Denouement (8 page)

“I love you too.” I hung up and pushed off from the corner of my desk. My chair slid back on its casters and rocked. I balled my fists and pressed them together. My knuckles cracked.

My family being holed up in a hotel was eating at me. Without the meeting with Azarov, I didn’t know how long they would need to remain there. Faust putting them up was a personal favor, off the books. The two agents he’d put on them wouldn’t stay there forever. We needed a break in finding Ray—any hint of a trail we could follow. I gave my burning eyes a rub. I needed a coffee to make it more than another ten minutes of staring at numbers, so I made for the lunch room to get my caffeine fix.

With two tall cups of coffee at the corner of my desk, I got back to the task at hand.

I blasted through the first ten pages. The next ten were a little slower, and I still found nothing of interest. On the thirty-third page of the records, something finally caught my eye, a call made to a time-and-weather number in Miami. I pulled Mishutin’s phone records back from the box I’d placed them in and checked the number. It was a match.

“Now what would you be calling that number for?”

I pulled up the phone number in my computer’s search engine. The first result was a website called MiamiTandW. I clicked on the link. The page opened to a website looking as if it had been designed sometime in the nineties. The page showed the local time, date, and weather, with the phone number in the top right corner, the same one as on my sheet of records. I didn’t find any additional pages to click or any other information on the website. I grabbed my desk phone and dialed the number. The recording told me the time and temperature, said goodbye, and then beeped in my ear. I hung up. The service appeared to be just what it was—the number and the website. It gave you the time and temperature, nothing more or less. I finished with Popov’s records and filed them in the box.

I spent another two fruitless hours going over the next person’s records and realized I couldn’t do any more. My eyes were on fire. The remaining records would have to wait until morning.

I slid back from my desk, walked to the couch, and plugged in my cell phone nearby to charge. I debated checking in with Faust for an update but resisted the urge. If he had anything new, he would have called as he said he would. I closed my eyes, fluffed the old couch pillow behind my head, and searched for sleep.

Ray walked across the grass toward the Westchase home. Large oak trees broke up the football-field-sized lawn at the front. Ray looked left and right, noting that the agent had a few acres of property. The landscaping lights from the closest neighbors’ house were half a block away. The neighbor’s house itself was dark. The time of night and distance ensured they wouldn’t hear Ray’s gunshots.

He approached the front of Faust’s house, which didn’t fit in with the standard Florida architecture of a cinderblock square covered in stucco. Faust’s house was a big colonial-styled two story. Ray entered the front-porch area. Ceiling fans spun in the darkness over Ray’s head, creating a breeze. He examined the front door, which appeared to be some kind of solid hardwood with a deadbolt—no window. Ray didn’t have a lock-picking kit with him and figured entry through the thick front door would wake the agent. He caught a glance inside as he passed the benches on the front porch. The house was dark. Ray made a left toward the back of the house in search of an easier point of entry.

A screened-in lanai attached to the house covered a lap pool at the back. Ray found the door, thumbed the button on the handle, and entered. He looked past the pool and patio set toward the sliding doors and windows. Again, he saw no lights on inside the home. Ray went to the sliding doors. A doormat lay just in front of the one on the right. He reached out and tried to slide the door, but it didn’t budge—locked. Ray pressed his palms against the glass, lifted the door off its lock, and slid it to the side. He smirked.

Ray stepped into the house and reached into his jacket for the Desert Eagle in his shoulder holster. He slid the gun out and then fished his other hand through his pocket for the small LED flashlight he’d brought. He pulled it out and clicked the button to illuminate the room.

Ray stood in what appeared to be a dining room. A small table and four chairs stood before him. He aimed the beam of light to the left. A large stainless refrigerator was directly at his shoulder. Beyond the refrigerator, the flashlight shone off of a long granite-topped kitchen island holding a range top. Ray swept the beam of light from left to right. A large arched walkway led from the kitchen out to a living room, and directly before him was a hall leading to the front door of the house—a stairway leading up was just to the front door’s right. He started down the hall, letting the light from the flashlight guide his way.

