked like a nervous twitch; in her line of work, she had much to be nervous about. “Would you mind telling me who referred you to our establishment so I can thank him personally?”

“Leonard Wilson.”

The name relaxed her. “Mr. Wilson is one of our favorite customers. What is your name, sir? So I can confirm the referral.”

“Konstantin Ivanovich Bukoholov. Leonard, like all my friends, calls me Kostya.” Ann nodded and started dialing. “I've heard about a girl who works here. Russian, I think, probably eighteen or nineteen years old. Very pretty with sandy blond hair. Is she here? I'd like to say hello.”

Ann covered the mouthpiece of the phone with a hand and narrowed her eyes, thinking. “It sounds like you're talking about Iskra, but she recently quit and went home.”

Kostya glanced at Lev; they had come to the right place.

“How unfortunate,” he said. “Tell me, how many security guards do you have? Some of the guests I'd bring are very security conscious.”

“We have two full-time guards on staff,” she said quickly. “If it's an issue, we can bring more on temporarily for your guests.”

Kostya started to ask something else, but Ann pressed a finger to her lips and smiled. “Just another minute, and I'll be with you.”

“I think I'd like to talk now,” said Kostya, glancing at Lev. “Please end her call.”

Without ceremony, Lev stood and pulled the cord from the phone's base. Ann opened her mouth in surprise but quickly regained her composure and leaned forward.

“Excuse me,” she said, putting the phone back on its cradle. “I don't know who you gentlemen are, but if this is how you treat people, I'm going to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, we won't be leaving,” said Kostya, watching as Lev positioned himself in front of the room's only door. He turned his attention back to their host. “We have quite a few things to talk about.”

Ann folded her hands on the desk and smirked. “I do not know what you've heard about this establishment, but I can assure you that our management will not tolerate this sort of behavior. If you leave now, we might be able to avoid an unpleasant altercation.”

Kostya leaned forward. “We're already in the midst of an unpleasant altercation. Stand up and come along with us.”

Ann stayed still as her eyes passed from Lev to Kostya and back. She started to push her chair back from the desk as if she had acquiesced, but then her hand shot forward. Before she could pull anything out of the desk's center drawer, Lev stepped across the room and slammed it shut, catching her fingers inside. She gasped, and he backhanded her across the jaw hard enough to send her rolling chair against the wall.

“She was reaching for this,” said Lev, removing a chrome revolver from the desk. Kostya leaned forward and picked up the firearm from Lev's outstretched hand. Each slot in its revolving chamber held a round, and it looked to be in working order. Kostya slipped it into his pocket.

“You should be careful with a loaded firearm,” he said. “You never know who will find it.”

Ann wiped blood from her mouth. “Why are you doing this?”

Kostya's eyes never wavered from hers.

“Because you've hurt people I care about.”

Her shoulders heaved as her breath increased in tempo. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Not what you probably expect,” said Kostya. “You'll take a ride with us, answer some questions, and that will be it.”

Ann wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. “Who are you?”

“Someone you don't want to upset. That's all you need to know,” said Kostya. Blood dripped down Ann's chin and onto her blouse. Kostya leaned forward and wiped the streak with a handkerchief. She flinched but otherwise didn't move. “Do you have an ice maker in your freezer?”

She didn't answer at first, so Kostya repeated the question.

“Yes, we have an ice maker.”

“Good. We'll stop by the kitchen on the way out so you can get something for your hand. We're not cruel. We don't hurt people if we don't have to. This will be much easier if you do as we ask. You have my promise.”

Even defenseless, Ann paused before standing and allowing Kostya and Lev to escort her from the office. Maybe she thought someone would save her, or maybe she suspected she had seen her last sunrise. It didn't matter as long as she answered his questions. As he promised, they stopped by the kitchen before leaving. Stainless steel lined the walls behind the cabinets and food preparation areas, while white marble countertops gleamed in the morning sunlight. Kostya smelled bread baking but saw nothing in the ovens. That smell dissipated once Lev blew out the scented candle beside the stove. Two doors led out of the room; one—the door through which they had just passed—led deeper into the house, while the other led to the parking lot behind the inn.

Kostya wrapped a handful of ice in a linen towel and handed it to Ann while Lev stood by the door to the hallway.

