The Killing Chase (Beach & Riley Book 2) (21 page)

Chapter 28

Vladimir Petrov sat alone at a workbench in the basement of Sergey Ugolev’s sprawling Kiev compound. He held a small pneumatic die grinder up to the stem of an expensive, hand-cut crystal champagne flute. The machine appeared comically small as he held it like a pencil in his oversized hand.

The diamond cutting wheel emitted a piercing whine each time it touched the lead crystal at fifty-thousand rpm. Petrov carefully dripped water on his work to avoid shattering the piece, as he manipulated the tool to wear away just over half the stem’s original circumference where it met the bowl of the flute.

Satisfied with his work, he rinsed and polished the flute then held it up to the light for a final inspection. Petrov held a deep appreciation for its maker’s master craftsmanship and felt a pang of guilt over his intended purpose for the doomed work of art. But what must be done must be done. He reverently replaced the flute next to its no longer identical twin on the outer side of their elaborate red velvet presentation box  and closed the lid.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Petrov retrieved a chilled bottle of Ugolev’s preferred 1990 vintage Veuve Clicquot,
La Grande Dame
, from an enormous stainless steel refrigerator. Bottles of this distinction were reserved to commemorate old victories and cement new alliances for the organization. Normally such opulent occasions were the realm of his boss, but Petrov was willing to bet Ugolev would forgive his misuse of the venerable vintage this once. Carefully Petrov wrapped the bottle in butcher’s paper to absorb condensation before placing it into a single-bottle, insulated carry-bag.

Petrov picked up his treasures then proceeded into the main hall, toward the mansion’s formal entrance. At the inner door he found his two most trusted men waiting; one took the packages as the other held open an overcoat for Petrov to slide his huge arms into the sleeves. This man then respectfully smoothed Petrov’s lapels and threw a cashmere scarf around his brigadier’s neck.

As Petrov turned to the exit, another soldier opened the frosted glass door from inside the main entryway, making a short, crisp bow as the brigadier passed, followed by his two most trusted men. Petrov had become used to the formalities Ugolev demanded within his inner circle. In fact, he’d grown to appreciate his fine tailormade suits and opulent surroundings. Whatever he might think of his boss, Ugolev had certainly taught him the finer things in life.

Two more guards stood at the main entrance. One reached to open the door, but Petrov stopped him. Speaking in Ukrainian, he asked the man what the sweep of the Albescu headquarters had shown.

“All is clear, sir. They await your arrival.”

“Good. We should be back in an hour. In the meantime, have the housemaids and kitchen staff prepare the house for Mr. Ugolev’s arrival.”

The guard nodded and opened the door. The three solemn men walked a few steps through the crisp evening air to their waiting stretch Mercedes. Once inside, Petrov looked at his men.

“You know what to do. Wait for my signal, then carry out your orders.”

*****

“When did this start?” McAdam asked his assistant.

“I just found the search trail now, so it couldn’t be more than twenty minutes ago.”

“Find out if there’s an official investigation through the Inspector General’s Office or if it’s just another fishing expedition. Get back to me straightaway.”

“Yes, sir.”

McAdam rubbed his chin. The last time someone had tried to check up on his secret operations, it had been a sharp, Harvard-educated, ladder-climber trying to make some quick points with the Inspector General. McAdam had used his considerable track record to influence the Deputy Director and shoot the young man down in flames. That was one eager beaver who’d be going nowhere fast in the DoD.

But this felt different. The Adler escape, and the loss of his secret paramilitary team, could have attracted unwanted attention. The coming weeks and months were vital to his boss’ plans. McAdam would have to take drastic measures if this turned out to be a genuine threat.

His assistant knocked lightly on the door and let himself in. “It’s not an official investigation, sir. But I traced the signature to the Assistant Inspector General herself.”

“Get me Colonel Watson in Nevada.”

“Yes, sir.”

McAdam knew his next step could be a dangerous one, but he couldn’t afford someone of Althea Whyley’s stature looking into his affairs. Line one’s LED lit up as his phone rang.

“McAdam.”

“It’s Watson. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve got a problem needs dealing with. Have you got someone reliable in my vicinity?”

