Jake Caldwell Thrillers

by Weaver, James

  “We close these bay doors,” Bear said, “and funnel him in through the front entrance. I already checked, and you can’t open the back door from the outside without a key. There any other ways in?”

  Jake shot his eyes up. “A roof hatch but there’s no way to get to the roof from the outside unless Sokolov is Spider-Man. There’s also another door on the west side through the breakroom we can secure.”

  “What do we do with Keats and his goons?”

  Two no-necked behemoths of questionable intelligence were stationed at the base of the steps leading to Keats’s office, offering burning glares like Jake and Bear had groped their sisters.

  “We stick them in the office with Keats,” Jake said. “You camp there, too. I’ll hide here and make sure Sokolov doesn’t escape once he’s in.”

  “I’m not hanging up there with that crooked mobster. He’s your boy, you do it.”

  Jake shrugged. “Fine. And where exactly are you going to hide?”

  Bear examined the slim pickings. “Maybe I’ll climb into one of these crates. Be the world’s biggest jack-in-the-box.”

  Jake grabbed a coil of twine lying on a crate. “I might pay money to see it.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were in place. The warehouse bay door closed and locked, and the doors on the north and west sides secured. Jake waited in the office with Keats and his two bodyguards, Parker and Calderone, monitoring a bank of security camera feeds from a panel in the back wall. Jake and Keats exchanged stories from their past escapades to kill the time. The more Keats talked, the more uncomfortable Jake became reliving things he tried to forget.

  “Somebody’s here.” Parker pointed to a screen. A black Taurus rolled across the near empty parking lot, driving in circles around the building’s perimeter, doing a little reconnaissance. The driver backed the car into a slot at the end of the loading dock and climbed out wearing jeans and a dark jacket. He walked toward the warehouse entrance, glancing up and scanning the roof line. Jake locked in the face on the monitor, matching it with the picture from the Wolf’s file. His heart sped and the moisture in his mouth evaporated. It was Sokolov.

  “Remember your promise to me, Caldwell,” Keats said. “When the opportunity presents itself, you take this asshole out.”

  “I remember. As soon as we know he can’t execute his grand scheme, I’ll do what I have to do.” His stomach clenched, tying itself into knots. He knew full well what he promised to do, but he didn’t know if he could do it.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Jake remained glued to the surveillance cameras as Sokolov strode through the door of the warehouse, hand inside his jacket, no doubt gripping the butt of a gun. He stood taller than expected and thicker across the chest. After sweeping his eyes across the empty warehouse, Sokolov released the grip on his gun and marched toward the staircase leading to Keats’s office.

  Keats said, “Remember your promise.”

  “Not until I know what he knows.”

  As the sounds of Sokolov’s shoes clunking on the steel stairs grew louder, Jake slinked back into the darkened corner near the monitors, pressing back into the wood. A moment later, a knock thumped and the door opened. Keats’s goons stiffened as Sokolov glided through. His wary eyes darted from Jake to the goons before settling on Keats.

  “Kind of crowded in here,” Sokolov said, his voice deep and rich.

  Keats emerged from behind the desk and shook the man’s hand. “Drink?”

  “Of course.”

  Keats poured a couple of drinks, handing one to Sokolov. They clinked glasses and settled into the chairs in front of the desk.

  Sokolov took a sip. “I would speak to you alone.”

  Keats ticked his head toward the two gorillas, and they headed out the door. When Jake remained in place, Sokolov shifted his eyes between Jake and Keats.

  “You can trust him,” Keats said.

  “I can’t trust anyone these days,” Sokolov said.

  “I didn’t know you had trust issues.”

  “Trust issues come from being fucked over.”

  Keats feigned indignation. “I’ve never fucked you over.”

  “Not yet anyway.”

  Keats took a sip of Scotch and set the glass on the table. “Where are you on your little Blackbird project?”

  Sokolov’s nostrils flared. “I was doing fine until the Wolf started gnashing his teeth. The test case worked fine before MedFire’s network security closed the portal. Now with one of my programmers dead and the other unaccounted for, I don’t know where we are.”

