by William Cook
“And it gets worse, Lester. No sooner did we learn Ethan Steele’s identity, than we were told he was found dead in his motel room today, the victim of an apparent suicide. He left no note. So far, the police have not been able to find any evidence that he had the resources to support his bizarre lifestyle on the super-yacht Elysium. Because of this, they have named David Steele, his father, as a person of interest and are seeking him for questioning. But Steele has dropped off the map—whereabouts unknown. And this only deepens the mystery.”
“Laurel, what does this mean for Steele’s bid to become the next President of the United States?”
“I think it’s safe to say his candidacy is dead in the water. For someone running on a ‘transparency to end government corruption’ ticket, this news about a criminal son no one knew he had comes as a drone strike. No Presidential hopeful could survive the kind of scrutiny he’ll be subjected to in the days and weeks ahead. That is, if he ever comes forward for questioning. And the longer he delays, the worse it looks for him. Back to you, Lester.”
“To our viewers, we will have exclusive footage aboard the ship Elysium, the centerpiece of this enigmatic story, later in the broadcast. Now we take you to our correspondent, Timothy Rafferty, in Orlando, Florida. Tim?”
THURSDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 21, 2019. “We have to do this by the book, Charley. I shouldn’t have to tell you that. We’ll call Newport and get backup. Maybe the SWAT team. But I get it. If this guy had messed up Diana, I’d want to beat the snot out of him, too. You just can’t let your anger go there.”
“And why’s that, Ma? Why can’t I wipe the sidewalk with his face?”
Esperanza ignored the jab. “This Russian is our ticket to Volkov—our only ticket. You know that. Turn him, and for the first time, we’ll be in the driver’s seat to take that sonofabitch down. Offer him anything—total immunity, witness protection—whatever the dumb shit wants. If he goes State’s evidence, we have our first real shot at Vasily Volkov.”
Whitehorse sighed, then ground his teeth. “I know you’re right, goddamn it.” He clenched both fists. “Maybe just one roundhouse punch?”
“No harm in that. Maybe even two. But first, let’s get this guy.”
“I gotta admit. I feel a little weird about this. It was like Volkov already had it arranged with him. Like it was part of the deal. Is it a trap? Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”
“Or is it that tracker sense of yours? I swear, Spiderman could take lessons from you.”
When the phone rang, Chiara answered. A look of shock flashed over her face as she pointed her finger at Whitehorse. “It’s that Russian you’re talking about—Alyosha Pro-…whatever! For you!”
He lifted the receiver. “Officer Whitehorse here. To whom am I speaking?”
“Officer Whitehorse, this is Alyosha Preobrazhensky. I believe we have some unfinished business.”
“I’ll say we do, you sonofabitch!”
“Believe me, I took no pleasure in harming your fiancée. I trust she is recovering satisfactorily?”
“She’ll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. You and I have a score to settle.”
“Indeed we do. That is why I asked Mr. Volkov to give you my address.”
“What?”
“We need to meet. Please do not be alarmed. I have no explosives hidden in the house. There will be no need for sirens and snipers and all those things you Americans are so fond of. We will sit like civilized men and talk.”
“And why would I want to talk with a scumbag like you?”
“Perhaps you would shrive me? An old man has so many dark sins to confess.”
Whitehorse was speechless.
“I will take your silence as affirmation. I hope to see you soon. The front door will be unlocked.”
Whitehorse pulled the phone away from his ear as the man hung up. “Did you hear that?”
Esperanza put the other phone down. “Sure did. That is one crazy dude. A real Russian fruitcake.”
“But a dangerous one.”
“You got that right. FBI credits him with 148 kills, and that’s just the ones they know about. And he talks so slow and sweet and calm. Like he’s about to give you the one Christmas gift you’ve always wanted your whole life.” He grunted. “Like if Mr. Rogers surrendered to the Dark Side.”
“Ouch! Now I’ve got to get that image out of my head! Crap, partner. Have mercy.”