“You just saw him yesterday. One of the guards at your safehouse is an operative – damned good one, too.”

“So what’s he doing on guard duty in Arlington?”

“He had to go into headquarters to renew his clearances, so I gave him something to do while he waits for the paperwork to go through.”

“Thank God for bureaucracy. This is a very sensitive matter. I don’t want to know how it gets done, but it needs to look like an accident. Is that clear?”

“Crystal. Who’s the target?”

“You’re not going to like this, but it has to be done – and quickly.”

*****

“What do you think Jake’s up to?” Kerr asked Fouts.

“Beats me. But with Jake Riley, there’s always a plan. I bet he’s got something interesting in mind.”

“Be nice if he’d let us in on it,” Albrecht said. “I’m not sure how I feel leaving a guy like Adler unguarded.”

“I hear you,” Fouts replied. “But you don’t know Jake like we do. And no one knows him like Tom Walker does. Trust me, if Jake wants him left alone, he’s got good reason. Anyway, we’ll see soon enough – this is our turnoff.”

Albrecht steered the SUV onto the offramp. Fouts watched the GPS, giving Albrecht instructions, as they passed a number of intersections before reaching an unfinished industrial estate five miles west of the outskirts of Arlington, Virginia.

“This is the place,” Fouts said. “I see a driveway ahead on the left.”

“Got it. This place looks deserted.”

“I think that’s the idea. Last building on the right.”

Albrecht proceeded slowly along the row of fifteen offices and warehouses in various stages of completion. The sunlight was beginning to wane, but he left the headlights off as he turned into the loading bay of the only completed building in the estate.

“Kinda spooky out here,” Fouts said. “No security guard, no lights. I guess that’s what Jake wants. He probably owns the whole estate.”

“Seriously?” Albrecht said. “I mean, I know the guy’s got money, but there’s gotta be at least ten mill in this place.”

“More like fifteen, I’d say,” Kerr said, leaning forward between the front seats. “You really don’t know Jake that well, do you, buddy?”

“Obviously not as well as I thought.”

“Here’s the lowdown. His parents died in a plane crash on their private jet when Jake was only twelve. He and his older brother got a huge insurance payout, and inherited the family business.”

“What was the business?”

“Well, the apples don’t fall far from the tree. His old man was a Green Beret back when Green Berets ruled the earth. When he got out, he used his field experience to start developing weapon technology. He patented a bunch of really cool shit and made a fortune selling to the government. Pretty soon their company was responsible for more than five percent of the entire U.S. military arms budget.”

Albrecht let out a loud whistle. “Wow, that’s a lot of green.”

“Hell, yeah. The guy was making gazillians.”

“So it’s all Daddy’s money then?”

“Not a chance. The old man was certainly a millionaire, but he had a co-op attitude to business, so his people shared in the profits. Jake’s inheritance was a few mill, but taxes took a lot of that. They did pretty damned well, but not the kind of money you could start an empire with. Then Jake’s brother, Shane, was killed in action. Jake should have inherited his share, but taxes were going to decimate the funds, so Jake gave the whole thing to the Salvation Army.”

“So how can he afford this kind of thing?” Albrecht asked.

“I think you’ve seen by now that our boss is a very clever guy. When he was old enough to access his inheritance, Jake started investing. He must also have inherited his old man’s touch with money, ‘cause the guy owns commercial and residential property all over the country. He’s worth way more than his father ever was.”

“So that’s how Walker was able to start the Test?”

“Walker’s a great guy, a brother, but business was never his thing. He’s always worked for a living. That’s why Jake talked him into the Test. Jake bought the land and put up the capital, so he could get his old Ranger instructor off the hamster-wheel.”

“And thank God he did!” Fouts added. “Now the three of our dumb grunt asses get paid big bucks and own five percent each of a multimillion-dollar-a-year business. And that’s all she wrote. Let’s get this nut-job to where the boss wants him.”

They exited the SUV, and Kerr dragged Adler out of the back, letting him thump heavily to the ground. “You like that, freak?” Kerr kicked the still unconscious serial killer in the stomach for good measure, then grabbed the golden mesh and dragged him toward the loading dock.

