by L. T. Ryan
“You’re...” Wan swallowed, then reached out to touch Haeli’s cheek. “You’re alive.”
Haeli realized she hadn’t considered how the news of her death would have affected the people she left behind. When she fled Techyon—fled Israel, she understood the pain it would cause. But her death added another layer.
Not that leaving wasn’t bad enough. Under the circumstances, she wished she could tell him that leaving was a hard decision. But that would be a lie. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, or that she didn’t care if she hurt him, but it was what needed to be done. She knew it, and at some level, so did he.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “How are you here?”
“It’s a long story. Which I’ll tell you at some point, I promise. But right now, I have to ask you a question. Have you received any threats?”
“Threats? No. From who?”
Haeli pulled a folded photo from her pocket and handed it to Wan.
“God damn.” His nose crinkled, and his top lip snarled at the gory image. “It’s Goldmann.”
“Was Goldmann.”
“Sokolov,” Wan said.
“Yep. I was given this lovely image because, apparently, he thinks we have his diamonds.”
Wan folded the picture and handed it back to Haeli. He let out an unenthusiastic laugh. “Of course he does. Because Goldmann probably pointed the finger at us to avoid getting his head cut off. And how’d that work out for him?”
“About as well as it’s going to work out for us now that Sokolov thinks we have them. He’ll come for us. You know he will. All of us.”
“This just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Goldmann steals the diamonds, almost gets us killed, and screws the whole operation. Now, this? We shouldn’t have been involved in the first place.”
“No, we shouldn’t have,” Haeli said. “But it wasn’t our call.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know yet. I just wanted to give you the heads up. Now, I need to find Chet and Little Ricky.” The other two members of their team, Chet Ornal and Richard “Little Ricky” Bender had been reassigned before she left. She had no idea where in the world they could be. “Do you know where they are?”
Haeli pictured the faces of her two old friends. A fleeting sadness passed through her. She never got the opportunity to say goodbye to them, like she had with Wan. Even though she was only there to warn them, she found herself looking forward to the chance to make amends.
“Rick’s in Germany, running training exercises. Chet’s back at HQ, working on a smart weapons project. But I haven’t seen him in a while. I can call them.”
“Don’t,” Haeli said. “Sokolov contacted me on my cell, which means he’s already monitoring it. Mine’s off. You should do the same.” Haeli reached into her bag and pulled out a phone. “Here, I’ve got an extra burner. Take it.”
Wan nodded. He accepted the device, then produced his own cell phone to shut it off.
“My number’s already programmed in there, it’s the only contact,” Haeli said. “I’ll pick up another prepaid phone for Chet after this. Once I figure out where I’m staying, I’ll call you and let you know where I’ll be.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve already got a place to stay. I’ve got two bedrooms and it’s just me. It’ll be safer.”
“I don’t know.” Haeli noticed how Wan had perked up at his suggestion. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Look, Sokolov contacted you, but not me. And I’m sure I would have heard about it already if Chet or Little Ricky had received anything. There’s a good chance that you are the only one he’s tracked down. Which means you’ll be safe there. No hotel staff or surveillance cameras to worry about. Plus, just in case Sokolov’s men do show up, it’d be better if we stuck together. At least we’d have a fighting chance.”
Haeli groaned. “Fine.” Sokolov had nothing to do with why she thought it might be a bad idea, but she decided to let it go. “I’ve got a few things I need to do. Text me your address and I’ll come by a little later.”
“Okay.” Wan’s eager fingers started typing. “Sending it now.”
“While you’re at it, text me Chet’s address. I’ll swing by to see if he’s home.”
“No way, Haeli. It’s too risky. We’ll go together.”
“Michael, I’m not gonna—” Haeli closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Never mind. You win.” She motioned in the direction of the street. “Lead the way.”
6
Two Years Ago. Haeli took the steps three at a time. At the top of the main staircase, Richard Bender stood waiting.
“What the hell is this about?” Bender said as Haeli reached the top.
