Green Light (Sam Archer 7) (40 page)

‘
Henderson, Tully and Lister are from Pittsburgh. Is there
anything about the
Suki
there?’

‘
Let me check.’

Pause.

‘
Yes. The FBI cleared the city of Mafia activity in the 90s.
However, a bartender from a South-Side club came forward a few
years back and offered up information in exchange for police
protection. He said he worked at a
Suki
club; they’d been in town for
some time, filling the space the Feds had cleared.’

‘
Why did he need protection?’

‘
This goes back a decade. Two days before he turned informant,
the
Suki
boss was
killed in a back room at one of their clubs. The bartender said he
only saw one person go back there just before the old guy was
killed.’

‘
Who?’

‘
A woman; late twenties or thirties, worked as a waitress at
the club. Had
Suki
ink on her arms and lower back. The guy said the
Suki
had just found the
old guy’s body when members of a rival gang broke into the place
and opened fire. The bartender split through a back door, and went
to the cops the next day. Pittsburgh PD moved on the club, but the
place was deserted, no bodies, no blood, nothing. The grandchildren
of the dead
Suki
boss had also disappeared too, wiping out his blood-line.
No-one ever found any trace of them.’

Archer
looked down at Henderson, the tattoos on his torso still visible
from his pulled-up sweater. ‘How many grandchildren did this man
have?’

‘
Three. Two boys, one girl. Teenagers at the time, apparently.
Mikhail, Seva and Ninochka.’

‘
Michael, Sebastian and Nina,’ Archer said. ‘Henderson, Tully
and Lister.’

‘
Those surnames must be fake. If it’s them, they must be
brothers and sister.’

Archer swore quietly. ‘Did this informant have any idea who
wiped out that
Suki
faction?’

‘
Yeah. He said only one other gang would have this much of a
vendetta against the
Suki
, and it went back decades.
Pittsburgh PD never found any evidence of them in the city though
and haven’t since.’

‘
Who are they?’

‘
The
Prizraki.’

Trapped
in that dark coffin eleven months ago, her oxygen quickly running
out, Karen had fought a major panic attack, terror racing through
her veins like pure heroin through a junkie’s
bloodstream.

She’d
had no idea how deep she’d been buried but knew there was only one
way out and that was up. The soil above her would have been thrown
back over the coffin once she’d been laid in place, which meant it
was likely loose, not packed hard. She was a slim woman and luckily
for her, the wooden box was large, designed for a man, probably
another of her husband’s victims. Burying people alive was one of
his specialities.

After a
struggle, and fighting the claustrophobia which was threatening to
swamp her, she managed to slowly work her sweater over her head.
Panting hard from the effort, she then pulled part of it back down
to protect her nose and mouth from being filled with soil in case
she ever managed to breach the wooden lid. Drawing her legs up
tight, she started to push up as hard as she could with her
knees.

The lid
felt completely solid, unmoving as she pushed at it, the sheer
weight of soil above her holding it down, but she persevered, using
all the strength she possessed. Her leg muscles were soon screaming
in protest but she didn’t stop, knowing it was either get out or
suffocate to death.

She lost
track of how long she’d been pushing; it was getting unbearably hot
and she was fighting for breath, feeling sweat pouring down her
skin and claustrophobia about to overwhelm her when suddenly she
heard the lid above her creak.

She
renewed her efforts, feeling the wood move slightly as it started
to give way, all the weight of the soil waiting to pour down over
her.

Then it
had shifted.

She’d
carried on pushing, forcing the lid up slightly.

Karen
had lifted her hands over her sweater to protect her nose and
mouth, but the soil had poured down in a relentless stream over her
body and legs, trapping her and packing her in tight. Unable to
move her legs and only just able to breathe in the tiny pocket of
air her hands and the sweater provided, she forced an arm upwards,
working it through the loose dirt, feeling the suffocating weight
above her as it pushed against her stomach, her air almost gone.
She managed to start shoving some of the soil into the lower
portion of the coffin with her right foot, giving her some wriggle
room.

Her body
covered with earth, Karen spent what seemed like an eternity
working her fingers through the cold earth, using all of her
strength to push her arm upwards and every ounce of will she
possessed to avoid hyper-ventilating from fear. Knowing she was
close to suffocation, she suddenly felt all the resistance against
her fingers disappear, replaced by glorious space and cold air.
They hadn’t buried her too deep.

Her hand
had breached the surface.

With
renewed hope, she quickly started to scoop handfuls of earth to one
side. Pushing up with her legs, stamping down on the earth and
using it to lever herself up, she’d finally been able to force her
way out of the coffin, finally erupting through the earth and
sucking in oxygen like a drunk with his first drink in years, lying
in a field in the middle of nowhere. For a few minutes she just lay
where she was, unmoving, just getting her breath back and sucking
the cold air deep into her lungs.

She was
still alive.

‘
When was the last time the
Suki
were here in New
York?

‘
Not for a while. They were run out of town. Same as in
Philadelphia, Boston-’

‘
And Pittsburgh,’ Archer finished.

‘
That’s right.’

‘
What happened at the club in Brighton Beach? Did they
apprehend the men down there?’

‘
They didn’t get there in time. Three got shot; we think it
was Henderson and Tully. We’ve got them on camera abducting the
last guy; the bartenders are saying he’s the leader.’

‘
Do you have a photo of this man?’

‘
Hold on. I’m sending it now. It came from
Massaro.’

