by J. C. Fields
“I’m sure it is, Sergey.”
Alan Seltzer and Ryan Clark watched as the other two men in the room greeted each other. Seltzer pointed toward a small round conference table occupying one corner of his office. “Agent Brutka, why don’t we all sit down and you can tell us about your interest in Yaakov Romanovich.”
Brutka nodded. After everyone was seated, Brutka slipped an envelope out of his sport coat inside pocket. He extracted a small stack of color pictures and placed them side by side on the table top. The pictures appeared to be either passport or driver’s license photos. There were ten. All were of young women in their late teens or early twenties.
Kruger stared at the photos. Each of the women featured similar characteristics, blond hair, blue eyes, and haunting blank stares. He looked up at Brutka. “They’re all missing, aren’t they?”
Brutka nodded, but remained quiet.
Clark spoke for the first time. “How many of them have never been found?”
“None have been found.”
Pursing his lips, Kruger picked up one of the pictures and studied it. “Over what time frame?”
“The first in late 2012. The young woman in the picture you hold disappeared in early 2017. They are from various countries in the Baltic Sea area, Sweden, Finland, Latvia, Norway, and Denmark. All were last seen in the company of a man matching the description of Yaakov Romanovich.”
Kruger put the picture back on the table. “NYPD lost track of him in 2012. Was he overseas?”
“Yes. He is what you call person of interest.”
Picking up one of the pictures, Clark looked at Brutka. “What were their occupations?”
Giving Clark a grim smile, Brutka leaned back in his chair and swept his hand over the pictures. “Prostitutes. Unsuccessful students, women on the edge of society. None were married, and all were barely surviving.”
Clark put the picture back on the table. “Women who wouldn’t be missed.”
“Correct.”
Seltzer looked over his glasses at the Interpol detective and asked, “Do you think Romanovich will tell you where they are?”
Brutka shook his head. “No, I doubt he knows. He is more of, what you call in America, a gopher. He doesn’t think, he only does what he is told. I want the name of the man who told him.”
Kruger turned to Seltzer. “What is Romanovich’s condition?”
“Last I checked, stable.”
Standing, Kruger looked at his watch. It was late. He turned his attention to Brutka. “Meet me at the hospital in the morning, we’ll arrange a meeting.”
Chapter 28
Washington, D.C./Seattle
The six a.m. flight out of Washington’s Dulles International Airport made one stop in Detroit on its way to Seattle. Jimmie Gibbs bought a cup of coffee at a Dunkin Donuts kiosk across from the gate where his flight to Seattle would board. Because of the time difference in crossing the continental Unites States from east to west, even with the in-flight and layover time, he would arrive late morning in Seattle. Plenty of time to scope out his objective.
He sipped his coffee as he studied the faces of the passengers waiting for their flight to Seattle, looking for anyone who might be paying too much attention to his presence. He saw none. His eyes settled on a woman in her mid-to-late twenties, blond hair, with the physique of a swimmer.
The memories of his sister flooded back, causing him to close his eyes. He saw her as she was the day she disappeared. Two years his junior, she would have turned fourteen in a week. Long blond hair, blue eyes, tall, slender, athletic, and a better swimmer than he. Every swim coach she worked with said the same thing: she was destined for the Olympics. She would win gold someday.
He rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek, wiping away the stray trickle of water seeping from his eye. He blinked several times to clear the funk. As a former Seal and now an FBI agent, Gibbs kept his personal life private. Few individuals knew about his sister. There were a few high school buddies with whom he still maintained contact who knew, but no one else. Her disappearance, and later the discovery of her body, had literally killed his parents. His family was never the same.
He remembered his mother’s faraway stare during the trial and his father’s unrelenting depression after the suspect was found guilty, but only sentenced to twenty-five years. Both parents never stopped grieving.
Two years after the trial, his mother was diagnosed with advanced breast cancer and died several months later. His father withdrew from society and committed suicide six months after Jimmie joined the military. All of these events drove him to set swimming and endurance records during his Seal training days, records that still stood within the Seal brotherhood. He silently dedicated those records to his lost sister.
When his flight was called, he stood and walked toward the gate. He didn’t know what he was going to find, but he was determined to make sure Robert Burns Jr. was never again allowed the opportunity to kidnap someone’s daughter, sister, girlfriend, or wife. He would not allow the man to destroy another family.
***
Located in Clyde Hill, Washington, east of Seattle across Lake Washington, the house was high-end, but not estate level. During his initial reconnaissance of Robert Burns Jr.’s residence and surrounding neighborhood, Gibbs drove past the house twice. Making mental notes of landscaping and neighboring homes, he determined the best approach for his next visit. Driving away from the neighborhood, he made a cell phone call. Kruger answered on the second ring.
“Kruger.”
“It’s Gibbs. Just drove by the house.”
“What do think?”
“It’s doable. Do you have the details from the Seattle field office’s search?”
“Yes, they didn’t find any evidence of a hidden safe or hidey-hole.”