The building was two stories tall, with generous office space and meeting rooms above the main entrance. The warehouse component was fifty yards long by thirty yards wide, designed for midsized, light industrial and storage businesses. Fouts reached into his pocket for the key Jake had given him, and opened the side entry into the warehouse structure. He walked in, followed by Albrecht. Kerr brought up the rear, dragging Adler behind like a sack of garbage.

“Holy shit – now this
is
spooky!” Albrecht said.

The day’s dying light still radiated through skylights in the structure’s roof. In the dim glow, they stared at an obviously purpose-built cage in the center of the otherwise empty warehouse. All six sides of the movable cage were made from one-inch-diameter 41xx chromoly steel tubing, expertly welded, reinforced at two vertical points, and with a gate on one side.

Each wall was five yards wide, making a perfect cube of containment. Inside the cage, a surgical gurney was secured to the far wall by heavy stainless steel bolts. A tray of surgical instruments lay on a mobile table beside the gurney and a small vital statistics monitor stood beside it.

“How the hell did he know he’d need this rig?” Albrecht asked.

“What makes you think he had it made for the occasion?” Fouts said. “You never know with ol’ Jake. Could have been stored away someplace and brought here when the place was built.”

“I don’t think so,” Kerr said, pointing at fresh tire tracks in the light construction dust on the floor. “He might have had the cage already and just had it delivered here today. The medical stuff is anyone’s guess.”

“So he’s got other guys on the payroll?” Albrecht asked.

“Don’t feel bad, buddy,” Kerr teased the sniper. “He never said we were exclusive or anything.”

Fouts walked toward the cage. “Let’s get this done and get back to Kentucky. I can feel a drink coming on.”

Kerr dragged Adler to the door of the cage, and Fouts bent to remove the golden nets.

“I’m keeping these things.”

“You can have ‘em. I don’t want no spider shit hangin’ around in my place.”

With Adler’s body free of the nets, Kerr and Fouts hoisted him onto the gurney. Heavy rubberized leather restraints, reinforced with stainless steel wire, hung from the sturdy steel table. The men buckled their captive securely to the gurney then shut the cage door and locked the heavy padlock hanging from the locking mechanism.

“Still worried about leaving this piece of shit unguarded?” Fouts asked Albrecht.

The sniper turned to walk toward the door. “Not so much.”

Chapter 29

Althea Whyley could be blunt, but she was well liked for her pragmatism and firm but fair approach. Despite her distaste for politics, she’d risen quickly within the DoD, and her success had come as no surprise to her colleagues. While she respected the rules, her keen legal and investigative mind knew they sometimes required some creative interpretation. Her brother’s request had meant bending those rules somewhat further than she would have liked, but he’d made his case well. She would not ignore the possibility of serious criminal misconduct within her organization; even if the potential threat lay within the murky twilight realm of DARPA.

Her brother’s suspicions, it seemed, were not unfounded. Althea had discovered some irregularities in Ian McAdam’s convoluted records and reporting system. The anomalies were far too well hidden to raise any red flags during a normal audit processes, but Althea Whyley was no normal investigator. She didn’t have enough to take the situation to her boss yet, but she was determined to ferret out the truth. She closed her laptop and called her assistant.

“I’m heading home for the night, Wendy. Isn’t it time you left, too?”

“I’ll be right behind you. Just have to finish off the daily run sheet.”

Althea pushed her laptop into its carry bag and walked out of the office, waving goodnight to her assistant and the security staff. She took the elevator to her parking level and walked along the rows of cars toward her reserved spot. As her footfalls echoed through the lonely structure, a pair of eyes peered at her over the hood of her car. She reached out to unlock the door before suddenly pulling back in shock as a deep voice boomed at her from the front of the car.

“You forgot again, didn’t you?”

“Oh my God,” Althea said. “You scared me half to death, Brian!”

“I did tell you I’d pick her up at six o’clock,” the mechanic said, rising from his position. “And I sure would appreciate you not running me over.”

“Of course you did. I’m sorry, I did forget – again.”

“No problem. I brought the courtesy car for you to take home. Darned good thing you’re late, too. While I was waiting, I gave the old girl the once-over and found a brake line off. You could have rolled right off the edge of the building.”