They walked.
“Don’t know, but it’s gotta be somethin’ good,” Haeli said. “Frank doesn’t call a briefing with an hour’s notice unless it’s worth it.”
“All I know is I’m supposed to go on leave in three days.”
“That’s right. The Greek goddess, right?”
“Her name’s Maria. And it’s Cyprus.” Bender rolled his eyes. “But you know that.”
Haeli chuckled. “Sorry, I forgot. It’s been a whole twelve hours since you’ve mentioned her.”
“I’m just saying. She’s expecting me.”
They reached the door to the conference room. Haeli squeezed Bender’s shoulder.
“I’m sure you’ll make your play-date. These things are fast and furious.”
“I hope so.” Bender flung the door open and motioned for Haeli to enter.
She took him up on his offer.
Inside, four people sat at the long boardroom table. On one side, her other team members, Michael Wan and Chet Ornal. On the other, the director of special operations, Frank Borstrom, and another man. Someone she hadn’t met before.
“Thank you for your prompt response,” Frank said. “Let me introduce a very special client. Mister Adam Goldmann.”
Goldmann lifted himself from his chair, halfway between a sitting and standing position. He raised his hand in an indifferent wave.
Haeli had no idea who the man was or why he was there, but she was already put off by his mannerisms. Slightly overweight, with prominent bags under his eyes, he looked like a cocaine addict coming off a five-day bender. He had curly black hair, which he had tried to slick back with some kind of product. The top three buttons of his shirt were open, presumably to display the two gaudy gold chains that hung around his neck.
“Pleasure.” Haeli took a seat next to Wan.
Goldmann sat.
Frank continued. “Mister Goldmann is in need of our assistance. I will let him fill you in. Please.”
Goldman cleared his throat. “Thank you. Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Botswana to make a large purchase. I need you to ensure my security.”
And?
Haeli waited for the rest of the story. Goldmann was clearly Israeli and, so it seemed, some type of businessman. The question was, what did that have to do with her and her team? She looked to Frank.
Frank took the hint. “Mister Goldmann is one of the premiere diamond dealers in Ramat Gan.”
Goldmann smacked his lips.
Frank rephrased. “The premiere diamond dealer.”
This was no surprise. Although technically in the city of Tel Aviv, Techyon headquarters sat in walking distance to the city line of Ramat Gan, the home of Israel’s diamond exchange. One couldn’t throw a rock without hitting a diamond dealer. But none of this explained why her team was there.
“To be clear,” Frank said, “Mister Goldmann is going to be visiting the Kabo diamond mine in Botswana. He will be carrying an extremely large sum of cash and will be returning to Israel with a large quantity of diamonds. Simply put, your job is to make sure this happens without any issues.”
“Are you serious?” Haeli asked.
Wan put his hand on Haeli’s shoulder.
She could feel him willing her to hold her tongue.
Frank ignored her. “Mister Goldmann has provided his itinerary, which has been included in your briefing notes. This is a one-night trip. In and out.” Frank turned to Goldmann. “Mister Goldmann, per our protocol, you will refer to these four individuals by the following code names.” He pointed at Haeli. “Principe.” He looked back at his sheet, then pointed at Wan. “Celer.” Then at Bender. “Fortis.” And finally, at Ornal. “Acer.”
Principe.
As code names go, it wasn’t the worst. Every mission came with a new set of them. Animals, colors, days of the week. This time it seemed to be Latin or, at least something resembling Latin. As silly as it seemed, it was worth the effort. The names protected their identities and segmented one mission from the next. Any mention of the randomized monikers in later intelligence chatter would allow them to pinpoint the exact time frame and circumstances of the source.
Goldmann slumped and wiped his forearm across his forehead. Beads of sweat appeared as quickly as they were removed.
“I apologize if these names are a little much to remember,” Frank said. “I’ve printed them out for you as a reference.”
Goldmann stood up. “Principe, Celer, Fortis, and Acer. Fine. So are we all set for tomorrow?”
