Killing Chase (22 page)
December 25, 2012
Dear Diary,
I know it’s been awhile since my last entry, but I’ve been busy, and I’m in a much better place because of my actions. Especially the most recent one. Fox and CNN covered it nonstop all day, and it was all the craze on the Twitterverse, though I didn’t do it for the frenzy generated by the masses. I did it for me and any other women who may be out there, ashamed of what he did to them.
Despite Sergei’s failure at turning Washington into a nuclear wasteland, he kept his word and allowed the use of his “resources” to carry out my plan. He and I are forever linked, as we both have information that could destroy the other. I have a rock-solid insurance plan. Mutually assured destruction was the term he used to describe our relationship. MAD, an acronymic relic from his past and a word I would use to describe his temperament after his failed plan. He and I talk cryptically in emails from time to time.
I suppose Sergei could have killed me after we escaped on
Calypso
, and taken his chances, but I think he has a soft spot for me. He can’t contact Anna anymore, so I’m the surrogate, and I’m okay with that. He’s the only man who has ever treated me with any respect. We both understand the other’s level of hate and the need for closure. He still needs it, but not me. I don’t exist anymore. I’m dead, a victim of his attack on the
Anchor Management
. My body supposedly lost at sea. Including Sergei, there are only four people who know I’m alive, though Chase almost ruined it by sneaking the detective on board. Luckily, dead men tell no tales. The rest of the crew and Anna were tied up and left elsewhere on the ship, none the wiser about my role.
Poor Chase. I must admit, I have a skosh of regret about ending his life. The look on his face as I pushed him into the water told me he was more shocked at the betrayal than the prospects of surviving his upcoming swim in the Atlantic. I took no satisfaction in it. As I said, it was just part of the healing process.
I took quite a bit of pleasure in putting a bullet in Hank Hampton and ending his miserable, selfish life. It was ending soon anyway, but he died at a time of MY choosing, as did Jackson Ellis, Esq. I’m smiling, even now as I watch the YouTube video taken by a passerby before the police arrived. Streak’s dead eyes stare at the camera from the back of the old Ford pickup in Woodruff Park, near his law firm. A sign hangs from his neck. “Rapist” is written on it, in his own blood, for the world to see. That’s justice. I think back to the night I had him all to myself. He certainly did not go gentle into that good night.
I miss Mom, and I know she must be heartbroken. The proceeds from my insurance policy combined with Hank’s donations to her retirement fund will leave her set for life. I don’t know if I’ll ever see or talk to her again; I know it’s probably best that I don’t.
As for me, I’m enjoying the island life; I feel like myself now more than ever and thanks to a skilled doctor, I’m unrecognizable. I have my own retirement plan, and I’m doing quite well. From time to time, I think back to the days I spent in the beach cabana, before I knew everything, before the rape, when Chase and I were just kids. I
had regrets. But life is short, and I’m done feeling sorry for myself or guilty for my actions. A quote from Henry David Thoreau keeps
me focused on the future, “Never look back unless you are planning to go that way.” I’m not.
-B
Thank you for taking the time to read
Killing Chase.
Whether you loved it, hated it, liked it or just thought . . . meh, I would greatly appreciate your review of this book on Amazon:
If you would like to sign up for my newsletter to receive updates on my new releases, giveaways, or general nonsense from time to time, please fill out the information in the link below. I promise to never share your personal information with anyone. Thank you!
Giving Chase
Coming November 2014
November 1982
Olenya Bay Naval Base
Murmansk Oblast, Russia
The Soviet sub commander stood
on the empty dock in his full dress uniform as a bitter wind whipped the water into a frenzy across Olenya Bay. What little sun there’d been had dipped behind the rocky hills to the west of the narrow fjord. In the dying light, one hundred yards to the north, his pride and joy, K-714, slowly moved away from him and the dock, its black hull cutting toward the middle of the channel and deeper water, embarking on a mission he was not privy to. Five men he did not recognize, but guessed were naval commandos, had arrived in an old Zil-157 and boarded 714 five minutes before she eased away from the dock, increasing his curiosity.
He was but one of six base personnel allowed to see the ship off—a bittersweet moment for him. He’d been her commander since she was commissioned two years ago. He’d trained her crew, became a father figure to most on board, and knew everything there was to know about 714. And he was giving her up to captain a newer Akula Class sub that would begin sea trials in two months’ time.
K-714 was one of the quietest ships in the Russian Navy and the largest in its class. Her crew would need every ounce of its stealth in order for a successful mission. The American’s Los Angeles submarines were deathly quiet and highly adept at sniffing out the enemy, as were the vast sonar nets covering the North Atlantic seabed. K-714 would exit the Barents Sea off the northwest coast of Norway and enter the Norwegian Sea, crossing between the Faroe Islands and Iceland. From there, he could only guess where she would go.