“How thorough do you think they were, Sean?”
“Not sure, I’m not familiar with any of the agents out there.”
“It’s a big house. If there is a hidden safe, it might take some time to find. Possibly a few trips.”
“Too risky. If you don’t find anything on your first trip, we’ll re-think our strategy.”
“Do we know if he rents a safe deposit box anywhere?”
“If he does, it’s under a different name. That’s why I believe he has it hidden in the house somewhere.”
“Can JR find out if the house is monitored by a security company?”
“I’ll have him call you.”
“Thanks.”
An hour later, Gibbs received a call on his cell phone showing the number as Unknown. He smiled and answered.
“Jimmie, good idea about checking for security,” JR told him.
“What’d you find?”
“House is monitored both electronically and physically by a company based in Tacoma.”
“I don’t suppose you found the security password for the house?”
“Yes, their computers aren’t that secure. I’ve got it arranged so their system will not recognize the alarm being off from six p.m. tonight until six a.m. in the morning. Is that enough time?”
“Should be. What about this physical monitoring?”
“Scheduled for four in the afternoon and ten at night. Nothing else.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. What’s the code?”
JR chuckled. “Real original, his birthday backwards.” He recited the code.
“Anything else?”
“No, I’ll monitor the company tonight for you. If I see somebody getting suspicious about the house, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, JR.”
“All part of the service.”
Gibbs smiled and ended the call. He glanced at the time on his cell phone. He had time to check into his hotel, catch a few hours’ sleep and be back in the neighborhood at midnight.
***
The dense landscaping surrounding Robert Burns Jr.’s house hid Jimmie Gibbs’ approach to the rear entrance. A large deck surrounded by older cedar and fir trees was invisi
ble to prying neighbors. Dressed in black military utility pants, a black long-sleeved t-shirt accented with a black tactical vest, black socks and Reeboks, black latex gloves, black watch cap, and his face smeared with military face paint, he was invisible in the darkness.
He gained entry to the house with the aid of a specially designed tool. A small Bluetooth earbud was snug in his right ear and connected to his cellphone in a pocket of his vest. The only weapons he carried were a Walther PPK .380 ACP pistol and a Gerber auto folding combat knife.
Inside, he paused next to the door and listened. The only sound was the ticking of a massive grandfather clock somewhere in the house. With night vision goggles in place, he quickly walked to the security system panel and punched in the code JR had given him that afternoon.
The house was dark, no night lights or automatically timed lamps were in this part of the house. From plans provided by Kruger, he knew the house was bi-level. Located on the first level was a gourmet kitchen, a formal dining area, breakfast nook, living area, a master bedroom, a master bath, and a half bath near the front entrance. A three-car garage was located next to the kitchen, separated by a mudroom and laundry. Four bedrooms were upstairs, two on each side of the hall with Jack-and-Jill bathrooms between them.
After gaining his bearings on his position in the house, he headed toward the master bedroom to start his search. Time dragged as he checked the floor and walls of the walk-in-closet next to the master bedroom. Nothing. Following the same procedure, he checked all four upstairs bedrooms with the same result. Nothing.
He glanced at his black diver’s watch and noted the time was three a.m. Three hours, and nothing for his labor. His next stop was the laundry room. Nothing there, either, nor did he find anything in the garage.
With only half an hour before his self-imposed exit time of five a.m., he stood in the middle of the kitchen and surveyed the room. On a hunch, he pulled the refrigerator away from the wall.
There it was.
A recessed wall safe with a number pad for entrance.
Reaching into one of the pockets on his utility pants, he extracted a small aerosol can and sprayed the keys. The residue left by the spray glowed brighter on certain keys. The numbers touched most often standing out with the night vision goggles. He noticed a similarity to the numbers of the security system and tried the same code. The door popped open.
Flipping his goggles up, he used a small mag light to peer into the dark interior of the safe. Passports, paper currency, handguns, and a bound book could be seen. Reaching for the passports, he flipped through them. Without hesitation, he retrieved his cell phone and hit a speed dial.
Kruger answered on the second ring.
“Did you find anything?”
“Four passports, all different names. There’s cash, lots of it. Wait a second, I need to look at something.”
Replacing the passports, he extracted the book and flipped through the pages.
“Ah, shit, he’s got pictures, Sean.”
Silence was his answer. Finally, he heard, “Where did you find them?”
“Hidden safe behind the refrigerator.”
“Next question, how did you get it open?”
“Code is the same as his security system, the six digits of his birthday backwards.”
“Close it up, and I’ll send the field office back in with the excuse we know there is a safe in the kitchen somewhere.”
“Got it.”
“Jimmie?”
“Yeah.”
“Well done.”
***
Kruger ended the call with Gibbs and took a deep breath. An excuse was now needed to send the FBI back into the house to find the safe. He paced within the confines of his hotel room. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time in Springfield was a few minutes before seven. He dialed JR’s number. The call was answered on the second ring.
“Did Jimmie find something?”