“Yes, of course. The team will pick you up at o’ five-hundred.”
“Good. Yes, very good. Thank you.” Goldmann walked toward the door.
Frank stood and followed. “Let me show you out.”
“Frank,” Haeli said. “Can I talk to you?”
“Hold tight. I’ll be back in a minute. Right this way Mister Goldmann.” Frank opened the door and escorted Goldmann out. He shot a look at Haeli before closing the door behind him.
“This is bullshit,” Haeli said.
“What did you do this time, Chet?” Wan said.
“What do you mean, ‘what did I do?’ I didn’t do anything.”
Wan slapped his hands on the table. “Well, somebody did. Why else are we being punished?”
“Why’s it gotta be me?” Ornal asked. “Ask Little Ricky what he did.”
“Hold on,” Bender said. “There’s gotta be more to this than they’re letting on. Wait for Frank. I’m sure he’s got a good reason.”
Wan chimed in. “He’s got a reason. But I bet it’s not a good one.”
“Was it just me or was anyone else skeeved out by that guy?” Haeli asked. “He seemed too nervous.”
Ornal started to answer, but abandoned his comment when Frank appeared in the doorway.
“So?” Wan asked.
“So, what?” Frank shrugged.
“So, what the hell are we doing?” Haeli added. “Personal security detail? That’s not what we do, Frank. This company has a whole division for security. We’re a tactical team. This is special operations. Or did I miss something?”
“I know it’s a change of pace,” Frank said.
“Come on, Frank,” Wan said. “It’s babysitting duty.”
“Look, this comes directly from Levi. He specifically ordered me to assign this to you.”
“Is this guy a friend of his or something?” Bender asked.
Frank raised his voice. “I don’t know! If you have a problem with it, take it up with Levi!”
The room fell silent.
“Look,” Frank said. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s beneath you, I get it. But it’s an easy gig you can manage in your sleep. So, stop complaining and just get it done. Levi’s happy. Everybody’s happy. End of discussion. Go do your prep. I’ll touch base when you get back.”
Haeli stopped herself from throwing in the last word. After years of working for Frank Borstrom, they had established a friendly rapport. But it was best she didn’t push her luck.
Frank left the room, and it again fell into silence.
After a moment, Wan picked up the bound packet off the table in front of him. He flipped the cover, leaned back in his chair, and turned to Haeli. “Principe. We’re all ears.”
7
One Week Ago. Evgeni Babin downshifted and squeezed the brake levers, bringing the red and white Ducati Panigale to an abrupt stop, inches from the garage bay door.
He straddled the bike as he rooted around in the side pocket of his Kevlar jacket for the remote control. When he felt it in his hand, he pressed the top button without removing the plastic box from his pocket.
The door squealed and began rising. Like the curtain of an opera house, the retreating overhead door would unveil a true work of art.
It had taken Evgeni years to find and collect the over twenty motorcycles he stored in the garage. And there was nothing he loved more than looking at them as a group. Ducatis, Indians, Triumphs, Harleys. Each special in their own right.
As an analyst, Babin found his day job stifling. Frankly, he found the whole of Israel stifling. Every morning, upon arriving at Techyon Headquarters, he would curse himself for showing up. After eight hours in a windowless room, staring at a computer screen, he would swear he wouldn’t come back the next day.
So the cycle went, day after day. But his talent for recognizing patterns made him a perfect fit for the job. Plus, it wasn’t like he was given a choice.
It was his hobby that brought whatever joy he had in his life. To anyone else, this place was an overcrowded storage shed. To him, it was Disneyland.
He held the clutch and twisted the throttle. Like a dose of medicine, the Ducati let out a melodic growl.
While Evgeni owned a few daily riders—a BMW 1250 RT, Suzuki GSX-R, and a Harley Davidson Sportster—some of the bikes in his collection he had only ridden once or twice for fear of marring them. The Ducati Panigale was one of them.
