Black Angel

by Jack Dayton

  Gunny, as always, squeezed his eye shut. He ever-so-slightly shook his head, and simultaneously grabbed the sissy-save-me handle above the passenger window. It was a given among the UMC crew that it might be all that could save your life if there was a mishap when Dr. Quinn was driving.

  “He can’t hear you,” Vance mentioned mildly.

  “Let me get out of this,” she shot back as she put on her signal and moved out to the left lane.

  “You’re headed in the right direction,” Vance directed. “It’s off of 14th on Swann.”

  Quinn looked at him. “Seriously, Chechens on Swann.”

  Vance shrugged. “Makes sense to me. A decent cover.”

  They made their way out to the intersection of 14th and Swann and turned left, finding it on the left of the first block. Avery drove around the block and found a space across from the back door of Le Vizit that she easily maneuvered into. They fed the meter and walked back to Swann Street. A coffee shop across the street offered a spot to watch what went on at Le Vizit Kafé.

  The coffee shop was busy with the usual denizens of the café culture . . . singletons sitting at their table with laptops open, older guys in the overstuffed chairs gathered in the rear of the shop reading newspapers, a small gaggle of young women circled around a table sharing a lively exchange, a teen couple at the coffee bar drinking iced coffee frappacinos.

  Three black coffees later, they had watched almost no one enter or leave the odd little restaurant across the street despite the steady stream of foot traffic crossing back and forth to 14th Street. The entrance was an undistinguished glass door with the ubiquitous lighted ‘OPEN’ sign in the large window to its right. Heavy red velvet draperies framed the window and left little visibility into the dining room. As the sun set, the lights of chandeliers could be seen winking on from within the dark of the café.

  “I know this isn’t exactly the dinner rush but still . . . this place is subdued for a restaurant in this part of DC,” Quinn observed.

  “Well, this neighborhood would seem to be an ideal place for an interesting, exotic spot but unless there is a surge in people who must have Chechen for supper tonight, it’s quiet.” Vance checked the time on his phone. “Hey, the meter . . . I better walk back and feed it.”

  “Want another coffee?” Avery was half way out of her chair.

  “Uhh . . . let me think about it. I may have reached my limit.”

  Vance got up and walked to the door, checking the café across the street before he opened it and went out. Avery leaned back, checking her watch. They had been there from 1400 until almost 1600. If there was a happy hour, it should have started already and yet nothing indicated an uptick in customers. Maybe she should just walk over and see if there is a happy hour or carry out, she thought. She’d be back before the Gunny would even notice. Besides, he hadn’t ordered her to stay put.

  She checked the room before getting up, went to the restroom and then, leaving her coat there, walked out the front door and across the street to the entrance of Le Vizit.

  She hesitated briefly and then plunged into the small café. The interior was dimly lit in what might have been considered romantic lighting. Red leather booths lined the perimeter of the room with four white linened tables down the center. A round booth at the back across from the bar was set up like an unofficial work space, scattered with papers and notebooks. A huge television screen in the back of the restaurant left of the empty bar ran a video of a beautiful girl in hijab and traditional Muslim clothing singing a tune that was more middle eastern than Russian. A young man in an immaculate white tuxedo shirt with black tie stood at a small podium, fixated on his smart phone display. Avery approached with her warmest smile on display.

  “Hello,” she greeted the young man who resembled a younger, rougher Johnny Depp.

  “Salam,” he responded, his eyes appraising her head to toe. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, I was wondering if you have a carry-out menu?”

  “Yes,” he said in heavy accent and handed her a glossy brochure. “You can keep that.” The front featured pictures of traditional Chechen couples frozen in the stylized forms of a folk dances. The men wore high hats made of sheep hide, similar to what Quinn had always associated with what Cossacks wore, the women in sheer veils and long skirts modestly hiding hair and skin.

  “We deliver,” the young man added awkwardly. Avery turned back and nodded. “You should try the chepalgash . . . best in whole country.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Avery returned.

