Gone in Seconds

by James, Ed

  “I am his father.” Still driving, still keeping his powder dry.

  Zangiev smiled. “But you shoot blanks?”

  Landon turned slowly to stare at him. “Let us go.”

  “You are angry with me, Landon, but it’s your brother who you should direct this rage at. After all, he’s the one who not only stole your son from you, but who stole the very idea that you could have children.”

  “Leave me out of this.”

  “But you’re very much the heart of this, Chase. Letting your anger get the better of you, letting that monster inside your head guide your actions.”

  Chase gripped his thighs even tighter.

  “How could you?” Landon rose to the bait, like he always did. “Switching our sperm samples? Did you think of me or Jen while you jerked off into a cup?”

  “That is funny!” Zangiev laughed. “Ky, your uncle is a very funny guy, isn’t he?”

  “Landon, I was a mess. Remember? I used to end up at Pioneer Square most nights, trying to score coke off homeless guys. After we lost our kid, after you—”

  “You asshole! Listen to yourself!” Landon punched the wheel. “Ky’s still my son. Legally. You committed fraud. You’re going down for this, you sack of shit.”

  “Pull in here.”

  An empty lot. Used to be a low-rent burger joint, but the signs were up.

  Landon drove through the site entrance and pulled up. He left the engine running, though. “What do you want from us?”

  “Because of you two, the FBI turned up at my hotel yesterday. The FBI. I’m like that poor woman back there, I don’t know which of you two screwed me.” Zangiev laughed hard, then his usual grimace returned. “People in my country, they like business done with discretion and care. Because of you, I cannot be discreet, so I seem careless. I am leaving this country tonight, but you are going to make this right. I need to transfer funds from your foundation to an account of mine.”

  Landon laughed now. “Right. Sure.”

  “I am deadly serious, Mr. Bartlett. Because of you and your brother, I am unable to take care of my duties here and have to return to the motherland with my tail between my legs. You need to make good on this, my friends.”

  “You can’t have that money.” Chase tried to plead with him. “The cancer center…”

  “Your country should take better care of your citizens, no?” Zangiev held up Ky, now lying in Zangiev’s arms, cooing, coughing, oblivious to the hell going on around him. “Right now, this little man is Schrödinger’s baby, both Landon’s and Chase’s son at the same time, until you have the paternity checked. I have leverage, yes?”

  Chase had to look away from him. “You need to set up the account and get it approved by the whole board.”

  “The payee already exists on there. Your brother here has paid much money to it.”

  Chase frowned at Landon. “What is he talking about?”

  “This is how we’ve been doing business. I give you some security men at your centers, you pay me a lot of money.”

  “There’s over a billion in there. You think it’ll just fly out to a Russian account?”

  “It’s not going to Russia. Not directly. Because of the way your country structures its economy, it’s extremely easy to funnel sizeable amounts to certain offshore countries.”

  Chase clenched his fists tight. “You need the whole board of the foundation to approve the transaction.”

  “That is what I thought too. But I actually only need all of the directors to sign it off. Cast your minds back to last night, gentlemen. At your gala dinner, you co-signed a check. So, I just need you two to approve this transaction. And don’t lie to me again, or you know the cost. I can just kill you both and this little gentleman, but I’d rather have my money and leave you both alive.” Zangiev held a small silver laptop between them. “Who is going first?”

  “How can we trust you?”

  “I’d give my word, but even I don’t trust it. You approve the transaction, you have a chance of surviving. You don’t, you die right here. My men will have you in the concrete within the hour. Simple.”

  “And yet you just shot and killed Kaitlyn in my house.”

  “That looks like you did it. Who is to say I was even there?” Zangiev clicked his fingers. “Oh, Jennifer witnessed it. I’ll need to have her killed too.”

  “No!”

  “Of course, the drug she was injected with could give her amnesia, among many other side effects.”

  Landon reached for the computer. “I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent. Now, no funny business, yes?”

  Landon nodded, then tapped the keyboard. “There, it’s done.”