  “Mack is dead, but we know where Hart is,” Keats said.

  Sokolov drew back. “What do you mean?”

  “FBI has him.” Jake stepped forward.

  “Who are you?”

  “Someone with a vested interest in your little experiment.” Jake watched Keats grind his teeth. This wasn’t how they discussed playing this engagement.

  “What kind of interest?” Sokolov asked, hand moving toward his jacket.

  Jake whipped his gun out and leveled it at Sokolov’s head. “It depends.”

  Sokolov’s hand returned to his side. “On what?”

  “On you.” Sokolov’s cool demeanor impressed Jake. For having a stranger with a gun pointed at his face, the man remained cool as a cucumber. “Answer me two questions. Why do you call it the Blackbird?”

  Sokolov’s eyes narrowed. “Why is this important?”

  “Humor me. I’m curious.”

  Sokolov blew out a deep breath. “My mother. She believed the blackbird to be a sign of death. The day my father died, there was a blackbird on our front porch. The day your government murdered my wife and child, I see blackbird on street. Staring at me, taunting me. Given what the program is supposed to do, naming it Blackbird seemed appropriate. You satisfied?”

  “Second question: Without Mack and Hart, can you pull this job off?”

  Sokolov twisted his head to the side like a gunslinger in an old western before the climactic shootout, the vertebrae popping. “No. We were close, but until I recruit another programmer, we’re dead in the water. Who are you?”

  Jake edged forward; his Sig Sauer trained on Sokolov’s forehead. He reached into the man’s jacket and wrested a Glock 19 from a shoulder holster. Jake told Keats to tie Sokolov’s hands behind his back, tossing him the twine.

  “I must say, Jason, I’m surprised,” Sokolov continued as Keats wrapped his hands. “I thought we had a deal.”

  “A deal for gun distribution isn’t exactly on par with your Blackbird program. Plus, the Wolf seems to have taken care of your crew, so I’m afraid I’m going to have to back out. My boy here is making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

  Sokolov’s cool demeanor dissolved, the vein in his temple throbbing as Keats finished tying his hands. “I trusted you.”

  Jake patted Sokolov’s jacket and legs. He removed a serrated hunting knife from a sleeve on his calf. “Spies shouldn’t trust anyone, or don’t they teach you that on the first day of spy school?”

  Recognition flickered on Sokolov’s face. “I know you. From that little town…Warsaw. I should have killed you at the cabin along with the woman.”

  Jake’s grip tightened on the butt of his pistol. “Did you kill the kid, too?” If Sokolov answered the wrong way, Keats wouldn’t have to worry about whether or not Jake would keep his promise.

  “Please. I’m not a monster. The boy is safe.”

  “Where?”

  “That depends on you. Kill me and you’ll never know.”

  “How do I know he’s still alive?”

  “You don’t. But I’m telling you he is. For now.”

  The image of Angela’s bloodied body on the floor of his cabin wouldn’t leave Jake’s brain. This asshole was the one who pulled the trigger, and Jake wanted nothing more than to return the favor. “Why’d you kill the woman?”

  Sokolov puffed his chest. “The Wolf took something from me. I took something from him. It i
s the perils of war.”

  “This isn’t a war.”

  “That is where you are wrong. There is always war. You Americans killed my wife and son with one of your bombs. Dropped from the sky like cowards. That is war. The Wolf killed Marta to stop the Blackbird. That is war. Without war, there is no conflict. Without conflict, there is no struggle. And what would we have to live for if we did not struggle? The struggle is what gives life purpose and meaning.”

  “And what’s your purpose, Sokolov? What’s the meaning to your life?”

  Sokolov spit on the floor. “My purpose is to kill as many Americans as possible. Revenge for my wife, my son, and Marta. If all goes well, the Wolf will be one of them.”

  “You killed an innocent man and woman, you son of a bitch,” Jake said, thoughts of Christopher crying and Angela lying in a pool of blood on his cabin floor. His finger tightened on the trigger, the promise to Keats suddenly seeming easier. “They weren’t part of your fucking war. Neither is the kid. Where is he?”