“I'm sorry about your hand,” said Kostya. “I just came here for information. I did not intend to hurt you.”

She nodded and wrapped the ice around her fist.

“I didn't—”

She stopped speaking mid-sentence as the exterior door opened and closed. A young man stepped inside, his brow furrowed as he took in the scene. Lev likely had thirty to forty pounds on him, but while Lev had grown softer with age, the young man had cords of muscles visible through his T-shirt. Elaborate tattoos wrapped around his forearms and biceps. Iskra had mentioned him. Kostya pulled the revolver from his pocket and fired twice before the newcomer could react. The rounds caught him on both sides of the chest, dropping him in place but not killing him. In the silence that followed the shots, Kostya heard a gurgling noise as the young man struggled to breathe with fluid-filled lungs. Kostya walked over and held the firearm at his waist, pointed at the man's forehead.

“Enjoy Hell.”

He fired once more, this time into his skull. Fresh blood and gray brain matter painted the tile. Ann shrieked loudly, so Lev grabbed a dishtowel and held it over her mouth, muffling the sound.

“Gun works,” said Lev, struggling to hold Ann in place.

“Trigger pull's light,” said Kostya, slipping the still hot firearm into his pocket. Once his hands were free, he massaged his wrists, feeling shooting pains run into his forearms from the exertion of holding the weapon steady. It had been several years since he fired a gun, and he had forgotten how much it exasperated the dull pain of his carpal tunnel. “I want this place shut down. Do we still have the passports from Kara's safe?” Lev nodded. “Take them to Detective Ashraf Rashid's house along with a note listing this address. He'll take care of things for us.”

Lev looked down to the woman he held captive. She clawed at his forearm to little effect.

“What about her?”

“Keep her alive, but shut her up. She has a long afternoon ahead of her.”

A
s soon as he could, Ash called Detective Pace, who immediately directed him to an executive-level conference room several stories up and told him to hurry. He didn't bother waiting for the elevator; instead, he sprinted up a concrete and steel stairway to the appropriate floor. The executive-level conference room typically held policy meetings among the department's decision-makers and civilian overseers, so Ash didn't know what to expect. When he reached the floor, a uniformed lieutenant escorted him down a wood-paneled hallway to the room, where he met Captain Bowers and Daniel Reddington, the chief of detectives.

Ash knew Chief Reddington only in passing, having had few opportunities to meet with someone so high in the department's hierarchy. From what he had gathered, Reddington, unlike most of the department's powerful elite who had been appointed after years of sycophantic ass-kissing, earned his position by moving up through the ranks and making cases. He understood firsthand the challenges a detective faced on the job and fought hard for sometimes scarce resources. Most people who knew him liked him.

“You didn't answer your phone,” said Bowers. “We really needed to get in touch with you.”

“I was getting my team together,” said Ash, pulling out a chair across the table from Reddington and Bowers. “I saw that I received a phone call, but I didn't recognize the number. What's going on?”

Reddington removed a cell phone from his pocket and laid it on the table.

“Detective Pace covered the Crime Stoppers tip line this morning and received this call approximately five minutes ago.”

Reddington flicked his finger across his phone's touch screen and then sat down as a recording played over the speakerphone. A phone rang twice before a woman cleared her throat and answered.

“Crime Stopper's tip line. What can I do for you?”

“I've got a tip for Detective Ash Rashid. I saw him on TV. It's about the girl that was kidnapped yesterday.”

Something about the voice sounded familiar, but Ash couldn't figure out what. The accent was a slow, Southern drawl, but certain words seemed almost clipped. It sounded forced and fake.

“Detective Rashid isn't available right now, but I'm Detective Joan Pace. If need be, I can call Detective Rashid and bring him into the conversation.”

The voice paused. “That ain't going to work, Detective Pace. I'm only going to talk to Detective Rashid. If you want to hear what I have to say, get him on the phone.”

Ash realized then when he had heard the voice before. He leaned forward and tapped a button on the phone, pausing the recording.

“That's the guy who kidnapped Rebecca. I recognize him from her nine-one-one call. Did we get a trace on this?”

“We tried,” said Reddington. “He called us with a satellite phone leased from a company in the Middle East. Not even his carrier knows where he is.”

Ash blinked, trying to think through that. “What kind of person carries a satellite phone?”

“Is that really important?” asked Reddington.