  She smiled again and thanked him before she turned to leave. She wondered if he would notice that she was leaving to go right across the street to the coffee shop. It hardly mattered. She was back at her table in moments and waiting for the Gunny to return. She smiled to herself thinking about how smoothly she had executed her self-appointed mission. She was still enjoying the satisfaction of having acquired the menu when the Gunny returned. She looked up ready to impress him but she stopped, suddenly sobered by the look on his face.

  “Gunny, what’s wrong?”

  His face betrayed surprise and confusion. “Doc, this doesn’t make sense but you will never guess who I saw in back of the restaurant.”

  “Who?” She demanded.

  “Kovak, Dr. Serge Kovak.”

  “Kovak?” Dr. Quinn face twisted in confusion. “Why is Kovak here?”

  “I don’t know,” Gunny answered. “But he came out of the back of the restaurant.”

  “Did he see you? Where is he now?”

  “I stayed out of sight and watched him until he got in his car and left.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He was talking with some guy, a real monster in a leather jacket with the sleeves torn off. They must have talked for at least 10 minutes. They took out their phones and they looked like they were exchanging numbers. Then he left.”

  They exchanged looks letting the realization sink in. The situation had just gotten more complicated.

  Chapter 13

  “Maybe he just likes Chechen food.”

  Vance took his eyes off the speeding traffic on the I-95 express lanes to give Dr. Quinn a look of supreme skepticism.

  “So he’s meeting with some guy in the back of the restaurant to pick up an order to go?” Vance shook his head. “Who knows what he was doing when he was in there. Sorry. I wasn’t born yesterday, Doc.”

  “So why was he there? Something is going on here, Gunny.”

  “Ya think? I don’t know. All I know is that the last time I saw him he was at a party where I lost my friend, an attache was assassinated and the person I thought I knew was a stranger to me. But why? Why?”

  Avery was quiet. What could Dr. Serge Kovak possibly have to do with Anton Kulyak? Or some random thug by the dumpster? There were a lot of reasons to maintain distance from Kovak but she had never considered he might be engaged with real bad guys.

  They rode for awhile in silence, each groping to connect the dots. Vance knew that Kovak had a unique position at the University but not much else.

  “What do you know about Kovak anyway?” Vance thought maybe Dr. Quinn had some inside information about his background.

  “Not much. His official bio on the Faculty Directory page is thin.” Quinn had glanced at it a few times, prompted by the feedback she had picked up about his grandiose style. “He’s got a following at the University. He tends to posture to the students that share his philosophy. That’s not so awful if the students challenge him but it’s far from ideal if your job is to prepare the next generation of Marine Corps leaders. He should be encouraging critical thinking and the creativity needed in military leaders. He doesn’t get invited as a lecturer very often for that reason.”

  “Doesn’t he get called on it?” Vance asked.

  “His position is funded by a conservative donor. They met when Kovak arrived here from Europe for a visiting professorship at Liberty University. His origins prior to that were murky. Some lectures h
ere, a post doc there. Nothing solid.”

  “How does he fit with Anton Kulyak and that thug he was talking to behind the restaurant?” Vance shook his head like it hurt.

  “I don’t know any more than you do, Gunny but if we know that, we’ll be a lot closer to the answers we’re looking for.” She stared out at the Virginia suburban sprawl thinking they were a world away from Le Vizit Cafe.

  As they approached the Quantico exit, they both came back to the moment.

  “You want me to drop you at your car or are you going to try to get some work done for the country today,” Vance asked her as they approached the gate. The Lance Corporal at the gate took a look at Vance’s ID and then at his face as he said “Have a nice day, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lance Corporal,” Vance returned.

  “I better head back to the office. At least try to answer my email,” she responded. “This is good actually. The time stamp on my responses will look like I was here until 1900. Well done, Dr. Quinn.”

  Vance shook his head. “Civilians . . .