  Two shots, less than a second apart, rang out from the warehouse. Jake dropped to a knee, swinging a gun to the door. A distant voice shouted from the warehouse floor.

  “Jake.” Bear’s voice boomed, its dark tone raising the hair on Jake’s arms.

  Jake stepped back from Sokolov, but kept the barrel pointing at him. He risked a glance at the monitors and spied Bear in the middle of the warehouse floor with his hands raised. A face peeked out from behind his friend’s giant frame. Jake’s heart stopped at the gun pressed into the back of Bear’s skull and Sam Stone with his finger on the trigger. While Jake had Sokolov, the Wolf had Bear.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Stone called, his voice floating up the stairs to the office.

  “Who the hell is that?” Keats asked.

  “The Wolf,” Jake replied, noting the calm and cool demeanor of Sokolov replaced with clinched fists at the mention of the Wolf. “Or Andrew Connelly, my dead client’s husband. Or CIA Agent Sam Stone.” Did Stone want just Sokolov, or Jake and Bear as well?

  “Which is it?”

  “Same guy. A man of many faces.”

  “The Wolf. Holy shit.” Keats asked, “What’s he want? I don’t have anything here worth taking.”

  Jake jabbed the gun at Sokolov. “Yeah, you do. He wants him.”

  “You going to give him up?”

  “I’m thinking about it.” Jake slipped his cell from his pocket and punched Foster’s number as the Wolf called his name again. “Houston, we have a big problem.”

  “Nothing’s ever easy with you, is it?” she said. “What is it?”

  “I’ve got Sokolov at gunpoint here in Keats’s office, but the Wolf has a piece jammed in the back of Bear’s skull in the warehouse.”

  Another shot blasted from the other side of the door. Jake jumped and dropped the cell. While Foster shouted through the phone, Jake spun to the monitor, dread flooding his veins as the image of Bear lying in a pool of blood on the floor spun up. To his relief, Bear stood in the same spot with his left hand above his head and his right clasped to his ear. The Wolf waved the gun in the air before jamming it back against Bear’s neck.

  “You won’t get another warning shot, Jake,” the Wolf shouted. “You have sixty seconds to bring Sokolov here or the next shot is going to take your friend’s head off.”

  Jake scrambled and grabbed the phone. “Foster? Who do you have with you?”

  She told him, and Jake told her what to do.

  Jake jerked Sokolov to his feet. “You do what I say, when I say it, and you might make it out of this alive.”

  Sokolov tried to shake off Jake’s grip. “If this involves anything other than the Wolf with a bullet between the eyes, none of us are making it out of here alive. Untie my hands. Give me a fighting chance.”

  “As tempting as it may sound, I think I’ll pass. Let’s go.” Jake shoved him toward the office door. “Jason, stay here.”

  “Not a problem.” Keats opened a drawer to his desk and pulled out a gleaming, silver hand cannon. “Make sure you announce yourself if you come back here, or I’m likely to blow a hole in you the size of Texas.”

  Jake grabbed Sokolov by the back of his shirt, forced him to open the office door and shoved him through. He paused at the top of the stairs, Bear’s crunched face radiating more anger than fear. Both these douchebags would burn tonight for this.

  Sokolov clomped down the steel treads of the stairs one at a time, like they represented the last steps he would ever take, and he tried to get his money’s worth. At the bottom of the stairs, Keats’s guys lay on the ground, their coppery blood pooling around their heads. One took it in the forehead, the other in the throat. Two shots, two kills. The Wolf was as good as Jake feared.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Wolf scrutinized Jake as he came down the stairs with Sokolov in front of him. His finger tightened on the trigger, the urge to drop Sokolov coursing through his body. He wasn’t worried about Jake shooting him, mostly because Bear made for an incredible shield. But it dawned on him that Jake and Bear’s presence raised the strong possibility that the FBI wasn’t far behind. If that was the case, the only thing he could do would be to take out Sokolov to save lives and stop a war. Yes, the more he ran the permutations through his head, the more certain he became that he was going down tonight. If he was going down, Sokolov was going down with him.

