“Dexter Thompson could be our sixth man.”
Weeks ago, Vaughn was antsy to press charges against Michael and Chase Hardeman on laundering charges. He wanted access to Hardeman Auction’s financial records, and their blacklist clientele. Being in charge of the operation, it was Laney’s decision. She convinced Vaughn to give her more time. Stalling lit a match to a slow-burning fire that smoldered between them. From the tone in Vaughn’s voice, it was clear the underlying rift was still there. Lying to him was something they had avoided talking about, at least until this threat was neutralized. Disputing his suggestion about Dax would only fuel the flame. So, Laney decided to do something she rarely did — hold her tongue. When the dust settled, she’d clear the air with Vaughn and she’d walk away from Chase for good.
Vaughn inserted the mini CD into a player then punched in the access code. Laney crossed her arms as the video appeared filtered in a green hue. Date and time stamped in the lower left corner. The point of view was from a night-vision helmet cam as it bounced across an open field with the barrel of a weapon pointed chest high. Shadows on both sides crossed in and out of frame.
“Prodigal has returned.” A voice whispered, “Mission is green.”
“Is this what I think it is?” Laney asked in a lowered voice.
Vaughn nodded, but didn’t say a word. All eyes were on the screen.
A SEAL team reached an iron gate where a hand reached out and slapped a brick of C4 against the metal. A bright flash pixelated the screen and buzzed the speakers. Gunfire erupted. Staticky audio. Jerky movements. Bullets streaked across the screen, followed by more compressive bursts. A shadow in the doorway dropped as the SEALs moved forward. More yelling and screaming. For a millisecond, the camera glanced backwards then moved swiftly into the main building.
Laney’s heart quickened once she recognized Dax standing in one of the rooms pointing a gun at a group of women and children who were huddled in a corner. Two bodies were crumpled on the floor. Laney shifted uncomfortably when Dax clutched his left shoulder. She stepped closer to the screen and tried to see if Chase was there too.
The SEAL’s helmet cam was on a swivel as he headed to the second floor. Two more bodies leaned back against a wall on the stairway. Young boys. A shadowy figure appeared at the top of the staircase. A compressive double tap and the target was neutralized. At the top of the stairs, three SEALs split up into separate rooms. Voices reported the rooms cleared. Then the feed jerked at the sound of gunfire. Up another flight of stairs and the SEAL with the helmet cam stepped out onto the roof.
Laney stopped breathing at the sight of Chase standing over a body. Even with the grainy footage, she recognized his stature and the look in his eyes as the SEAL stepped toward him.
“Prodigal’s flushed the toilet,” the SEAL said. “I repeat, Prodigal’s flushed the toilet.” A hand reached out and grabbed Chase’s shoulder. “We’re still operational so buck up, load the store, and clear out.”
When Chase disappeared from the screen, Laney realized she’d been holding her breath and exhaled slowly. She and Vaughn leaned in once the helmet cam turned toward the body sprawled out on the rooftop. Both wanted to know for sure if it was Abu Haji Fatima. Both cursed when the video feed cut out and all they were left with was an audio feed.
“I need an AED,” the SEAL said. Automated External Defibrillator. “And bring the Intracardiac injection stat.”
Another voice replied, “Roger that, Wilk.”
Neither Vaughn nor Laney budged as the room fell silent.
Vaughn cleared his throat. “Looks like Akram’s prophesy is false news.”
“We don’t know for sure if that’s Fatima,” Laney warned.
“POTUS told the world Abu Haji Fatima was dead. Here’s the proof.”
Laney’s cell buzzed. She checked a text then glanced toward Vaughn.
“Chase wants to meet.”
TWENTY-THREE
The matte-black Triumph motorcycle from Dmitry Vihkrov’s private collection rolled down the alley behind The Cave. To my right, Vaughn ducked low behind the wheel of an Expedition. Not surprising. Directly ahead, Laney waited outside of the padlocked parking lot that restricted access to what belonged to me. I wasn’t without guilt. But show me a politician, business mogul, religious leader, or a soldier of war who hadn’t bent the rules in their favor. Who was judge and jury of what was right or wrong? Without a doubt the government was far from being at the top of any saint list. I’d served my country and did what every red-blooded American would do — looked the other way when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I wanted to believe I was an innocent victim, that my choices were done out of naivety, but I couldn’t lie to myself any longer.