  Chase took the laptop from Landon, catching Zangiev holding Ky in his arms. The screen was open to their foundation’s banking site. A pending payment sat there, the entire balance of their foundation ready to be transferred to the Caymans. Landon’s approval box had a big green tick.

  Chase clicked on his box and a window appeared. He entered his email address, then tabbed to the password field.

  He waited.

  Did he have any other options here?

  One last look at Ky and he knew he didn’t have a choice. They were screwed.

  He entered his password and the screen switched to a floating beachball. Then a green tick. “There, the payment’s made. Now give me my son.”

  Zangiev checked something on his cell phone. “The money’s in transit.”

  “We gave you what you wanted. Our father’s fortune was in that foundation, our inheritance. I know we’re a pair of entitled assholes, but we were helping people. We were doing good in this world. And now you have our money and I doubt you’ll do anything good with it.”

  Zangiev let out a deep breath. “Now, gentlemen, you can get out.”

  “What?”

  “Out. Of. The. Car.”

  Chase opened the door and got out into the cold air. He could count seven people watching them. Probably all on Zangiev’s payroll.

  Landon’s head appeared over the top of the car.

  Zangiev cradled Ky in one arm, his free hand still holding a gun, “Chase, let me tell you a little story. Before I came here, I worked in the FSB. You know what that is?”

  “Used to be the KGB.”

  “Very good. Well, not entirely true, but I will let you have it. One of the best punishments the KGB had wasn’t executing people, but executing their loved ones and letting them live with the guilt.”

  “What?”

  “Now, because you’re the one who harmed my operations, who put the FBI on to me, you can choose to save your son, or your brother.”

  “You can’t be serious…”

  “I’m deadly serious. I will shoot one of them. And if you don’t choose, I’ll do it for you.”

  “Boris, don’t do this!” Landon’s eyes widened. “Please!”

  Ky lay cooing in Zangiev’s arms.

  Chase looked at his brother, then at Ky. How the hell could he choose anything other than his son? “You’re going to shoot them in public?”

  “This isn’t public.” Zangiev shrugged. “Okay. Time’s up. A wise man once said that when you have to make a decision, you toss a coin. When you see which way it goes, you’ll either be relieved or disappointed. Only once you’ve let the coin decide for you do you know which was right.” He passed a nickel to Chase. “So, heads or tails. One is Ky, one is Landon. Then you toss the coin, Chase, then decide which one you want me to kill.”

  “You can’t expect me to toss a coin to—”

  “No, that is very true.” Zangiev shifted Ky over to the side and pointed his gun at the baby’s head. “I’ll make the decision for you.”

  Chase held up his hands. “No, you—”

  “Shut up.” Zangiev pointed the gun at Chase. “Don’t be stupid, Mr. Bartlett. You are unarmed. Now, what is it to be?”

  Sixty-Six

  CARTER

  15:02

  Carter didn’t kno
w what else to do but drive to Zangiev’s hotel. He was searching for a needle in a haystack with no possible way of narrowing it down. Zangiev would go underground and they’d lose him. Anything he could think of doing was just clutching at straws, and he knew it.

  He hit the controls on his dashboard to call Peterson.

  He answered right away. “Sir, I haven’t found the Tesla yet.”

  “Listen, have you got the financial records for the Bartlett Foundation?”

  “Just a second, sir.”

  “I’m looking for any strange payments in the recent past.”

  “I found one. Made to an account in the Caymans. One point seven billion dollars.”

  So that was Zangiev’s game. He was using the baby to extort the brothers.

  “Can you stop it?”

  “I mean, I can try, but…”

  Zangiev hadn’t won yet. Carter still had a play. “Peterson, Lori Alves has contacts in the New York Field Office who might be able to block it. Let me call her.”

  “Sure thi—”

  He tried Lori, but she bounced his call again.

  What else could he do?