  * * *

  The following day was full of promise. At least that was what Sergeant Seelbach and Lance Corporal Casper thought. There was a forecast that practically guaranteed the base would close. Six to 8 inches of snow starting at 1000 and going through the night. Seelbach could hardly contain himself.

  “Ghost, I love this weather,” he declared as he leaned back in his chair.

  “Roger that, Sergeant.” Casper was a watching a video on his monitor of the weather pattern move across the mid-Atlantic, repeating itself again and again. “Looks like the worst of it is just south of the District between here and Arlington, Sergeant.”

  “Woodbridge is probably gonna take a face shot, Ghost. But we’ll get our share. We should be out of here by 1400.”

  He paused for a moment and then mused “You know, it ain’t just the snow days, which are great on their own but it’s the way the air feels. It just feels better, you know? Fresh and light. Where’d you grow up again, Ghost.”

  “Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Sergeant.”

  “Well, then, you know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “Not exactly, Sergeant. We had a lot of snow and it was really cold but I never thought it was fresh.”

  “If you had grown up in Dothan, Alabama, like I did, you’d have a whole different view of winter.” Seelbach nodded as though that bit of insight made everything clear.

  “Sergeant?”

  “The heat, Ghost. I hated it. It made everything harder, longer, sweatier, more tiring. I hated it,” he repeated.

  “Ooh rah, Sergeant.”

  “Ghost, we are getting out of here early so let’s get these damn DON Tracker tickets out quick, you hear?” Seelbach hated the automated system for tracking projects and assignments as just another digital system from pencil-necked bureaucrats in the Department of the Navy put together to further torture Marines. It was another example of why getting as far away from Quantico as possible was his fondest dream.

  “Roger that, Sergeant.”

  * * *

  By noon, the snow was laying heavy on the branches that extended over Broadway in front of the Library of the Marine Corps. The Code Yellow that had started the day was projected to change to Code Red by 1500. By 1330, most people who had driven in were already on their way home, creeping along on Russell Road to the gate as the surge of those fleeing compounded by the minute. Most of the rest would either be stuck in the southbound lanes of I-95 or Jefferson Davis Highway until late into the night or be cramming onto the already full trains passing through the Quantico station.

  Avery Quinn stepped quickly through the passageway outside the Command Deck and flew down the stairs to the basement. She thought she would never get out of the Deans’ Meeting. She dashed to her office and quickly signed onto her email. A quick scan. A few would need attention but she could answer those tomorrow. Log out and pack up. The earliest train was at 1420 and it would be full. Time to hustle. She pulled on her boots and grabbed her shoulder bag, packing in the docs she might need to reference and slung her coat over her arm.

  In Sergeant Seelbach’s office, Gunny Vance stood up from the table. The plans for the holiday party and duty coverage were taken care of and the snow just kept coming. “I think we are ready for the holiday, Sergeant. Are we good to go before we get snowed in, Marines.”

  “I know I am, Gunny. How about you, Ghost?”

  “Good to go, Sergeant.”

  Avery appeared in the doorway. “Are you leaving or staying, Gunny?”

  “We are oscar mike, Doc.” Vance answered using the traditional phonetic code for ‘on the move.’

  A few minutes later he was locking his door and they were all headed to catch the first train out.

  “Sergeant Seelbach, you going without a cover?” Avery’s brow was furrowed. “I mean, you don’t even put your hood up and there’s no hair to keep you warm?”

  “Ma’am, I love this weather and don’t need a cover.”

  “Seriously?”

  “As a bona fide Southern man, I can’t get enough of this Yankee weather.”

  “Casper, where’d you get that cover of yours?” Quinn was admiring his insulated fur cap with ear flaps.

  “Ma’am, I was running on the trails by Brownfield and found it laying out there so I just decided to give it a new home,” Casper answered.

  “Gear adrift is a gift,” Seelbach offered.

  Avery observed, “I’m surprised you didn’t think it was a dead animal.”