I slowed as Laney casually reached for her sidearm. What was she going to do, shoot me? She relaxed when I flipped open the helmet shield. We were both on edge. Without a word she slipped a helmet on, swung her leg over the seat, and wrapped her arms around my waist.
Tossing the tracker I’d found in my wallet, I gunned the throttle. Whipping through traffic, leaning into the turns on Mulholland, we were in harmony headed up the mountain toward the Hollywood Bowl Overlook, directly above the iconic amphitheater. We had ridden this route many times, but today was different. We weren’t lovers. We weren’t friends. Hell, I wasn’t sure what we were. We left the Triumph in the parking lot and walked a trail toward the edge of a plateau. A gloomy, overcast morning hung like a veil over downtown. Lost in the distance to the west was the Pacific and Catalina Island.
“Okay.” Laney stopped and grabbed my arm. “Now what?”
I jerked my arm back. “Was any of it real?”
“It got complicated. You have to—”
“Complicated is figuring out geometry,” I interrupted. Keep her off balance. “You betrayed me.”
“Why are we here, Chase?”
“You’re after the wrong people.”
“I’m not going to talk about the investigation unless you’re willing to cooperate.”
“Laney, the Vihkrovs aren’t terrorists.”
“Innocent people lost their lives. We think the Vihkrovs are involved.”
“The attack at Tanets was an attack on them as much as it was on all of us.”
“They’re the last people your father met with before—”
“You and Vaughn got him killed.”
“Chase, that’s not fair.”
“You’ve been searching for a needle in the wrong haystack,” I retorted. Set the bait. “That’s why I’m willing to offer you a new deal.”
“You’re already in the clear.”
“This isn’t about me anymore — it’s about those I’ve promised to protect.”
“Chase, stay away from the Vihkrovs.” Laney turned and started walking away, then paused as she glanced over her shoulder. “You do know Dmitry Vihkrov is a high-ranking kingpin in the Russian mob.”
“He’s not smuggling heroine in Girl Scout cookies,” I snapped. My shoulders slumped as I tried to ease the tension. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s not the one you’re after.”
Laney walked slowly back toward me. “I need to talk with Dax to know exactly what happened in the garage. If you get in the way, I won’t protect you.”
Gazing out toward Catalina, I remembered the weekends we’d spent without a care in the world. While tourists busied themselves sightseeing, we barricaded ourselves in a room overlooking the bay, only venturing out to the Brew House at happy hour. While Dad chased another deal, I was chasing love. It was easier to enjoy the perks of being Michael Hardeman’s son rather than worrying about the downward spiral of his endless treasure hunts.
Lost in Catalina sounded like a love song — with a bad hook.
“We found traces of blood leading from the garage to the back alley,” Laney said. “We’ve confirmed they’re a match to Dax.”
“He nearly died,” I admitted. “Elena saved him.”
Laney didn’t hide her surprise. “Wher
e are they?”
“In a safe place, and I intend to keep it that way.”
She waved her arms in frustration. “Chase, I’m not here to negotiate.”
“Listen to what I’m offering. You owe me that much.” My cheeks heated as a rush of anger boiled beneath my words. “You know, if you told me the truth, I’d have moved heaven and earth to help you.”
“No matter what, we both know you would’ve protected your father.”
“You’ve got Akram Kasim because of me.” I crossed my arms. Pissed. “And I thought I’d be the one to screw up what we had, not the other way around.”
“Neither of us is innocent.”
“Laney, you’ve taken everything from me. What’ve I taken from you?”
“You broke the law, Chase. Money laundering. Hiding assets. Selling artifacts stolen from a foreign government.” Her brows creased as her eyes hardened. “Someone killed Mario Robles inside that garage, and I’m guessing shot Dax too. And there’s a dozen other victims. We’re trying to stop another attack potentially worse than Tanets. So right now, I need to know why the common denominator is you.”