‘
OK,’ Archer said, ending the call. Opening the picture, he
looked at the image of the man, immediately seeing the
likeness.

He
turned the phone so April could see the image.

After a
moment or two she looked up at him, shock on her face.

It was
unmistakeable.

Finally seeing how it all fit together, he thought back to the
conversation he’d just had with Karen. She’d said
meet me at the docks,
thinking she was talking to Henderson
.

But
which docks, West or East?

Redialling Ethan, Archer started speaking the moment he
answered. ‘I need you to trace the GPS on Karen Casey’s
cell.’

‘
What’s her number?’

Archer
did a quick check on the cell then passed over the nine
digits.

‘
Which way is she going, Ethan?’

‘
She’s heading east on East 19
^th
.’

Ending
the call, Archer rose and reloaded the pistol he’d taken from
Henderson.

‘
What are we doing?’ April asked.

‘
Karen’s going to the East Side Docks. I need to get over there
and stop her right now.’

‘
That might not be so easy,’ April said, standing by the
window. ‘Look.’

Moving
alongside her, Archer looked down at the street.

‘
Oh shit,’ he whispered.

The two
cars carrying the Latino gang members hunting him down had just
screeched to a halt outside the building, blocking off their
exit.

FORTY EIGHT

Once
she’d made it out of the coffin, it had taken Karen all night to
get back to the centre of Pittsburgh. As soon as she’d figured out
where she was, she’d collect-called Leann, instructing her to come
get her. The girl had been stunned when she’d seen her step-mother
covered in soil, scratched and bloodied, her hair wild and her face
filthy.

Using
the cash Leann had on her, Karen had checked into a motel, cleaned
herself up, then picked up a pistol from a safety deposit box she
kept in the city and went home to kill that son of a bitch.
However, he was gone, along with everything of value in the house.
Taking her gun, she’d gone to Bashev’s lieutenant’s home and
confronted the man, who’d been minutes away from leaving himself,
his entire house stripped bare.

With the gun in his face he’d told her everything. Karen had
already known the Feds were back in Pittsburgh on the hunt to crush
any Mafia presence, which meant the
Prizraki
either had to keep an
extremely low profile or get the hell out of there. Apparently the
leadership had been watching Vladimir for a while, the success of
their operation at the steel mill and the vast sums of money it was
bringing in attracting their attention.

When the
leader of the New York faction had been killed the week before,
Vladimir had been offered the position.

For every
Prizraki
member, induction into the Little Odessa
organisation was highly coveted; the chance to actually lead it was
an unrivalled honour and responsibility. Prospective inductees were
carefully observed for some time before any offer was made. If an
inductee was later judged to be inferior, it wasn’t unusual for
them to be killed along with the member who’d recommended them. It
ensured only the most ruthless and successful survived.

Bashev’s lieutenant then told Karen the reason why Vladimir
had disposed of her as he had. She knew of course that in the
Russian Mafia a prospect was required to shed blood to signify his
allegiance, but the New York
Prizraki
were particularly brutal,
demanding an extra level of proof of Bashev’s dedication. The
Thieves Law they still adhered to stated that no true
vor v zakone
could have a
family of his own, thus ensuring total loyalty, no distractions or
providing an enemy with a potential means of blackmail.

As a consequence, the
Prizraki
leadership had put a green light on
Karen.

If
Vladimir wanted to join them, he’d have to get rid of
her.

Evidently this hadn’t posed a problem for her late husband.
That ultimate betrayal after so many years of marriage and working
together, coupled with the experience of being buried alive
completely unhinged her, the professional killer who’d lain dormant
for so many years, back with a vengeance. She’d dedicated years
building up their operation with her husband and she’d been repaid
by being buried alive, the only mercy he’d shown was not breaking
her wrists, Vladimir not wanting to torture her but dispose of her.
A cold, calculated business decision.

In turn, she made one of her own. Her husband was going to
die, but only after each and every member of his new team. She’d
inflict the ultimate humiliation on him as leader of the
uppermost
Prizraki
faction, knowing that by removing his crew, Bashev would
appear completely inept to both the leadership and also all the men
around him. Then and only then would Karen take her revenge on him,
if the bosses didn’t kill him first.

She’d
started her campaign immediately, knowing she couldn’t leave
Bashev’s lieutenant alive, so she’d shot him and taking Leann with
her, headed for New York. As soon as they’d arrived, Karen rented
an East Village apartment then called up two of her old pimps from
Pittsburgh who she’d set up in Manhattan, Carlos Goya and Alex
Santiago. They’d been forced to leave the Steel City due to police
attention and owed her big time; they also had no idea what had
happened to her and were extremely fearful of her powerful
connections, no idea that they’d been severed. When she told them
she was taking over their operation, they didn’t argue. It wouldn’t
have been wise.

The two
men ran eleven women, twelve after Karen forced Leann to join the
roster, the girl not a problem now Karen had gotten her addicted to
painkillers and kicked her out of the house to find her own place.
However, even though money started to roll in, Karen had stayed in
her East Village apartment in order to maintain her cover, spending
every waking minute meticulously planning her revenge.

Her first task was to learn everything she could about the
Little Odessa
Prizraki
, the structure, where Bashev and the other men lived and
operated and how many of them there were. It was a challenge and
she was well aware of how dangerous it was; the men were
notoriously hard to get information on and she knew if they got
wind of Karen’s presence in the city, or even the fact there was
someone asking questions, the consequences would be fatal. They
wouldn’t make any mistakes the second time.