“I think we’re both fresh out of mercy. And time. Let’s go get that bastard.”
Chiara’s mouth turned into a frown and her eyes looked as if she might burst into tears. “Be safe, guys. Please. Remember you both have to walk me down the aisle at my wedding this summer.”
Whitehorse nodded as he reached for his coat. “And you’re coming to mine in September.”
Esperanza made a point of looking directly into her eyes. “We’ll be fine. Keep the home fires burning.”
The house was a modest ranch on the south side of town, away from the water, in a residential neighborhood that didn’t cater to summer rentals. Crocuses were beginning to push their purple and white heads from the moist earth in the small flower garden that lined the back of the white picket fence. The sun shone briefly before the gray clouds swallowed it again.
Whitehorse pulled in behind the black Mercedes in the driveway to prevent any escape, although he didn’t believe the Russian would try to run.
Esperanza scratched the stubble on his chin. “This is where it ends? You spend your life killing people all over the globe, and you wind up in a starter home like this in Nowheresville?”
“I guess being an assassin isn’t all glory and glamor after all.”
Both men drew their service weapons as they approached the front door. Esperanza tapped his partner on the shoulder. “Do we really trust this sonofabitch? Is he gonna blow us to bits? Are they gonna find pieces of us all over hell and gone, like they did that fucker Drake?”
“I don’t think so, man. As much as I hate this sonofabitch, he didn’t want Chloe to die. He had her call 911.”
“That just proves he’s a nut job, not that he doesn’t want both of us dead. Shall we kick the door down?”
“Nope.” Whitehorse reached out and rang the doorbell.
“Jesus, Charley! That just took two years off my life! Crap! Give me some warning before you go all-in next time.”
“Come in. The door is unlocked,” came the accented voice from inside.
“Sweet mother,” breathed Esperanza.
The men entered a dim hallway that led to a living room beyond.
“This way, gentlemen. I will not hurt you.”
They found the Russian sitting in an upholstered chair, his pistol resting on the arm of the chair by his right hand.
“Put your hands behind your head now!” shouted Esperanza. “Get down on your knees!” He and Whitehorse had their guns trained on him.
“I will do no such thing. And stop shouting. If I reach for my gun, you will be obliged to fire, and either you or I will die. In either case, we will miss our opportunity to talk. Please sit there on the sofa. Let us chat.”
Esperanza stole a glance at his partner. “I don’t trust this sonofabitch as far as we can throw him. What say we shoot him in the arm so he can’t grab his gun and take him down?”
“Please, gentlemen. Do it if you must, but I will be as silent as that vulgar boy was when he was arrested. And who is to say I do not have another gun hidden by my left hand, forcing you to take more lethal action than you intend?”
Whitehorse spat in frustration. “Is everything a goddamn game with you Russians?”
“All of life is a game, Officer Whitehorse. All of life.” Whitehorse heard a note of melancholy in the words, as if they were a lament rather than a declaration.
Reluctantly, both policemen sat down, while keeping their guns pointed at their adversary.
“Talk,” snapped Whitehorse.
“As I indicated on the phone, I found it unpleasant to
hurt Chloe. Please accept my sincerest apology.” He looked at both men, who sat stone-faced before him. “I think all jobs have duties we would rather avoid. I am sure being a policeman is no different. There are things you must find distasteful about it.” When he received no response, he continued.
“You are good at what you do. You destroyed one of the biggest plans Vas—Mr. Volkov—has ever developed. Imagine if the head of our family—our empire—had the ear of the most powerful man in the world! More than the ear—had absolute control over! Intoxicating, is it not?”
Whitehorse harrumphed. “For bottom-dwelling scum-suckers like you, I guess. But I think we’d call that delusions of grandeur. Never would have happened.”