“Are you serious?”

“Darned right. Why don’t you get yourself something new? I could fix you up with a nice Camry.”

“Come on, Brian, you know this was Dad’s car. I’ll never get rid of her.”

“Maybe, but she nearly got rid of you both tonight.”

“How could that happen? You checked everything last service, right?”

“Sure did. But you never know with these old brake lines. Looks like it might have corroded from the inside out, but I won’t know for sure until I get her up on the hoist.”

Althea’s instincts wouldn’t tolerate such a coincidence. “I know she’s old, but you’ve taken care of her since Dad bought her. I can’t accept something like this just happening. Please let me know what you find as soon as you get her back to the shop. This is important.”

Brain scowled as he came toward her. “Are you saying someone might be trying to hurt you? You want me to get security?”

“I’ll be okay for now. Just get back to me as soon as you can please.”

“The tow truck should be here any minute,” he said, handing her the keys for the courtesy car. “I called it in fifteen minutes ago.”

“Great. And, please, keep this between us for now.”

“I will, but you’ve got me worried now. I don’t feel right letting you go on your own.”

“You’re sweet, Brian,” Althea said, reaching into her bag and pulling out her Beretta. “but the car isn’t the only thing Dad gave me.”

As she finished speaking, there was a dull thud and a sharp whine. Brian looked down at his chest to see a circle of deep red rapidly expanding through his coveralls. He reached up to touch Althea’s shoulder, which was also covered in a dark red liquid. Another sharp whine and Althea spun violently, searching for the source of the gunfire.

Her shoulder burned with pain, but her retired Marine father had trained her well. She hunched and leaned to one side, gripping her Beretta with both hands. She found her mark and squeezed the trigger three times in succession. A loud grunt reported her success, but more shots came at her. She ducked behind the next car and got her eye down to floor level. She could see the wounded shooter’s leg draped across the cement as he reloaded his silenced weapon.

Ignoring the pain, Althea steadied her hand and squeezed off two more shots. Her 9mm rounds flew under four cars to find their mark. The projectiles pierced the assailant’s leg, shattering his femur and tearing the femoral artery. The man screamed in agony, dropping his weapon. As blood flowed from his gaping wounds, he stared in disbelief at a nearby concrete pillar.
Twelve years as an elite military operator fighting in over fifteen different countries, and I’m killed by a damned office worker in Arlington, Virginia. And a woman too!

Hearing the clatter of the assailant’s gun on the ground, Althea moved quickly but cautiously toward his location. She could see her first shot had blown out his collarbone, and she already knew her last two rounds had also found their mark. But she wasn’t prepared for the arterial bleed. It’d been less than fifteen seconds since the last shots, but she guessed there were at least three pints of blood on the concrete deck already. She leaned down to put pressure on the leg wounds, but it was a pointless gesture.

“Don’t bother,” the assailant gasped. “I’m done.”

“Who sent you?” Althea demanded.

The man just smiled weakly until he froze in place, eyes still open. Althea reached quickly to close them, then scrambled up and ran back to where Brian lay bleeding beside her Corvette. The bright opalescent aquamarine paint was lightly sprayed with a fine, red mist from her own shoulder wound, giving it a strange purple sheen. Dizzy from shock, she put her hand on the car to steady herself before leaning down to Brian. She could hear heavy footsteps running toward them, then shouting. She turned to aim her Beretta, but her vision closed down rapidly and she lost consciousness.

*****

Jake Riley and his crew found a private car big enough for the four of them outside Boryspil International Airport in Kiev. It was a tight squeeze, despite the dimensions of the old Mercedes, but they managed with Dozer in the front, and Mike Lee wedged in back between Jake and Priest.

Jake gave the unshaven, overweight driver the address of a small electronics store in the
Pechersk’kyi
district.

“No problem,
Amerikanskiy
,” The driver said. His unnaturally white teeth glinted in the afternoon light as he grinned at Jake before slamming his chubby foot hard on the gas pedal.

“Now I know what the smallest sardine in the can feels like,” Lee said. “How far is it?”