  He pulled up outside Zangiev’s hotel. The place was absolute chaos. Two dark-suited guards struggled to cope with the irate crowd spilling outside. An elderly woman in a mink coat stepped out onto the street, scanning the passing cars.

  Carter stopped her. “FBI, ma’am.” He held out his badge. “What’s happened here?”

  She looked down her nose at him. “There was a power cut, and the staff didn’t seem to know how to handle it. Well, I won’t be paying their bill.” She huffed off toward a Mercedes.

  His cell rang. Lori calling. He hit answer. “Listen, it’s bedlam here. Sounds like a power cut?”

  “Give me a second.” Sounded like Lori hit a keyboard. “Got a report of a power outage there.”

  “Perfect opportunity to create cover for something.”

  “For what?”

  “Zangiev has emptied the Bartlett foundation’s account. And he has Ky.”

  She was silent.

  “I need you to call your buddy in New York. See if you can stop the payment.”

  “I can try.”

  “Please, Lori. Whatever we can do.”

  “Max, we’re almost there.”

  “Hurry, I’m heading inside.” Carter killed the call and watched the long row of parked cars, waiting for his gap.

  And something made him stop. A black Tesla S.

  He took out his gun and made his way over.

  Chase Bartlett sat in the passenger seat, staring into space. Alone.

  Carter grabbed his lapels and hauled him out. “Where is Ky?”

  But Chase couldn’t focus on him. Not a case of wouldn’t, but couldn’t. He was deep into shock.

  “What are you doing here, Chase?”

  He pointed at the Tesla. “Trunk.”

  Carter waved off the cop and snapped on a pair of gloves. He opened the trunk and stepped back.

  A corpse lay on a tarp. Male, a bag over his head, assassinated. Carter reached over and eased it up. No mistaking that thick beard.

  Landon Bartlett.

  Carter took Chase to the side, away from the car and his brother’s corpse.

  Chase seemed stunned, shocked, like he’d been there when it happened. “It wasn’t me. I…”

  “Take it slowly.”

  “He made me choose! How could I choose?”

  “Slow down. Choose between who? Landon?”

  “Landon and Ky. He has Ky!”

  “Who has?”

  “Zangiev. He…”

  A black Suburban pulled up next to them. Tyler was behind the wheel, but Lori was in the passenger seat, her window down.

  “Get forensics here and establish a perimeter.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Stop him leaving!” Carter jogged up the path to the hotel. “I’m heading inside, okay?” Seemed like the hotel had been emptied out into the parking lot, even though the lights were back on inside.

  One of the heavies stopped him. “Sir, I can’t—”

  “FBI.” He gave a flash of his badge. “Here to see Mr. Zangiev. He around?”

  “He isn’t, I’m afraid. And I have no idea where he’s gone. Sorry.”

  Carter tried to process it. “I’m heading in there, okay?” He didn’t get anything from the guard, so he barged through the crowd. “FBI! Coming through!”

  The bar was unmanned, but a few guests were helping themselves to vodka and wine. Both seating areas were deserted.

  Another heavy was guarding the staircase.

  Carter didn’t even need to show anything; his fiercest look let him past. He raced up the stairs and came to the hotel’s second-floor reception.

  A receptionist stood in a hallway to the right, her jaw clamped tight, face a pale gray.

  Carter joined her and stopped dead.

  Through a doorway, a body rested on a chair, mutilated by torture. Scars and cuts and bruises covered his body. Bloody plastic sheeting covered the floor.

  Carter knew him. Marcus Edwards, Zangiev’s right-hand man.

  Who had done this? Zangiev? Someone else?

  There was a desk at the back. A baby carrier lay on it. Carter walked over and swung it around. The number of times he’d looked at the missing photo, he knew it was Ky Bartlett.

  Who had left him?

  Something metal touched his neck. “Give me your gun.” Zangiev, somehow behind him.

  Carter had screwed up. Big time. He needed to buy time for Lori and the team to get in here. “Give yourself up.”

  “No, my friend.” Zangiev reached for Carter’s pistol, then pressed it against his spine. The metal stopped touching his neck. “You’re going to help me get away from here. Okay?”