Thirty minutes earlier, he’d handed over control of the ship to his former starpom (executive officer), Vasili Petrov, now K-714’s captain. One of his best friends and seven years his junior, Vasili possessed a superior intellect and a demeanor that was calm when the situation was not. In many ways, the commander thought, Vasili was already better than he was at this stage of his career. The two had been afforded a few minutes to talk in private before K-714 departed its covered berth, shielded as it was from pesky American satellites.
“Remember, you are the captain, Vasili. Run the boat the way you know how and not as our narcissistic political officer would have you.”
“I will. Crew first, Rodina second,” he said, daring not to speak too loudly, lest the ears of someone loyal to Feliks Gromyko were listening.
“Good, good. I won’t tell you how to do your job. I’ll just wish you Godspeed and safe travels, Captain.”
“Thank you, Sergei, for your friendship and your wisdom. Our crew owes a debt of gratitude to you. May I ask one thing of you? Mind you, I’m not anticipating anything going wrong.”
“What is it, Vasili?”
The man cleared his throat before he began. “If for some reason I don’t return, please see that Darya, Mikel, and the baby are taken care of.”
“Of course, Vasili, but you will return safe and sound in a few weeks, having served your country with distinction. That is an order,” he said, smiling and grasping his friend’s arm.
“Thank you for your confidence, sir.”
As the commander recalled the conversation from earlier, he lifted the black, Baigish binoculars to his eyes and focused on 714’s conning tower. From experience, he knew Vasili would be up there with Levkov, 714’s navigator, for another hour as they traversed the choppy bay and enjoyed their last view of the world for the next twenty or so days, if all went as planned. When they reached the northern extent of Kola Bay, Vasili would order the sub to dive, and K-714 would slip below the surface, beginning the world’s most dangerous game of cat and mouse.
Through his binoculars, he saw Vasili turn one last time to look back at the cold, gray dock. Seeing his friend still there, Vasili raised a hand and his mentor reciprocated the gesture.
“God be with you and your crew, Vasili. You’re going to need his guiding hand,” Sergei Durov whispered as he remembered Vasili’s final request and the late boarding of those five men.
December 2012
“You need to see this
,” Alex said with some urgency as I entered the small mudroom of our two-story cabin and kicked the remaining snow off my Salomon Crosstrainers. The early morning three-mile run up and down the endless snow-covered trails bordering our home was becoming a ritual for us, though Alex decided to skip the run and sleep in this morning. The overwhelming silence of a run in subfreezing temperatures at seventy-eight hundred feet cleared the mind and flooded the body with endorphins, and kicked my ass. Running on sand was a breeze compared to this.
“Let me guess: we’re getting more damn snow.” Four feet so far since mid-November and winter was just getting started. Great for my job at Sierra Adventures, but for this beach boy at heart, winter was taking some getting used to.
“Probably, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Jackson Ellis was murdered. He represented you in your trial if I remember correctly,” she said as she handed me my first mug of coffee for the day.
Pointing the remote at the television, she rewound the last five minutes of footage, and paused at one of the most bizarre and gruesome images I’d ever seen. I walked around the couch and right up to the forty-eight inch LG flat-screen mounted above the fireplace.
“He represented Chase Hampton a lifetime ago,” I said, scrutinizing the picture.
Jackson Ellis’s dead eyes and beaten and battered face stared back at me from the back of a pickup truck, and when I saw “Rapist” written in red on a piece of cardboard hanging from his neck, I knew.
Bailey was alive after all.
I had no proof that she was the one who’d killed my father’s old friend, and my attorney, but given what she’d said that night, many months ago, on the Anchor Management, before she’d murdered our father in cold blood, I’d put the chances at ninety-eight percent. Despite the fact that she pushed me into the cold waters of the Atlantic and left me to die, to this day I still didn’t hate her. The thought that Bailey was alive, and somewhere out there gave me a strange, euphoric feeling, one I did not share with Alex. Even though she and I have been through it all, I haven’t shared everything about that last night on the
Anchor Management
. Though she is retired from the FBI, I’m not sure how she would take the news, especially now, after I’ve kept it from her for so long.
I hold onto the hope that the girl I knew and loved growing up still resided somewhere in all her darkness.
“Think that sign hanging from Streak’s neck is written in blood?” I said, keeping my emotions in check.
“It’s not written in Crayola. Streak?”
“His nickname from college, not too hard to figure out how he got it.”
“Did you like the man?” she asked.
