Killing Chase (18 page)

“Are you sure that’s his
voice?” I asked Jenna later that evening at the apartment. I had listened to the audio twice, and it sounded like him, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Christian,” Jenna said, looking for help, and he turned from his usual spot at the counter.

“I emailed a snippet of the conversation to our forensic voice analysts in DC. According to them, there is a ninety-percent probability that the voice on the tape is that of Sergei Durov. They have a sample of his voice on file that they matched it to,” he said.

“Chase, it may be time to consider that Anna is playing you,” said Jenna.

“No way, not knowingly. I think my bullshit meter would’ve spiked at some point if that were the case.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell you Sergei was her father? Didn’t you say that she told you her parents moved from Russia to Wilmington? Are there any pictures of them in her home?” she asked. “Does she talk about them?”

I ransacked my brain and tried to remember any conversations that involved her parents.

“No, not that I remember,” I said, giving up. “But there could be any number of reasons she would want that kept secret or that Sergei would want it to remain a secret. You said it yourself, Jenna, Sergei probably deals with all manner of unsavory characters. Wouldn’t you shield your children from them if you were in Sergei’s shoes?”

Neither FBI agent countered so I pressed my point. “Besides, on the tape he clearly tells her to remain in Wilmington this weekend. That in itself doesn’t give me a good feeling about the trip.”

“Maybe you’re thinking too much with your dick instead of your brain,” Christian said.

I may have mentioned that I hated him.

“No, just because I’ve been using mine, unlike you, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking clearly, asshole. Anna’s not involved in whatever Sergei is planning. I’m willing to bet my life on it,” I said.

He smirked, but stayed quiet. Jenna stifled a laugh.

“Speaking of your life, and the attempts on it, we’ve been thinking about both of them,” Jenna said. “It’s possible that instead of trying to kill you, they were just trying to scare you off. Think about it, you die and this trip isn’t happening anytime soon, at least on Sergei’s timetable, and your father’s illness has the potential to really throw things out of whack for him. ”

“Okay, that makes sense, so I’m probably in the clear for the time being. Is that what you are saying?”

“Until you board that boat. Then all bets are off,” Jenna said. “Same goes for Bailey and your father, assuming he isn’t in on it.”

I shook my head. “My father’s not in on it. Let’s just shut this trip down right now. We’ll go to him and explain everything.”

“Sorry, we can’t do that. We have to nail them in the act,” she said. “I’m sorry, but this is going down one way or the other.”

“I assume you’ve checked out the men he’s bringing with him,” I said.

“He’s bringing three people. Dmitri and two other men who work on his exploration ships. Neither of the men have criminal records, according to INTERPOL. It’s likely he doesn’t try anything until you get to New York City, but we want you to update us as often as possible. Come back tonight, and I’ll have you a satellite phone. We’ll already be tracking the ship via the AIS transponder, but real-time information is crucial.”

She continued, “We’ll have a strike force on a Coast Guard cutter nearby if things go south, and we’re working on getting drone coverage, but it hasn’t been approved yet. The Justice Department gets squeamish when private US citizens are involved, even if the ship is in international waters.”

I nodded. “I need to go home and pack. What time do you want me back over?”

“Around nine will be fine,” she said quietly. Something was off with her. I nodded at Christian and looked at Jenna one last time before leaving. Something unspoken passed between us in that moment, and I got the feeling she felt as if she were looking at a dead man.

On the way to Bailey’s, police lights again lit me up, for what reason I wasn’t sure. My speed was below the limit, and I had been maintaining my lane. I rolled the window down as the officer approached and resigned myself to another night spent on a hard floor. Except it wasn’t a regular patrolman.

“We need to talk,” said Detective Reigart, as he leaned down to look at me. “I know you’re working for the Feds.”

I sat there on the side of the road as he waited for my response.
Decision time, Hampton
.

I turned my head to him and said, “Pull me out and put me in cuffs. Then call and have my car towed to the station.”

“Why?”

“Because if they’re still following me, they would expect you to do that. I can spare you an hour. You have somewhere we can talk, I assume?”