“Yeah, he did.”
“Good or bad?”
“What we needed. I need something else from you.”
“Name it.”
“How hard would it be to find out if the safe Jimmie found came with the house or was installed later?”
All he heard was silence for almost a minute.
“Not sure. I can start with public records on when the house was built and by who. If it came with the house, it would be on the blueprints. If we get nothing there, I can go back into the security company’s computer and see if they installed it.”
“How long will that take?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Do it.”
Chapter 29
Washington, D.C.
George Washington University Hospital
Having been recently moved from intensive care to a room designed for easy observation, Yaakov Romanovich was still connected to monitors and IVs. Brutka and Kruger stood in the hall looking through the windows at the sleeping patient. A uniformed guard sat in a chair in front of the room’s entrance. Brutka stood with his hands behind his back as he studied the man in the bed.
“I wonder what his dreams are like.”
Kruger smiled, “Probably nothing like yours or mine.”
“Ahh… Probably not.” Brutka did not divert his eyes. “When did the doctor say I could speak to him?”
“Anytime. He’s been conscious for twenty-four hours. He’s stable.”
“Then I believe it is time to have a friendly chat.”
Both men showed identification to the guard, who wrote their names in a notebook. As they walked in, Romanovich opened an eye and saw Brutka. He stiffened and closed his eye again. Kruger stood off to the side as the Ukrainian stood by the right side of the bed.
Brutka spoke in his native language, with Kruger catching Romanovich’s name at the end of the statement.
The patient shook his head.
Brutka turned to Kruger. “I asked him if he was Yaakov Romanovich. He shakes his head like we are stupid. As I suspected, he is not smart.”
Turning his attention back to the patient, Brutka spoke in their native language again for a long time and then waited.
The man lying on the bed shook his head and said two words Kruger didn’t understand.
Brutka chuckled and turned to Kruger to explain, “He is definitely not too bright. I explained why I was here and what information I needed. He is not being cooperative and thinks we should go away.”
Kruger crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He knew from their time together in Paris ten years ago that Brutka was a highly competent interrogator.
The conversation between the two Ukrainians continued for several more minutes as Brutka’s voice grew stern. The wounded man commented less and shook his head rapidly after each question. Finally the Interpol detective pursed his lips and leaned closer to Romanovich’s ear. Kruger could not heard the conversation, but the patient’s eyes grew wide and the heart rate monitor showed a drastic increase in his pulse.
Brutka straightened and crossed his arms. He glared at the prone man.
Finally, Romanovich closed his eyes and spoke two words. “Dmitri Orlov.”
Brutka smiled and motioned for Kruger to follow him out. When they were out of hearing range of the police officer guarding the door, he turned to Kruger. “Dmitri Orlov, have you ever heard of him?”
Kruger shook his head. “Should I?”
“No, I do not believe you would have an opportunity to know this man. He is well connected in Russia. Out of my reach, but maybe not yours.”
“Explain.”
Brutka did.
Chapter 30
Hoover Building
Twenty-Four Hours Later
Carol Welch walked into the conference room followed by two assistants. She nodded at the three FBI officials already in the room, Director Paul Stumpf, Deputy Director Alan Seltzer and Sean Kruger.
A white evidence box sat in the middle of the table.
As she sat, she looked
at Sean Kruger. “Okay, what was the urgent summons all about?”
“Look in the box.” Kruger stood and pushed the box closer to the District Attorney.
She removed the lid and glanced inside. Smiling, she lifted out four passports and flipped through each one. “My, my, I was hoping for one.”
“Four, to be exact. The Austrian one is actually legit, the name isn’t, but the passport is. The rest are as fake as the names.”
She glanced back in the box and frowned.
“The book, what’s in it?”
Director Paul Stumpf cleared his throat. “Robert Burns Jr.’s key to a prison cell.”
She hesitated to touch it. Kruger smiled. “It’s been fingerprinted and all we found were his. You can look, but beware, the images are not pleasant.”
She did not touch the book. “How many?”
Kruger’s face was grim. “All six of the college women, others we knew about, many we didn’t. There’s a total of thirty. He’s been at this a while.”
“Are they identified in any way?”
Kruger nodded. “Dates and names. He was at least meticulous in his recordkeeping. This is a grim characterization, but the pictures appear to be trophies.”
“How was the evidence recovered?”
“Lawful search of his property. First search revealed nothing, then a careful review of the home’s blueprints revealed a built-in safe installed by the contractor when the house was remodeled ten years ago.” His expression remained neutral. “With this information, the Seattle Field Office secured a second search warrant. Everything was by the book, Carol.”
“Good.” She hesitated for a second. “Does it give locations of the bodies?”
Seltzer gave Welch a frown, “For the first ten, yes. After that, no.”
“When did he stop revealing the location?”
“1998. We are assuming this is the year he started paying others to hide the evidence.”
Stumpf spoke next. “I’ve sent teams of FBI agents and forensic technicians to the locations identified. We will keep you informed on what they find.”