“I don't carry one, and I doubt anyone else here does, either. If we can figure out why our suspect has one, it could tell us something important about him,” said Ash. Before Reddington could respond, Ash hit the
PLAY
button on the phone again, continuing the conversation.

“Detective Rashid isn't available. If you tell me what you have to report, I'll call him on your behalf.”

“Hold on just a moment.”

Ash heard silence for another second or two, and then he thought he heard a phone being put down. Faintly, he heard panting and then a muffled cry.

“Please help me. I'm in a white barn—”

Ash held his breath. He recognized that voice, too. Rebecca. She stopped speaking abruptly after a hollow thud.

“What just happened?” asked Pace, her voice suddenly strident.

“I believe you have reason to call Detective Rashid now. If not, I can hit her again, but I can't guarantee her safety if I do. She's been through a lot.”

“Is that Rebecca Cook with you?”

“So the TV tells me. I never thought to ask last night.”

Pace took a breath. “You need to let her go. You can drop her off somewhere and we'll pick her up. We don't even have to see each other. It's in your best interest that we get her back safely.”

The caller laughed. “Somehow I get the impression that you don't really care too much about my interests.”

“You're right. Our primary interest is Rebecca, but we can help you, too. We found the Mercedes in Indianapolis. I know that accidents happen. Maybe you got into a fight with your friends and shot them by mistake. Maybe they fired at you first. I don't know. If you were defending yourself, you probably didn't even do anything wrong. If Rebecca gets hurt, though, that could be serious. You need to let her go so I can help you.”

“They teach you to slather on the bullshit this thick in the police academy, or is that something you learn from other detectives?”

“Can you let me talk to her so I can see if she's okay?”

“She's not in the talking mood right now.”

“How can I verify that you're holding Rebecca and this isn't a prank?”

The caller paused, apparently thinking. “You have my solemn word that this isn't a prank. Aside from that, though, maybe you can ask her husband or her boyfriend about the birthmark she's got on her hip. Probably wouldn't even see it if she wore a bathing suit.”

Pace inhaled sharply. “If you hurt her, it's going to be much harder to help you.”

“And if you keep talking to me and not getting Detective Rashid, Rebecca's going to have a difficult time breathing.”

“I understand. I'm trying to get in touch with him. If we call you back on this number, will you be able to answer?”

“I'll be waiting.”

The recording ended, plunging the room into silence. Ash took a breath, his first since hearing Rebecca speak.

“What did Tech Services say about the call?” he asked.

“The conversation lasted a minute and seventeen seconds,” said Bowers.

“They couldn't get anything about his location?”

“Satellite phones are exempt from the FCC requirements that allow us to track cell phones,” said Bowers. “We don't even know what continent he's on.”

Ash took that in with a heavy breath. “So what's the plan?”

“You're going to call him back,” said Reddington. “We'll get whatever information we can out of him. If you can keep him talking long enough, he might slip. Anything you can get out of him helps.”

“Okay,” said Ash, nodding. His head almost felt light. “When do you want to start?”

“Five minutes ago would have been nice,” said Reddington. “Since you were otherwise occupied, we'll do it as soon as we can.”

Ash stayed in the conference room as Tech Services set up the call. Nobody spoke; they just worked. The technicians brought in a new phone with an integrated recording device and a laptop that would monitor the signal. Five minutes after setting it up, they made the call.

“Is this Detective Rashid?”

“Yeah. Who's this?”

The conference room now had six people in it, and everyone focused on the phone. Reddington had proposed manipulating Ash's voice so other detectives could pretend to be him in case he became unavailable for later calls, but Bowers nixed that idea. Even if they could make two detectives sound exactly alike, there'd be obvious differences in their word choices and speech cadence. If their perp caught them trying to trick him, he might kill Rebecca.

“I don't think we're on a first-name basis just yet, so why don't you call me Mr. Palmer.”

“Sure,” said Ash. “Before we discuss anything, I need to talk to Rebecca.”

“No, let's talk about what I want first.”

Ash felt his heart rate rise. “I appreciate that you want something, but before I can give you anything, I've got to talk to Rebecca. If this is going to work, this has to be a two-way street. We both have to give—”

The phone went dead in his hand. Ash sighed and looked up at the technician on the laptop.

“That didn't give you anything, did it?”