Preobrazhensky chuckled. “So smart and yet so naïve. It would have been inevitable. We had field staffs—action teams—already set up in every State. Every State! Beginning to canvass neighborhoods. Starting telephone campaigns. Planning a blitz of advertising on all media. The release of his book outlining all his policies and how he would pay for them. Rallies and town halls. Debates. Steele would have been a juggernaut were it not for you.”
“That kind of money would have been more than Volkov could have raised even if his drug business was three times what it is,” Esperanza declared.
A chuckle escaped the old man’s lips. “There is so much you do not know.”
The smile on the Russian’s face was an irritant pushing Whitehorse to the limit. “Why did he even bother with Ethan?”
The smile left his face. “I warned Vas. ‘There are too many weak links in the chain,’ I told him. The crabbers, the girl, that insufferable Ethan. I wanted him to kill the boy and be done with it, but Vas wanted him alive to maintain leverage over Steele. Ah, well. As they say, ‘If wishes were horses…’”
“But there’s something else,” Whitehorse persisted. “How did Volkov and Steele get together in the first place? What did Steele have that Volkov wanted? We’re missing something here.”
The smile returned. “You may have to ask him that yourself.”
“Or maybe you’ll remember if the price is right?” Whitehorse grimaced. “Give us your boss and you get your life back. You walk. Total immunity. Witness protection. Any goddamn thing you want. As sick as that makes me feel.”
“Are you able to make such an offer? Does that not exceed your authority?”
“We’ll make it happen. I promise you. Volkov is our real target.”
“Indeed. He is quite elusive. Why would I wish harm to a man who has treated me as a brother for decades?”
“So you wouldn’t have to spend the rest of your life behind bars. How’s that for starters?”
“I am afraid that is not much of an incentive. As both of you can see, I am an old man. I am certain a prison sentence would be quite brief.”
“Then what would you like? Name it, goddamn it.”
“Desperation does not become you, Officer Whitehorse. There is nothing you could offer to persuade me to betray my only friend in the world. I have committed many sins in my long life, but disloyalty is not one of them.”
“OK. Then we’re done here. Nice talking to you, asshole.” He looked directly into Preobrazhensky’s eyes. “Extend your arms real slow so we can handcuff you. Don’t get cute.”
The light seemed to drain from the room. The walls were closing in. Whitehorse felt as though the temperature were dropping, and the hair stood up along the back of his neck. His nostrils filled with the scent of stale coffee and something else he couldn’t name. His heart began to pound.
The Russian stared back. “We come to the denouement at last. The conclusion of our business. Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” His right hand flashed toward his gun, fumbling it in his crippled fingers.
With the instinctive response of muscle memory and intensive practice, both policemen fired their weapons at body mass. Six rounds pierced Preobrazhensky’s chest and blew stuffing out the back of the chair. The Russian sat back, his head lolling to the side. A trickle of blood dripped from his mouth, and a much larger spill gushed from his wounds. The Makarov dropped to the floor. He tried to form words but coughed up more blood. Whitehorse leaned in.
“What are you saying? What do you have for us?”
“Thank you,” he said, as his body went limp.
47. An Act of Faith
SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 2019. “I can’t tie a damn bowtie to save my life!”
Chloe grabbed him by the shoulders. “Just be still, Detective. I’ll do it for you.” She picked up the ends of the black silk and began to weave her magic.
“Detective. Wow, how I love the sound of that word. Still not used to it.”
“I drove by the building site yesterday, and it’s coming right along. Maybe by spring of next year.”
“Till then we have this mobile unit—a damn trailer—sitting in our parking lot. That takes some getting used to, I can tell you that.”
“Are you getting used to having a new boss? That must be different.” She tightened the knot and straightened the tie around his collar.
“McAllister seems OK. She’s not micromanaging me and Tony. Gives us a lot of free rein. I’m beginning to like her.” He looked into the mirror. “Fine job, sweetie. By the way, you look stunning.”
She spun around before the glass. “Thank you, my love. You just keep practicing for our day next month.”