Ray made a right at the front door and started up the stairs. He kept the light pointed down and the gun pointed up. Ray neared the top of the steps and flashed the light up against the wall beyond the top stair. The hallway appeared to only turn right. A closed door sat to the left of the stairs. Ray flicked off the light.

He stepped up the top stair and turned. Before Ray could react, the gun was ripped from his hand, and he took a blow to the face. Ray stumbled back into the wall with the closed door. He felt another blow to his right ear—hard. That had to have been a kick. Ray took two steps right to catch his balance. Then he took a third, but his foot didn’t find floor. He caught the second stair down and reached out for the stairwell’s handrail. He caught it just before he fell backward down the steps. A blow to his chest ripped his grip away from the handrail. Ray felt weightless, flying back through the air. His body crashed hard three quarters of the way down the steps. His momentum took him feet over head down the remaining steps into the wall at the bottom. Ray’s breath left his lungs, and he came to rest in a seated position with his back against the wall. He faced the stairwell leading up and tried to pull his feet under himself to stand. He also tried to take air into his lungs.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed in Ray’s head. Someone was running down the stairs at him. Ray got a single foot under him when his already blurry vision exploded into an array of color. Ray felt the back of his head hit the wall. He felt another blow to the side of his head. Ray slumped down onto his right side and tried pulling himself away from the attacker. Ray felt a blow to the back of his head, and the floor meet his face. Everything went black.

Ray opened his eyes. Light entered. He looked left to right. A dark-haired man stood leaning against the kitchen sink on the phone.

“Yeah, I have him,” the man said.

Ray squinted—his vision blurred again before coming into focus. The man was an inch or two over six foot, his weight around two hundred. Ray couldn’t figure out how the man, inches shorter and almost a hundred fifty pounds lighter, could have gotten the better of him.

“It looks like he’s coming to. I’ll see you guys in a bit.” The man clicked off the phone, set it down, and came toward Ray. “I bet you didn’t think you were in for an ass kicking tonight, did you? Special forces, bitch.”

Ray groaned. “You’re the boss fed, Faust?”

“Yes. Welcome to my home. Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

Ray didn’t respond. He looked down to where his elbows rested on his thighs. His forearms and hands were free, but from his elbows up to his chest, duct tape was securing him to the back of the chair he sat upon.

“You seem to like tying people to chairs, so I figured I’d return the favor,” Faust said.

Ray looked over at him. Next to the agent on the countertop was a gun and what remained of the roll of duct tape.

Ray chuckled and shook his head. “So how are your other two feds doing? I about pulled the one’s head from his body. I always wanted to try that.”

Faust lunged at Ray and cocked his fist. Ray lifted his chin and awaited the strike, but the fed stopped, seemingly trying to restrain himself.

Ray smiled at him. “That whole code-of-conduct thing is a bitch, isn’t it? You want to hit me, probably kill me while I sit here, but your morals stop you.” Ray shook his head. “That’s rough. Especially after what I did to your buddies.”

The agent planted a hard right square into Ray’s nose. Ray’s head snapped back from the blow, and his eyes welled up. He felt blood running over his lips.

“You know your agents were both talkers, right? I mean, the last one gave up your address almost immediately,” Ray said. “All it took was me scooping his eyeball from his head, and he was singing like a songbird.”

The fed paced the kitchen. “Keep running your mouth, asshole,” Faust said. “You must have me mistaken for someone that has to answer for their actions.”

Ray continued, “The other one, the first one, he looked at me with sad little puppy-dog eyes right as I put a bullet through his brain.”

Faust continued pacing. Ray could see the anger building in the man. He pressed. “What was the second guy’s name? I forget.”

Faust didn’t respond.

“You know, the one that I pulled the eye out of? He actually asked me to kill him. He begged for it. It was just pathetic.”

The agent went to the kitchen island, scooped the roll of duct tape from the counter and ripped off a six-inch section. “I’ve had enough of your mouth. You should thank me for this. Shutting you up might be the only thing that keeps you alive.”