The tech shook his head and closed his eyes. “I don't even know what I'm doing. I've never had to work with a satellite phone before.”

“Just do your best,” said Reddington. “We'll bring in additional staff with more expertise when we can. In the meantime, you're what we've got.”

The technician flexed his fingers. “I'll do what I can.”

“When you're ready, call him back.”

They waited in silence for a few minutes as the technician typed. Eventually, he sat straighter. “I think he's in North America. I think that's what the information I've received so far says.”

That didn't narrow it down much, but it was a start. “That's good,” said Ash. “Are we ready to place that call?”

The tech typed again and then nodded. “I'm calling now.”

Ash leaned forward and waited as the phone rang and only took a breath once someone picked up.

“You there, Mr. Palmer?”

“Is this Detective Rashid?”

Rebecca's voice was soft. He could practically feel her trembling through the phone.

“Yeah. Call me Ash. Are you hurt?”

“Yes,” she said, crying. “He hit me, and I passed out. There were two men....When I woke up...” Her voice trailed to nothingness. “Please help me.”

“We're doing everything we can,” he said, speaking quickly. “Our entire department is looking for you. We'll find you.”

Rebecca started to say something else, but before she could, Ash heard a noise akin to meat being smacked against a countertop. Rebecca didn't make any other sound after that.

“Is that good enough for you, Detective Rashid?” asked Palmer.

More than anything in the world, Ash wanted to reach through the phone and grab his throat and squeeze. He forced his voice to remain calm.

“Please don't hurt her again.”

“I didn't do anything to her she hasn't had done to her before.”

Ash exhaled through his nose.

“For the good of our relationship, please don't hurt her again. We can't work with you if you hurt her.”

“Oh, you don't want to work with me? So should I just go ahead and kill her now to save us all some time?”

“No, don't kill her. Tell me what you want, and I'll see if I can get it.”

Ash knew he had broken a primary rule of hostage negotiating, acquiescing to demands before even hearing them, but he blurted it out without thinking.

“I like that attitude.”

“I'm glad,” said Ash. “We want Rebecca back safely, and we're willing to work with you to get that. What do you want?”

“What everybody wants. Money. Let's say you give me twenty thousand dollars. As soon as I get my money, you'll get the girl.”

“We'll have to talk to her family about that. IMPD doesn't have the money to pay ransom.”

“Then get on the horn with her family and call me back in an hour.”

Ash glanced at Bowers and Reddington. They had already started talking to themselves, presumably trying to figure out their options.

“I'll go to their house and talk to them,” said Ash. “But I need something from you first. Who were the people in the Mercedes?”

Reddington and Bowers stopped talking and stared at him. Palmer's voice went flat, his accent gone.

“I fail to see how that's germane to our discussion.”

“We haven't been able to identify them yet, so their families don't know what's going on. If you know their names, it would help us a lot. And if you help us, we'll help you. That's how this works.”

Palmer paused for a moment. “Do you think I'm an idiot?”

“Of course not.”

“Then don't treat me like one. Get my money and try not to be too distracted by details that don't pertain to you.”

“If you tell me who—”

Palmer hung up before Ash could finish another question. He stared at the laptop for a moment, his hands shaking, before looking at the technician from the services division.

“Anything?”

The tech put up his hands and shrugged. “I don't know. I'm way out of my depth here.”

“You did your best. That's all we can ask for,” said Reddington. He looked at the rest of the people in the room. “We've got one hour, and I expect us to be better prepared next time. I'm going to call Kevin Havelock at the local FBI field office. Hopefully he'll have a few technicians he can spare.” He looked at the befuddled tech. “I want you to work with them and show them our system.” He looked at Bowers. “Mike, you're going to coordinate with the state police. If we get a location on Palmer, we'll probably need their help. Someone needs to talk to the Cook family as well, so we'll get the chaplain.”

“Just send Rashid,” said Bowers. “He talked to the Cooks before, and he knows the case.”

Reddington looked at Ash from his chest to his head as if appraising him. “I'd rather he stay here.”

Ash knew Reddington had said something about him, but his brain didn't process it.

“Ash,” said Bowers, his voice sharp. “You with us?”

Ash blinked and cleared his mind. “Yeah, but we shouldn't go to the Cooks yet. Palmer's setting us up.”