“Give me ten minutes with Akram,” I suggested. “You’ll have your answer.”
“It’s not that simple. You’re not a soldier anymore.”
“Yet the war stands on my doorstep.” I shifted my weight and tried to ease the edge in my voice. “Immunity for Dax and the Vihkrovs, and I’ll get you the answers you need.”
“Chase, I know what happened in Mosul.” Her eyes softened, yet she remained stern. “In Kasim’s apartment we found footage from the operation. I know why you never talked about it. You’re the one who killed the Prodigal.”
A lump lodged in my throat. “I also killed two kids who didn’t deserve to die.”
Laney’s eyes flared, as if she were putting the pieces together from the footage she’d seen. “You were trained to neutralize the target — that’s what you did.”
“Laney, I’m the one who took their lives.”
“Casualties in war are regrettable, but they’re also unavoidable.”
“I survived the war, and I’ll survive this, but I won’t do it on the sidelines.” I weighed my words heavily. “Elena has proof the crash wasn’t an accident.”
Laney’s forehead creased. “What proof?”
“An electro-disruptor. It’s a military-grade weapon designed to cut off all electronic signals within a six-mile radius on the ground and in the air.”
“High enough to deactivate a plane,” she added.
“No power — no chance.”
“Do the Vihkrovs have this device?”
I shook my head. “It’s being sold on the dark web.”
“You need to tell me what you know.”
“Vaughn was on the manifest and then he was off, and you did nothing.”
“Chase, I’m convinced it was the other way around.”
“I’m your only shot at stopping what happens next.” Raising my hands in surrender, I added, “Here I am, offering myself as a pawn.”
“Chase, this isn’t a game.”
“Do we have a deal?” Lowering my hands, I dug one hand in my pocket, felt the Level 10 malware thumb drive with my right index finger, and teetered on whether to hand it over. Instead, I pressed a bit harder. “Akram’s always been a middle man, not the mastermind.”
“With Fatima dead, he might be more than that.” Laney tilted her head as our eyes met. I’m sure she expected me to agree, but my silence sent a different message. She asked in a faint voice, “What do you need from me?”
“Access to The Cave to get my gear, and I need you to find Commander Brian Wilkins. He was the SEAL team leader that night in Mosul. He’s the only one who can verify whether the Prodigal survived.”
“If I refuse, where does that leave us?”
“On opposite sides.”
TWENTY-FOUR
STUDIO LOT, BURBANK
“Chase, jump in.” Levowitz sat behind the wheel of a custom Bentley golf cart. “I’m running late for a meeting, so we only have a few minutes.”
With his million-dollar smile, he greeted everyone who worked the backlot amid the giant sound stages, each one named after sitcoms, primetime hits, industry legends, and iconic feature films. He punched the gas once we paralleled the wash. On the other side was Forest Lawn, where Dad was buried.
“Mr. Levowitz, thank you for meeting with me.”
“You sounded serious. Must be important.” He swerved around a catering truck, then cut down an alley lined with bungalow-style production offices. “Hard to believe I’ve been here for twenty years. You know, it’s like running an amusement park searching for the one attraction people want to ride again and again.”
“So it’s not about cranking out the next billion-dollar blockbuster?”
“Well, it’s more than dreams, visions, ideas, egos, and pain-in-the-ass talent. I’ll green light a project for the right price and the highest return, but it must be entertaining.”
“I’m sure your stockholders are impressed, considering how you handled Silicon Swindler.” We both laughed. “If that’s how you roll, you’re the right man for the job.”
“His eyes were a dead giveaway.” Levowitz chuckled. “No poker face.”
“And the drool was hard to miss.”
“My mom used to say stew in a cauldron is hard to leave simmering. It’s always the ones with the most who are in such a hurry to eat it all.” Levowitz parked the golf cart to one side of the alley. “Chase, what can I do for you?”