  “You can’t escape.”

  “No, you’re wrong. I’m leaving this godforsaken country.”

  “What about Ky?”

  “He’s another insurance policy.”

  “You can’t escape. They won’t let you.”

  “They will. Just you watch. They’ll do anything to save a federal agent’s life.”

  Zangiev carrying Ky would make movement more cumbersome. Carter walked off, taking it as slowly as he could without—

  Something cracked his skull, pushing him forward. He landed on his hands and knees. Felt like his skull had opened up and his brain was exposed to the air.

  “On your feet.” A rough fist grabbed Carter’s collar and pulled him up to standing. “You need to walk faster.”

  Sixty-Seven

  LAYLA

  15:06

  A flash of light catches her attention from the staircase. “You don’t understand me, my friend.” Zangiev points the gun at Carter’s back. “I am leaving this country today. Whether you are still alive by then is entirely up to you.”

  This isn’t exactly like Layla planned. Sure, Zangiev is there, holding a gun and a baby carrier.

  But so is Max Carter. Zangiev has him at gunpoint.

  Layla sees her opportunity mix with hard risk. But she can’t not take it. She sets off along the corridor, standing on the ends of her shoes, clutching the pistol tight, walking slowly, listening hard to the clip of their feet, matching her step with theirs to drown out the sound. Then they stop at the end of the corridor by a back door.

  Carter looks determined, head bowed, his body loose like he’s preparing for some move.

  Layla switches her grip on the pistol, holding the barrel, and snatches the baby carrier out of his hand.

  “What?”

  She lashes forward, snapping the metal against Zangiev’s skull. He collapses forward, landing on Carter and pushing him against the door.

  Carter swings around, tries to kick Zangiev off him. Zangiev is out cold, a dead weight on him.

  Layla aims the pistol at Carter. “I couldn’t let him go without telling me where my son is.”

  Carter reaches for the gun. “Please.”<
br />
  Layla shakes her head. Zangiev’s gun is on the floor. Some Russian thing. She picks it up and puts it in her pocket.

  Carter reaches up to his ear and rubs it. She doesn’t know what happened between them, but he looks injured. “Is Ky okay?”

  “He’s here.” She rests the carrier on the ground. “He looks fine to me.”

  Ky screams, so she hugs him tight, but he just won’t stop. Won’t take the pacifier. It’s been years since she’s been this close to a baby, but all her instincts kick in again. How to hold him, caress him, all those soothing noises that she used on Faraj. She has to stop herself from diving too deep down that well. She’ll start crying and soon she’ll drown in a foot of water. She strokes Ky’s soft hair, brushing it and swallowing down sharp tears.

  “You could’ve run. But you didn’t. Why?”

  “Because he knows where my son is.”

  Carter weighs it up, a Russian gangster versus public enemy number one.

  “He has all of the answers about my son. I found his man, Edward. He showed me a photo of my son. He’s still alive.”

  “Give me my gun back and I’ll help you find him.”

  “No. You’ll help me because I’ve got a gun trained on you.”

  Carter sighs. “There are four FBI agents outside. They’ll be here any minute.”

  She points the gun at his head. “So you better work fast.”

  “Okay.” He props Zangiev against the wall and slaps him, soft.

  No response.

  So he hits him hard this time.

  Zangiev comes to, then lurches into action.

  But Carter pins him back against the tiles, driving his foot into his shoulder. “Stay right there, you son of a bitch.”

  “I have men, Carter. Men who know where you live. Men who’ll murder your wife and your daughter. Kirst— ARGH!”

  Carter twists Zangiev’s wrist back. “You mention her name again and I will snap your neck right here.”

  “Do it.”

  “I want to, believe me.” Carter lets go of him. “But you’re going to tell us where her son is.”

  Zangiev looks right up at me. “You.”

  I train the gun on him, close enough to his head that he’ll think about grabbing it. “Where is my son?”