  “Toss your gun,” the Wolf ordered when Jake stepped within twenty feet.

  “I don’t think so, Sam,” Jake answered. “Or is it Andrew?”

  “It doesn’t matter at this point, does it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “It’s just you and Bear?”

  Jake ticked his head. “Keats is in his office with a .357 Magnum pointed at the door. I’d be careful going in there if I was you.”

  “I don’t plan on going there at all. I don’t want him. In fact, I don’t even want you or Bear here. I just want him.”

  Sokolov stiffened under Jake’s grasp. “You going to shoot me as I stand here unarmed, you coward?”

  The Wolf’s lip curled up. “You mean the same way you shot Angela? The same way you would have shot my son?”

  “Yes,” Sokolov said, venom in his voice. “But I’d have preferred to strangle her, the same way you took Marta from me. We were on the same side. How could you betray your country this way?”

  “Who do you think sent me after you and your crew?” the Wolf asked. “Our government doesn’t want to start a war with the United States. Well, the sane part of our government anyway. If your plan went through, and the US government traced it back to us, war is exactly what would have happened.”

  “It’s over, Sam,” Jake said. “The FBI has this place surrounded. Neither of you is getting out of here. Drop the gun and nobody else has to die.”

  The Wolf smirked, slow and knowing. The tone in Caldwell’s voice cemented his fears. There would be no way out of this. “That’s where you’re wrong, Caldwell. You have two of the most notorious and lethal spies Russia ever produced in front of you. Somebody is going to die.”

  “I’d rather send both your asses to prison. At least before you get executed.”

  “Prison is off the table since I seriously doubt either one of us is leaving here alive. Give him to me, Jake. I kinda like you and Bear. I don’t want to add to the body count.”

  “You are a coward.” Sokolov spit at the Wolf’s feet. “If you didn’t have that gun and my hands weren’t tied, I would tear you limb from limb.”

  “I don’t think so, though it would be fun to watch you try. Does the FBI really have us surrounded, Jake?”

  Jake shoved his gun against the back of Sokolov’s head and drew his phone out with the other. He punched a number on the screen, holding the phone up. Foster’s voice sounded.

  “Jake, we’re in place,” she said. “What—”

  “Foster, you’re on speaker. We have a little standoff
going on here with Sokolov and Stone. What’s the likelihood of either of these two guys getting out of this warehouse?”

  “Sam’s there?” Foster asked, venom in her voice.

  “Yeah. I have Sokolov and Sam has Bear. What’s their chances of getting out?”

  “You mean without cuffs on or in a body bag? Zero. There’s men at the doors and a dozen more blocking any exit route out of the River Market. Waiting on your signal.”

  “Hold on a minute. We’re negotiating. If you hear a single shot fired, come in with guns blazing.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Jake’s only goal was to see the gun removed from the back of his best friend’s head, though he was relatively certain the Wolf wouldn’t pull the trigger. It was Sokolov he wanted.

  “You’re full of shit,” the Wolf said. “You don’t have anyone out there.”

  “Foster? Have your team give three taps on the warehouse door.”

  They listened to her give the command, and a few seconds later, three metallic taps sounded.

  “I’ll call you back. Until then, proceed with our plan.” He kept the gun in place and shoved the phone into his pocket before grabbing the back of Sokolov’s shirt.

  “You’re smarter than I thought,” the Wolf said. Did Jake hear resignation in his voice?

  “I get that a lot.”

  Sokolov lunged forward, but Jake jerked him back. The Wolf would have rammed a bullet in his forehead before Sokolov got halfway to him.

  “You coward,” Sokolov growled. “I will gouge out your eyes and piss in your dead skull.”

  “Big words from a little man,” the Wolf replied. “I could take you apart—”

  “Jesus Christ,” Bear said. “If you’re both going to die, why don’t you two go at it and we’ll see which swinging dick is still upright at the end?”

  “I wish it was that easy,” the Wolf said. “He and I go at it, and while we’re unarmed, you call in your FBI buddies. I don’t think so.”