“I’m selling Bird Street,” I answered. “Cleaning up the mess Dad left behind.”
“Understandable to want a fresh start.”
“I promised you’d be the first to know.”
Levowitz shifted in his seat. “What’s the asking price?”
“Four million. No agents. All cash. No contingencies.”
“Sounds fair.” Levowitz waved at the driver of a Porsche as it drove by, an actor or producer I didn’t recognize, then shook my hand. “Consider it done.”
“There is one other reason why I wanted to meet. Growing up Dad talked about lost treasures and legends from as early as I can remember. Many of which were never written about in any history book. He was always chasing the next deal, even those most believed were myths. Not only was he a great storyteller, but he could sell a timeshare in the desert to an Eskimo. A lot of people thought chasing those myths was crazy, until he found the Renaldt Royale Bessler and auctioned it in Vegas for thirty million.”
“He sounds eccentric and charismatic.” Levowitz checked his watch. “I suppose we’ve all chased after those treasures we believe will one day define us.”
“Mr. Levowitz, how would you like to broadcast the greatest auction of all time?” I second guessed myself the moment I asked the question. Legend or not, there was no going back. “Imagine the wealthiest people in the world emptying their war chests for one shot at the most valuable collectible in history.”
“What treasure could garner the world’s stage?”
“The Rossino Otto.”
TWENTY-FIVE
BEL-AIR, CA – LATE MORNING
I arrived at Uncle Randy’s to pick up the 1937 Mercedes-Benz. Without Dax to help load and haul the multi-million-dollar 540 K Special Roadster, the short jaunt to Beverly Hills behind the wheel of this legendary automobile seemed like the easiest way.
Nothing like making a grand entrance.
The straight eight-cylinder beast roared to life, rumbling and vibrating through my bones. Leaning back in the soft leather seat, I pulled out from the narrow driveway, then headed a few miles south. Seated behind the wheel of this collectible was an escape from being on the ropes in the last round. I wasn’t knocked out, but my legs were shaky.
Before leaving the Hollywood Bowl Overlook, the deal with Laney was done. I wasn’t an informant or a recruit. And she wasn’t my handler either. We needed each other to get the answers we wanted, an
d this was the only way. Nothing more, nothing less. Those words repeated in my mind, but I knew it was never that black and white.
By the time I dropped her off at The Cave, Vaughn was leaning against the SUV with his arms crossed. How she explained our conversation to him was on her, and she knew the only way the deal worked was if she kept what I agreed to do a secret in exchange for immunity for Dax and the Vihkrovs. Cross that line — betray me one more time — and I’d cut loose. This time I’d disappear for good. Better to leverage the Feds than trust a woman who’d deceived and shattered my heart. Stay close to the investigation, and with any luck I’d steal a piece of the Hardeman legacy back.
With the Level 10 malware thumb drive burning a hole in my pocket, the decision to keep it close to the vest was easier than anticipated. It was dangerous, even reckless. A page out of Dad’s playbook to keep one step ahead of the end.
Heads turned as the rolling sculpture cruised down a runway of wealth and power on Doheny. For a moment, a vision struck where all the pieces of life fit perfectly. A world where success as a deal maker garnered respect, influence, accolades, and notoriety within the world of high-end collectors. Holding the reins of the Hardeman legacy alongside Dad on the world’s stage was a childhood fairytale. Father and son, conquering the odds, living the great American dream, and proving all the naysayers wrong. Then I blinked.
Damn, what a life that would’ve been.
Legacies are unearthed in the opening words of fables from another time. The hallowed halls of Washington scripted Dad’s once-upon-a-time quest. Leveraging the political elite fueled his thirst for power and led to building a family dynasty through good deals, bad deals, and deals that tempted the inside of a confessional. And with any legend, there is one common belief — a last chance for victory.
Blood, sweat, and tears turned Dad into the greatest auctioneer that ever lived.
Blurred ethics, handshake promises, and millions off the books cost him his soul.
Son, if someone points the barrel of a gun at you, never hesitate.
The Auctioneer Page 10