After my faux arrest, Detective Reigart drove us out to Pampas Park. The parking lot was empty, and it was dark. We walked over to a trio of picnic tables and sat across from each other, as a steady stream of white and red lights crossed the Cape Fear Bridge in the distance.

“How’d you know I was working for the Feds?” I began.

“I didn’t; it was a bluff,” he said.

Shit.
I couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, but I imagined he was grinning.

“Remind me never to play poker with you. Okay, why the interest in me?”

“Does the name Kenny Jackson mean anything to you?”

“I think he’s the reason I was released, unfortunately for him. A man named Sergei Durov more than likely had him killed,” I said. “I’m his replacement.”

“How do you know he had Kenny killed?”

“It’s just a working theory. You’ve seen what happened to my car. Spying for the FBI can be a deadly game. We think someone on the inside of Aquatic is working with Durov or tipping him off at the least. Durov has deep pockets.”

“Why are the Feds interested in Durov?”

“They believe he wants to harm America, but they’re not sure what he is up to. The Bear has an ax to grind against his old enemy the Eagle. Durov and his people are flying in tomorrow and we’re taking them on a training trip up the East Coast to New York City,” I explained.

“So, where does this leave you, Mr. Hampton?” he said.

“As of tomorrow, I’ll be maneuvering up shit creek, paddle-less. I’m the tip of the spear in this quiet conflict against Sergei Durov.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he said, which started the wheels turning in my head.

I asked him another question. He answered, and my night got a little longer.

***

Eight hundred miles to the east-northeast of Foggy Harbor,
Poseidon
continued west at a slower clip. The canister had been stored in the corner of the large engine room, near a wide circular hatch, safe from the prying eyes of the thirty or so people on board. In fact, only six people on the entire ship even knew about the existence of
Calypso
. But it was there, secured tightly underneath the hull of the large exploration vessel.

***

The entire orchestrated episode took about ninety minutes from the time Detective Reigart pulled me over. I’d called Jenna after the detective and I completed our conversation, and told her I’d been pulled over again. After a call to the Foggy Harbor Police Department, I was released, having spent the last thirty minutes of my “incarceration” seated in Reigart’s office, looking at pictures of the deceased Kenny Jackson. Crunch time approached, and Schmidt had replaced finesse with strong-arm tactics to secure my release, according to Detective Reigart.

I drove straight to Jenna’s, feigned disgust at the corrupt Foggy Harbor Police Department, and claimed Reigart had it out for me. To her credit, she didn’t ask me about being pulled over, and I didn’t offer anything.

Jenna was alone and still in her funk. She had a hard time maintaining eye contact. She’d already lost one man, and I imagined that weighed heavy on her. She walked to her room and returned with a small, black duffel that contained a fully charged Iridium satellite phone, a small canister of pepper spray, two small knives, and a GPS unit called an Aquatracker. She wanted me to install it on the
Anchor
Management in order to track the ship should Sergei disable the transponder. It would need to be mounted as high as possible, with a clear line of sight to the heavens above.

I asked for a gun and her answer was an unequivocal
no
. I could see the headlines:
Ex-con Kills with FBI-Provided Handgun
, and I understood her reasoning. Besides, I could do a lot with two small knives and canister of pepper spray. Not really, but I felt better telling myself that.

After she finished explaining how to use the satellite phone, she produced a manila folder with a document signed by Franklin Calhoun, the esteemed senior US district judge for Eastern North Carolina. The document gave me immunity from any attempt to place me back in prison because of a perceived parole violation, unless the violation was a felony. It was as close to a Get Out of Jail Free card as I’d ever get.

“You need to put this somewhere safe until you get back,” she advised. “Maybe make yourself a million or so copies.”

“Nothing like waiting until the last minute to get it to me,” I said, as I scanned the document a second time. I handed it back to her along with a small backpack I’d kept hidden in the Mustang’s trunk.

“Jenna, we’ve been through a lot during our brief time together. I trust you to safeguard this document for me as well as the contents of this backpack. If I don’t make it back, I want you to keep what’s in it. No questions, just do what you will with it.”

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“You’re already breaking the rules. No questions. If I do get out of this alive, I’m sure you’ll find a way to get it back to me.”

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You should go home and pack.”