  “It looked pretty bad before I washed it but it works good now, Ma’am.”

  “You know what I always say?” The Gunny couldn’t resist.

  “What’s that?” Avery bit.

  “There’s only one thief in the Marine Corps. Everybody else is just trying to get their shit back.” He flipped the hood on his jacket up and stepped out into the snowstorm.

  “Ooh rah, Gunny,” added Seelbach.

  Casper wasn’t going to Fredericksburg like the other three but was happy to tag along to Q-Town. He was going to grab some lumpia at the Filipino restaurant there and then head back to his Barnett Avenue barracks. They continued on to the station talking about what they would do on the probable snow day the next day. Some shoveling for Dr. Quinn, some sleeping for the Marines.

  At the station, Vance excused himself. “I have to hit the head,” he explained. “You guys were rushing me out and I am overdue for a pit stop.”

  “We’ll see you out there,” Avery nodded to the platform as they wove their way through the crowd.

  A minute later, the claxon signaling the train’s arrival was blaring loud enough for Vance to hear in the station. He emerged from the bathroom to see the crowd moving out the two doors on the opposite ends of the terminal.

  Suddenly, the shriek of the train’s brakes shattered the air and screams and shouts warned that something calamitous had happened. Vance pushed through the crowd, heart thudding in anticipation of what might lay outside on the platform.

  He found Avery standing stricken motionless on the edge of the platform looking down at the tracks beneath the train locomotive spattered with blood, debris and human tissue. Marines dropped down into the unsafe zone of the trains barely stilled wheels to see what could be done. Cooler heads waved them off. Their courage noted, the effort was too late. Vance grabbed her roughly and turned her around.

  “Doc, what happened?”

  She could barely respond “Seelbach was standing next to me. We were looking down the track at the train coming and then . . . and then . . . ” She gasped, overwhelmed.

  “Somebody pushed him.” It was Casper. He was staring at the carnage on the tracks, his face a mask of confusion and disbelief.

  “What happened, Ghost?”

  “I was just leaving and I turned around and saw this guy rush up and push him in front of the train.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  Avery regained her balance. “Th
at way,” she pointed to the parking lot. Tracks in the fresh snow led directly out to the lot.

  “C’mon, Ghost.” Vance grabbed Casper’s shoulder and turned him around. “Leave the bag,” he ordered, dropping his own. “Let’s move.” They sprinted into the lot following the deep imprints left by boots digging into the tire tracks embedded in the snow.

  Ahead a shadowy figure in black disappeared around the back corner of the lot. “He’s headed right to the gate,” Gunny yelled over to Casper. “We got him, Ghost.”

  They upped their pace expecting to see a figure wildly searching the fence for an opening that was locked tight. Instead, as they rounded the curve to the left they saw the residue of snow clinging to the chain link and the fence still vibrating from someone who climbed it and was now getting away across the open space.

  “Sonofabitch!” Vance muttered as he assayed the best place to jump the fence on the run. He hit the fence full stride, putting a firm boot midway up, bowing it so he could grab the top. With a quick shift, he was on the ground on the other side. Casper grabbed the fence and planted a boot on the fence only to see it slide down. “Shit . . .”

  “Get over that fence, Ghost,” Vance ordered.

  “Gunny, I’m tryin’ . . . shit.” Casper muttered.

  Casper clawed his way up and over and they turned in time to see the figure disappear completely. Vance knew where he went. They covered the distance in moments and stood at the top of a concrete retaining wall that bordered Martin Street. The drop must have been 10 feet to the street where the footprints continued.

  “Damn.” Casper looked down.

  “The snow’ll break our impact. Let’s go, Casper.” Vance climbed the three-foot railing and jumped, Casper right behind him, both landing on the street, off the sidewalk. He saw the footprints as they led under the train bridge. The first boot marks under the bridge showed the halo of snow from being stomped, moving into the wet of the street . . . and then disappearing into the murky drainage of the pavement.