“He was arrogant, and I’m confident he knew Bailey was my half-sister, but did nothing to use the information to my advantage during the legal process. So, no, I wasn’t that fond of him.”
“If you hadn’t gone to prison, we never would have met.”
“Yes, thank God for prison. What a blessing that was.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, you know.” She came up behind me and slid an arm around my waist.
“I know.”
“Are you happy?” she asked.
“If you’re talking about us, then yes, I am. If you’re asking if I’m happy with the circumstances of our situation, then no. I’m not a big fan of hiding.” I turned around and she took my hands.
“It’s for your safety. Our safety.” she reminded me.
“Alex, I’m dead. No one’s coming to look for me.”
“We stick to the plan and take no chances until circumstances dictate otherwise. The marshal said complacency would set in about eight months into this. Remember?”
“I miss home, and Pops. I miss my name, my identity. You may not have figured this out yet, but I’m not an Alan. And this beard . . .”
“Only makes you more handsome,” she said, caressing my face. “Just ask ‘what’s her face’ at Sierra. And if Durov finds out you are still alive, there will be a ‘Chase’ again.”
“Durov is in hiding and probably just thankful he escaped in time. Besides, WITSEC has never lost anyone in the history of the program. You heard the marshal,” I countered.
“They’ve never lost someone when their protectees have followed the rules. The FBI, on the other hand, has, and you’d be surprised how many people in the Bureau know you are alive, not to mention the crew from the Coast Guard cutter. They may not know who or where we are, but one slipup, one rogue agent, and that opens the door for danger. Durov is still out there, somewhere, and has no shortage of resources, despite being on the run.”
“You have a point,” I conceded. I winced inwardly at the knowledge that I’d already broken the rules once without Alex’s knowledge when I paid a visit to Palm Springs to gauge how my mom was doing after her son’s death. Alex was away in Vegas training for her new job. I’d struck up a conversation with my crazy mother, not once but twice, and realized that, sadly, I wasn’t missed at all.
“Alan, we’ve got a good thing going here. It’s really not so bad.”
She was right, of course. Echo Lake, California, was one of the most beautiful places I’d ever seen. After narrowing down our list of choices to three, we chose it over Lake Placid and Traverse City, Michigan. Located just south of Lake Tahoe, we were isolated, but living in an area with a constant influx of transients due to the ski and gambling industries that dominated Lake Tahoe’s economy. We lived in a comfortable, two-bedroom cabin and kept a low profile. Our closest neighbors were five hundred feet below us at the edge of the lake, and another neighbor lived a thousand feet above us near the crest of the peak. We had escape routes planned, a rallying point if separated, and our bug-out bags were always packed and ready to go, including prepaid, untraceable cell phones and code words that only the two of us would understand.
“What time is your first tour this morning?” she asked.
“Ten-thirty. Actuaries from New York. Guess I should hit the shower.” Alex followed me into the bathroom and watched as I turned on the shower and stripped off my outdoor running gear. Something about our conversation nagged at me, and I turned to her.
“You’re what’s most important to me. Are you happy?”
***
Are you happy?
she asked herself. The truth was that she loved him deeply, but she had her secrets too. Secrets that could seriously damage their relationship if discovered. Happy? Her feelings didn’t really matter all that much in the grand scheme of things. She just needed today to go smoothly and then she could reveal one of her secrets.
***
“I’ll let you know in thirty minutes,” she said seductively as she untied her robe and let it slide to the hardwood floor, leaving nothing to my imagination.
“Thirty minutes? You give me way too much credit.” I shook my head as she walked by me and slapped my naked butt. In the steaming shower, she turned and gave me the “come hither” look with the pointer-finger curl. Hot water pounded her and ran in rivulets down her toned arms and between her breasts.
“I’ll settle for twenty.”
As I stepped into the shower and wrapped my arms around her, the life I was leading didn’t seem so bad.
***
Seventy-five yards away on a snow-covered rock outcropping above the cabin, a man dressed completely in white rose from his cover and slowly and carefully packed up a small, expensive scope, placing it inside his pack. He was unassuming and nonthreatening, but hidden behind the soft exterior was someone who got things done. Messy things if need be. Surveilling the couple this past week was child’s play for him and his team. Depending on who they were following, things would either get messy or the team would just disappear, nobody the wiser. He could’ve taken them both out this morning if the order had been given, but they were still in the process of determining just who the couple was. The heavily bearded man in the cabin was spotted speaking to a specific female, not once but twice, generating alarm bells for someone higher up the food chain. For the past three days, they’d worked on finding out who the man was. He needed to break into the cabin, but that meant footprints in the snow. They were in no hurry. Things would go their way eventually, and a solution would present itself.