“Already trying to get rid of me,” I joked, but she wasn’t smiling. She oozed sadness as she stared at the bare apartment wall. I reached down, cradled her chin in my hands and turned her head in my direction.

“You look like someone stole your pony, Jenna.”

She gave me an unexpected hug and then retreated. “I’m sorry. My time here is almost over, and you’ve grown on me. Promise me you’ll be careful,” she said.

“This sounds like goodbye?” I said.

“Probably; I’m not sure. Depends on what happens.” She wiped at a tear.

“Well if it is, thanks for everything. You saved my life and treated me with respect, and I will be forever grateful for that. Good luck, if this is it.”

She hugged me again, and this time when she tried to pull away, I didn’t let her. I held her tight and stared into her eyes for a good ten seconds.

“Maybe under different circumstances,” I whispered. She lowered her head and nodded, slowly, and we both understood, or so I thought. I kissed her forehead and hugged her tightly one more time, and as I pulled away, she reached up, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me as she had the first night in her apartment.

When we stopped kissing, I said, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to report this transgression to Schmidt. Three demerits for you, Agent Brighton, and a posting to the Juneau office.” She smiled, and I kissed her, picked her up, and carried her to the bedroom.

“Do you need to remove all eight handguns you have on your person? I’d hate to have an accidental discharge so late in the game.” This earned me a playful bop on my head as I lifted her pajama top and kissed her flat, quivering stomach, planting kisses all the way up until I reached her lips again.

“Chase,” she said, lifting my chin so she could have my undivided attention.

“Jenna.”

“It’s Elizabeth. My name is Elizabeth. I thought you should know before we do this.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Of course. I know my own name, dummy.”

“No, about this,” I said as I bopped her lightly on the head this time.

That elicited a giggle. “Absolutely, one-hundred-percent positive.”

She stroked my hair, and I slid her pajama pants off. The ex-con and the FBI agent. Could it work? On the surface, I’d have to give it a zero-point-two-percent chance, but beneath it all, I felt a tiny heartbeat of hope. I just needed to make sure my heart continued to beat.

“Elizabeth,” I said, sounding it out slowly as my hands found her hands, and I kissed her smooth skin below her belly button, then again lower. She reached out as my lips found her thighs, and she pulled my shirt up and over my head. Soon, clothes littered all corners of her room, and we made love amidst the mess, slowly at first.

“Oh God, that feels good,” she cried as she straddled me with her back to me. I cupped her breasts then ran my hands down to her hips, before flipping her on her back and locking hands again. We kept our eyes locked as we again found each other, and our rhythm increased. Afterward, we held on to each other under the covers.

“I haven’t told you this, but my sole goal while I was in prison was to someday screw the FBI,” I said, as I moved a blond strand of hair from her face. She smiled.

“You’re incorrigible,” she whispered, “but you make me laugh, and that’s important. Do you have to go?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Not yet; tomorrow can wait,” she said, as she ran her hands down my stomach to my midsection.

“Tomorrow can wait,” I echoed softly, while in the back of my mind I knew it wouldn’t.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

I began to feel better
about our trip to New York when my father arrived with Sergei and his entourage. Aside from my old friend Dmitri the Giant, the other two men were the size of mailbox posts and looked about as imposing as two small kittens. Had the
Anchor Management
been a rollercoaster, Mikel and Oleg would have just cleared the “You must be this tall to ride” sign. They seemed pleasant and were clearly nervous when around Sergei.

Sergei greeted me warmly, though behind those smiling, steely gray eyes, I imagined him devising ways to make me disappear—or going through the steps of the plan he already had in place.

“Bailey, you look as lovely as ever,” Sergei said, turning to my sister with a twinkle in his eye. I wondered if he was already looking for wife number whatever.

“Thank you, Mr. Durov. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Viktoria’s murder. Such a senseless act. If there is anything I can do for you to make your trip easier, please let me know.”

“Your kind words mean a lot to me, Bailey, and thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps this trip will turn my somber mood around.” This was good. Bailey was keeping her cool, after a day of her telling me how nervous she was.

“Mr. Durov, do the authorities have any suspects in Viktoria’s murder?” I asked.

“As of now they do not. I have many enemies, and they have always underestimated me. I will find her killer if it’s the last thing I do on earth.”