“About ten miles,” Jake said. “I just hope traffic isn’t too bad in the city.”

“No traffic,” the driver said. “Happy holiday.”

“What’s happy about it, mate?” Dozer asked. “I reckon this place is always depressing.”

The driver didn’t respond. Instead, he began whistling merrily, barely missing smaller cars as he wove the big clunker deftly from side to side along the road toward the city.

“Probably another political holiday,” Lee said. “I just hope we make it there in one piece.”

“Four piece,” the driver stopped whistling long enough to say. “Four man, four piece. No problem.”

“Jolly ol’ soul, isn’t he?” Priest said.

“Jolly ol’ soul.” The Ukrainian repeated then started whistling again.

Priest grinned across at Jake and shook his head. Jake leaned back, bringing his arm up to the rear window shelf in an attempt to offer Lee more shoulder room. His companion gave him a relieved smile.

The journey was relatively painless as predicted by their obviously knowledgeable driver. Soon they arrived outside the small storefront, offering cheap smartphones, jailbreaks, DVD repairs, and several other services.

“Need a new phone, Jakey?” Dozer asked.

“Not exactly.” Jake said, paying the driver and giving him a generous tip.

“Jolly ol’ soul.” The man said through a wide grin before accelerating hard away from the curb.

“That was different,” Priest said, stretching out his spine. “First happy cabbie, I’ve come across in the Eastern Bloc.”

“Well, he did say it was a ‘happy holiday’,” Lee said. “Still no idea why though.”

Jake led them into the store. The door triggered a chime and they heard shuffling from somewhere behind the deserted counter. A moment later, an under-sized door opened, revealing a head of disheveled hair atop a friendly looking, bespectacled face. The diminutive patron adjusted his glasses and peered across the room. An initial spark of recognition grew into a broad, toothy smile as he scurried to the counter. Lifting a wooden flap in the counter, he ducked under and wrapped his arms around Jake.

“My friend!” he said. “It has been too long time, so very long time. How are you Mr. Jake?”

“Looks like you’ve got a mate there, Jakey,” Dozer smiled.

“It’s good to see you too, Raffy,” Jake said, squirming uncomfortably against the little man’s embrace. “Okay, that’s enough, little buddy.”

“I can’t help it, my friend. I miss you very big,” Raffy released Jake and turned to the others. “Oh, Mr. Jake, your friends – always so big!”

Much to Dozer’s surprise the small shopkeeper then wrapped his arms around the big Australian’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “Bloody hell, mate, he is a friendly little bloke, isn’t he?”

Raffy released Dozer to repeat the clinch with Priest and Lee.

“Satisfied?” Jake asked.

The little man’s demeanor had suddenly adjusted to a slightly more somber level. “Yes, quite satisfied, thank you.”

“Sneaky little bugger,” Priest said. “He was checking us for weapons.”

Raffy put his index finger to the side of his nose and gave Priest a wink. “You can’t be too careful in my business.”

“I didn’t know the smartphone business was so cut-throat,” Dozer said. “And what happened to that quaint Russki accent?”

Raffy ignored him and turned to Jake. “The usual?”

“Yup.”

Raffy went to lock the front door and turned the store’s sign to ‘closed’. “Follow me,” he said, ducking through the flap in the counter.

Jake followed him through, with the others in tow. The small store owner disappeared through the rear door, and the others had to duck and squeeze their way through the frame. They traipsed down a flight of old wooden stairs into a long, narrow hallway. Three doors along, and Raffy stopped to unlock several deadbolts and padlocks on a heavy steel door. He pushed the door open and went in. The others followed into the darkness while Raffy turned on the lights.

Fluorescent tubes flickered to life. As their eyes adjusted, the other men looked around the room aghast. Jake smiled knowingly. “Raffy’s more into the optional extras than the smartphones.”

“Ya reckon?” Dozer said. “Holy sheep shit, mate. It’s the mother-lode.”

Raffy motioned around the room at the startling array of high-tech military weapons, knives, communications equipment and explosive ordinance. “Pick your poison, gentlemen. Will this be cash or bank transfer, Jake?”

“Do you see any bags of cash with us? Same account as before, or have you had to change banks again?”