Faust walked toward Ray with the piece of tape stretched out. He came at Ray to place the tape over his mouth. Ray plunged his head forward and snapped his teeth down, catching the thumb and index finger of the agent’s left hand in his mouth. Ray sank his teeth in and clenched his jaw as hard as he could. He ripped his head from side to side like a dog attacking a steak. The fed screamed in agony and tried to pull his hand free. Ray’s neck muscles flexed as he tried to keep his hold on the fed’s hand.

Ray watched Faust cock his right hand and deliver another fist to his nose. The blow was hard enough that Ray’s grip on the fed’s hand released. Then the agent retreated to the kitchen. Ray didn’t know if the blood in his mouth was his own or the fed’s. He spat it on the floor and laughed. The agent feverishly tried to attend to the wound, which gave Ray a window.

Ray stared down at his hands. He flexed every muscle in his upper body. He felt the tape tighten around him. In a single violent motion, he tried to pull his arms from his sides. The tape loosened and stretched but didn’t give. He repeated the process three times before the area around his stomach ripped. The fed glanced over from the sink as he ran water over his bloody hand, and Ray stopped moving. Faust looked back down to inspect the wound. Ray planted his feet flat against the floor. Then he pressed down, stood, and pulled with all his might, screaming. The tape ripped free. Faust’s head spun toward Ray. The chair still hung to Ray’s backside. Faust lunged from the sink and scrambled for the gun on the countertop, but his wet hands pawed off of it. Ray jerked his arms around, freeing himself from the chair. He went straight for the agent as he was lifting the gun to fire. Ray cocked back a right fist as he advanced.

Faust dropped the gun and brought his left arm up to block Ray’s strike. Ray faked and delivered a left uppercut to the agent’s jaw, almost lifting Faust from his feet. Faust flew back into the kitchen cupboards. Ray grabbed him around the head and brought his knee up into Faust’s face. He felt the agent go limp. Ray kneed him in the face again.

“Special forces, huh?” Ray said. He followed his words with yet another knee to Faust’s face. “Black Dolphin prison.” Ray released his hold on Faust’s head and let his body drop to the wooden floor of the kitchen. “Bitch.”

Ray reached down and scooped the gun from the floor. He gripped it and pointed the barrel down at the agent’s head. With his foot, Ray turned the agent’s body face up so he could send the bullet home through Faust’s forehead. Ray pulled the trigger, but it didn’t budge. Ray checked the side of the gun for a safety, confirmed it was off, and tried pulling the trigger again. Again, the gun didn’t fire.

“What the hell?” Ray said.

He stared at the gun in his hand. On the finger side of the grip was a one-inch-square box inlaid into the handle. Ray tried pressing it and firing—nothing. The room to Ray’s right lit up. The light had to have been from a car coming down the driveway. Ray exited the back patio door and tossed the agent’s gun into the pool on the way out. He heard the sound of car doors slamming shut as he jogged from the back of the yard.

I reached over for my phone to check the time. The screen lit and told me it was ten after one in the morning. I didn’t know if the coffee or the thought of Azarov roaming the streets was keeping me up.

I’d been lying on my office couch for hours without as much as a wink of sleep. My mind refused to turn off. I spent a good hour thinking about Callie and my family hiding out in that hotel. Another hour passed, of thinking about the murdered FBI agents. I almost fell asleep once but was woken by Jones’s booming laugh out in the bullpen. To make matters worse, every time I closed my eyes, I saw phone numbers. I reached out and grabbed the bottle of water I’d gotten in the lunch room an hour prior. I took a sip, rolled onto my back, and stared at the drop ceiling of my office.

I closed my eyes and tried the time-tested method of counting sheep. I was somewhere around eighty when my phone rang. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and reached for the phone. I didn’t recognize the number though it had a Tampa area code. The caller had to be Faust.

I answered. “Lieutenant Kane.”

“Hey, it’s Faust.”

“Yeah, what’s up?” I asked.

“We, um, have had a development.”

I heard someone in the background at his end of the call, telling him to stop moving his head.

“Okay, what’s the development?” I asked.

“Azarov came into my house.”

“What!” I stood, accidentally ripping my phone’s charger from the wall. I unplugged it from the bottom of my phone, let the charger fall to the floor, and went to my desk. If I’d had any drowsiness in me, it was immediately gone.