Sure, O.J.
I wondered if his answer to my question was meant for me, or maybe I was so far down on his worry list that I didn’t qualify as a threat. The not-knowing is always the worst, or so I’ve heard.

“How is your recovery going?” Bailey inquired.

“The ribs are tender, but on the mend according to my doctors. What is the American saying? ‘You can’t keep a good man down.’”

What an ass.

He continued, “Hank, are you sure you are up to the trip?”

“Sergei, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We are going to shock the yachting world once we get to New York City,” he said, his voice coarse gravel.

“If I know you, you are keeping this new feature as secret as possible. I bet you haven’t even told Bailey or Chase about it. Am I right?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Mikel and Oleg are chomping at the bit to get started on the training. When can we begin?” Sergei asked.

“We’ll split Portsmouth and Ocracoke Islands and enter Pamlico Sound bright and early in the morning, say eight a.m., and begin after breakfast. The water there will be calmer. Then we’ll do some night maneuvers off the coast of Virginia Beach, beginning after dinner.

“Excellent, excellent. These two men are my best deep-water operators, and once
Ukean
is built, they will be stationed on it to give my guests the adventure of a lifetime.”

“Dad, spill it,” Bailey said. “You’re closer to me than anyone in the company, and I don’t even have a clue what it is.” My father looked at Sergei and gave him a
why-not
kind of look.  

“Okay, but I’d rather show it to you, so I’ll hold our departure for fifteen minutes and take you down to the engine room. Sergei, if you want to get you and your men settled, we’ll meet you on the sun deck in twenty minutes.”

“Mr. Durov, it seems we are missing Anna?” I said, before he could leave. I could see what he could not; the striking figure of Anna Petrov was gliding toward us from the marina parking lot.

“I’m sorry; she is too busy with work for this trip.”

That’s what you think.

“I understand, maybe next time.”

My father called the bridge to inform them of the fifteen-minute delay. Before our group broke up, all heads turned as a female voice called out from the dock, “Hold that ship!”

Anna Petrov, in a peach-colored sundress and black sunglasses, wheeled a medium-sized metal suitcase down the covered gangway.

“You’ll be happy to know I’ve put a sizeable dent in my workload, so I will be able to go on the trip after all,” she said to Sergei, who clearly did not look pleased. What was he going to do? Anna the employee he could order off the boat; Anna the daughter was a different story.

“Anna, glad you could make it,” my father said while looking at me. “We were just heading down to the engine room. Care to join us?”

“Why thank you, Mr. Hampton. I would love to.” She looked at me and smiled. “Hello, Chase.”

“Hello, Anna, welcome aboard,” I said. This could get awkward.

“Hank, I need to have a word with Anna. Perhaps she can visit the engine room later,” Sergei said sternly.

“Good luck, Anna. The bossman doesn’t seem happy,” my father said. He didn’t know what I knew, what Anna knew.

***

We entered a small door on the beach deck and took a narrow set of stairs down to the engine room. My initial tour of
Anchor
hadn’t included the engine room, so I was shocked at just how large and clean it was, though it smelled vaguely like the auto shop at Ashmore.

Two men in white jumpsuits monitored displays and gauges, ignoring us. We crossed a small, railed walkway that separated the two massive marine engines, and my father led us to a circular cutout, forward of the engines, that had a familiar-looking stainless steel wheel attached to the middle of the cutout.

“This is an airlock hatch,” he said, kneeling down and silently spinning the wheel counterclockwise. A hiss of air and moments later, he opened it. Bailey and I knelt down and peered inside. It was dark until he flipped a switch on the underside of the hatch door. Light filled the space below. The walls angled inward to a small non-skid, metallic floor. There were three seats along one wall and a large, domed hatch door located in the middle of the floor.

“This is what we call a moon pool or a wet porch. We’re not going down now because we don’t have the time, but I will explain how it works. Secured underneath the dome is a four-person mini sub.
Gemini
. From the moon pool, future customers like Sergei will be able to take visitors on submarine excursions.
Gemini
has a dive depth of two hundred feet with two large windows on each side for taking in the sights of our undersea world. It’s true that some of our competitors have subs attached to the side of their ships, but none have access through a moon pool and the majority of the subs are single person, two at most. This moon pool offers a security feature as well. Yacht owners can come and go without people knowing whether or not they’re on the ship. Thoughts? Questions?”