But it was a beautiful day and a special occasion. It was his thirty-fifth birthday. A jaunt on the one-hundred-sixty horsepower crotch-rocket was his birthday present to himself. That, and the new toy that was in transit from Germany.
As the Ducati’s motor wound back down to a purr, Evgeni could hear the twang of the overhead chain. He skipped a breath as the bottom of the door passed his eyeline and a sea of gleaming chrome and brightly colored plastic seemed to spill out toward him. He smiled.
Then he saw something else. Something that wiped the smile right off his face.
Sitting in the saddle of a Harley Road King was Pavel Nikitin. And judging by the suppressor attached to the end of the pistol he was pointing at Evgeni, Nikitin wasn’t there to extend happy birthday wishes.
Babin’s first reaction was to run. So much so that his body threatened to act without his mind’s consent. Luckily, he recovered his wits in time to rein in his muscles. If he were to run, he would never be able to stop running. Ever. Besides, he wasn’t going to outrun a bullet. Even on a Ducati.
Pressing the kickstand down with his boot, Babin rocked the bike back and swung his leg over the saddle.
Stay calm.
“Pavel. Friend.” He shut the bike off. “This is a surprise. Is something wrong?”
Nikitin shook his head. “Depends.”
Evgeni took a few steps inside. He watched the muzzle of Nikitin’s gun track his movements.
“Depends on what?”
Nikitin ran his free hand along the handlebars of the Road King. “On you.”
“No, no, no.” Evgeni wagged his finger. “I’m not killing anyone. I’m done. I paid my debt.”
“Who told you this? Did I tell you this?”
“No. No one told me. But I’ve done everything you asked.” Evgeni lowered his voice. “I murdered a man, Pavel. And I don’t even know what he did to deserve it.”
Nikitin laughed. “And you think this was payment of your debt? This is only a test. To prove your loyalty. Your debt is paid when he says it is.”
“Then what? Did I do something wrong?”
“I need you to do something—”
Evgeni raised a hand as if he were going to interject.
“Don’t worry. This is easy thing.” Niki
tin pulled out a folded piece of paper, pinched it between two fingers and held it out toward Evgeni. “Come, take it.”
In a tentative dance between man and machines, Evgeni weaved through the motorcycles until he was close enough to reach the piece of paper. He retreated a few feet and unfolded it.
“Botswana? I don’t understand. What are these dates?”
“We need to know names. Those who provide security for Adam Goldmann in Botswana on these days. That’s all.” Nikitin shrugged. “See? For you—easy.”
“I can’t.” Evgeni’s voice trembled. “I don’t have access to these kinds of records. I don’t even know where they’re kept. And even if I did—if I got caught, they’d kill me.”
“You would already be dead if not for us. Or did you forget who got you out of Russia—who avenged your father?”
“I didn’t forget. It’s just—why don’t I get you something else? There’s a lot of good information I can give you. Tons of it. But what you ask, it’s not possible.”
“Everything is possible. It is possible for you to own all these motorcycles, yes? And tell me, how is this possible?”
Evgeni bowed his head. “Because of Mister Sokolov.”
Nikitin grinned his jagged grin. “That is right. This means that all these things belong to him. You agree?”
There was no right answer to his question, and Evgeni knew it. As his response, he offered only a blank stare.
Holding the pistol level, Nikitin dismounted the bike, crouched, and lifted a plastic gas can off the floor by his feet. Without another word, he began pouring gasoline over the Harley Davidson. Then he moved on to the Triumph, which sat to its right.
“Wait. Please, don’t.”
Nikitin moved on to another motorcycle.
“All right, I’ll do it!”
“What will you do?” Nikitin doused yet another.
“Stop it, please, Pavel,” Evgeni pleaded. “I’ll get you your names. Just don’t burn them.”
Nikitin tossed the can. It landed on its side and gasoline poured onto the floor.
Evgeni stood frozen as Nikitin worked his way over to him, the suppressor leading the way until it was pressed against Evgeni’s forehead.