“Got it covered. Till then, Tony and I will give Chiara the best sendoff we can. I feel so honored that she chose us to give her away to Sammy. I haven’t had the pleasure yet of doing that with my own daughter. I wish Sally would get her act together!”
“She’s building a great career for herself, and you know she’s happy doing it.”
“That’s all that counts, I guess. Can you pin this boutonnière on me?”
“I’m surprised you know what it’s called. You really are practicing. Here you go.”
She fixed the flower on his lapel, stepped back to look, then rushed forward and embraced him. “I love you so much, mister.”
He kissed her lips for a long breathing minute.
“Easy, partner. You keep that up and I’ll be stripping those clothes right back off you.”
“I hope that’s a promise. A wedding, champagne, and thou. It’s shaping up to be a perfect day.”
They were heading to the Dundee Hills in Yamhill County, to the Pinot Blossom Estate, in the heart of wine country. In recent years, the vineyard had become especially popular for weddings, and not only because it provided unparalleled views of the Willamette Valley, but because the owners offered the bride the option of arriving at her wedding in a horse-drawn carriage.
Esperanza and Whitehorse, decked out in their tuxedos, now sat with Chiara in the carriage on the hill above the wedding, waiting for the final guests to arrive. A warm sun shone down on them, among vines heavy-laden with cone-shaped clusters of grapes. In the blue distance, the snow-covered peak of Mt. Hood rose like a shark’s tooth above the horizon. To the north of it, the flattened dome of Mt. Saint Helen’s looked like a sailor’s Dixie Cup.
Whitehorse saw Chiara fidgeting in her spectacular white gown. She had dyed her hair white to go with the dress, and she sported a new pair of hot pink tennis shoes that peeked from underneath. Her sleeves of tattoos gleamed in stark contrast to her pearl-like finery. “You OK, honey? You look as nervous as a cat.”
“My heart is pounding, Charley. It’s hard to catch my breath. I thought that since Sammy and I have been living together, this would be a piece of cake, but it’s not. This raises it to a whole new level. I’m scared to death!”
Esperanza smiled. “I felt the same way when I married Diana. And I’ve got just the solution.” He withdrew a silver flask from under his coat. “Just a little Irish whiskey to take the edge off.”
“Tony, are you contributing to the delinquency of a minor? What will her mother say?”
“Who’s telling my mother?” Chiara said, as she grabbe
d the flask. She tilted it up and took one swallow. The grimace on her face told the story. “Whew! That’ll do it, for sure!” She handed it back to Esperanza, who joined her in a shot.
“You better do this, too, Charley. Keep those butterflies down. You’re looking a little pale.”
Whitehorse followed suit. “OK. Our lips are sealed. Put it away before anyone sees us.”
The carriage driver came around the side. “I’ve just been given the signal to proceed. Are you ready, Miss?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s do it!”
“Excellent. Steady yourself. There may be a little jolt at the start.” He climbed into his seat and gave a brief shake of the reins. As the carriage lurched forward, all three occupants laughed.
“We’re on our way, Chiara, to the most important day of your life.” Whitehorse reached out and touched her hand. “Thanks again for this honor.”
Esperanza echoed his words. “Me, too. This is a red-letter day for me.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys in my life. You’re family. And I’m the happiest, luckiest girl in the world.”
The carriage rolled slowly down the hill along the well-worn path between the vines. They were silent together, each lost in thought, rocking to the motion of their ride. For a moment, Whitehorse was distracted by memories of how difficult the year had been for him. The murders of friends by the crabbers, the harrowing pursuit of Patricia Carmody, the grievous assault on his wife and her painful road to recovery, the death of her attacker, and the end of a presidential candidacy before it had barely begun. He sighed, recalling that David Steele had never shown his face again. Police thought he might have gotten out of the country, but no one was certain. Had Volkov eliminated another “link?” Whitehorse ground his teeth at the fact that Volkov was still there in Portland, orchestrating his empire of crime, untouched. What had he gotten from Steele? What was the missing piece?