I was stunned that there was a sub docked underneath the ship. I had questions, but Bailey was the first to speak.

“How far can she travel?”

“With both batteries fully charged, probably a couple hundred miles, assuming a full complement of people aboard. Though I don’t envision such a long journey in such a small vehicle.”

“How does she stay docked to the
Anchor Management?”
I asked.

“Two ways. In short, we’ve devised and installed an electromagnetic docking system, and we’re patenting it. A five-foot long, one-foot wide magnetic strip on
Gemini
’s roof will stick to the magnetized underside of the moon pool and with a simple flip of a switch mounted on the wall of the moon pool, we can reverse the magnetic field and allow her to leave. Also,
Gemini
’s entry hatch is smaller and rises into the moon pool hatch, above the waterline. Once this happens we electromagnetically dock
Gemini
and passengers can safely disembark. The pilot is the last one to leave, and he shuts down
Gemini
and secures her hatch.”

“What happens if this airlock we’re looking into is opened when the moon pool hatch is opened, and
Gemini
isn’t docked?” Bailey asked. I already knew that answer. I’d lived it, but I let dad answer her.

“Let me say first that the only time we’re even in the moon pool is when the ship is stopped. All hatches are secured until that happens. Once we are stopped, we can open the airlock and climb down to the moon pool. There’s room for five people on the platform below—four people traveling on
Gemini
and one person to secure the moon pool hatch once she departs. Once everyone is down, we secure the hatch. The moon pool hatch will be opened only when this one here, the one we are kneeling around, is closed. A moon pool only works when it is an airtight chamber and not subject to the atmosphere above, i.e. the engine room we’re in now. If this engine-room hatch is opened, flooding begins immediately as there is no more air pressure to keep the water at bay. This should never happen though, if the procedures are followed.”

“Does having a sub beneath the boat slow
Anchor
down?” I asked him.

“A little, but the moon pool is built into the hull, and
Gemini
’s profile is such that it’s almost an extension of
Anchor’s
hull. We designed her so that top speeds could still be achieved, but if an owner wants, we will design a sub berth on the side of the ship near the life boats.”

“Who pilots
Gemini
?” Bailey asked.

“I do,” he said, “but it’s a piece of cake. You’ll see when I take you guys out in her.”

“Can the airlock and the moon pool hatch both be opened if
Gemini
is docked?” said Bailey.

“No, too risky,” he said.

“How does
Gemini
get into position to dock? Seems like it’s the equivalent of threading a needle. Getting her hatch tower inserted into the opening in the moon pool must be tough with the ocean subtly moving the ship.”

“That’s a good question, Chase. In regards to your last statement, we have a state of the art gyrostabilizer installed on
Anchor
that we turn on when docking and undocking
Gemini
. It reduces the roll and the pitch of the boat, but truthfully we wouldn’t be operating her in seas over six feet. In terms of docking
Gemini
, we have two cameras on her hatch as well as a powerful underwater light that we use to guide her in. When she returns, someone will go down to assist in docking and passenger disembarkation. There’s a radio on the wall that the person will use to communicate with
Gemini’s
pilot.”

“Suppose the docking system is damaged and she can’t dock?” Bailey asked.

“We pull the tender out of dry dock, open the transom doors, and
Gemini
surfaces and maneuvers in. We got lucky; she just barely fits.”

“Amazing. So this is what Sergei’s men are training for? To be underwater tour guides?” I said.

“Yep,” my father said as he closed the hatch and secured it. He stood up.

“All this stays between us—that should go without saying, okay?”

“Understood,” said Bailey. She shot me a conspiratorial glance as our father double-checked that the hatch was closed.

“Of course,” I said, hating myself for the ease with which I lied.

When we reached the Salon Deck, Bailey and my father continued on. I walked to my suite and opened the door with my access card.

“Were you able to hear the conversation?” I said to an empty room.

“Clear as a bell. Told you that pen would come in handy,” said Detective Jay Reigart as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Sometimes you have to make your own luck.