The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  FORTY-NINE

  VAN NUYS AIRFIELD — 2 AM

  The Vihkrovs jet waited on the tarmac as the Mercedes-Maybach S650 Cabriolet rolled to a stop inside the hangar. Across the airfield, a quarter mile away, Uncle Randy’s own hangar remained empty since Vaughn confiscated the Artifacts of Exile. That was the night I thought Laney and I were fugitives — on the run before love betrayed and trust unraveled. While we were together now, searching for answers, it was a far cry from who we were before that night.

  Elena’s long strides crossed the hangar. Barely out of the car, her lips pressed against mine. She handed me an overnight bag, glancing over my shoulder at Laney who stepped around the front of the Mercedes. Neither woman was intimidated by the other — like fire and ice — escalating the stalemate toward a Game of Thrones series finale bloodbath.

  Laney offered an obligatory, “The Bureau appreciates your help.”

  “Chase is family.” Elena rested her hand on my lower back. “I trust your government will continue to appreciate our good will on his behalf.”

  “Better get wheels up.” I tapped my wrist. “Time is ticking.”

  Elena turned and spoke in Russian to her bodyguards who wheeled a crate toward the jet’s cargo hold. A low purr grew into a steady growl as the crate rolled by with a mysterious beast caged inside. Knowing the Vihkrovs, and their lifestyle, it was an unspoken rule to never ask what was in the box. But I had to admit, it felt like I was backstage at a circus.

  Laney turned her back to us and boarded the jet.

  “Payment to an associate,” Elena explained, knowing my curiosity was peaked. “A jaguar from the Amazon.”

  I nodded, as if it was simply baggage. “I need to speak to McIntyre.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “She will not agree to a meeting.”

  “There are photos of Fatima dead at a crash site after the SEAL team took him from the compound. McIntyre was in charge of the operation. She mapped out the plan in detail, and she watched every second.”

  “You believe she is responsible?”

  “Three hours ago I looked into Fatima’s eyes. I need to know if McIntyre was the one who doctored those photos and gave them to Uncle Randy. If it wasn’t her, then maybe she knows who helped Fatima escape and hide the last two years.”

  “I will do my best.” Elena leaned in and kissed my cheek. An aroma of cocoa butter emanating from her soft skin filled my nostrils. “Be careful, Chase.”

  By the time I boarded the jet, Laney was already seated. Her eyes remained closed as I slumped into a plush leather seat across from her. In that moment I would’ve traded places with the Amazon jaguar below.

  One of Elena’s bodyguards was last to board as he pulled the door closed. He sat in the back of the cabin and never spoke or acknowledged our presence. But from the bulge underneath his jacket, it was clear he was there as protection.

  Was it to protect me from the jaguar or Laney?

  The jet taxied along the tarmac, accelerated, and was airborne. As we ascended, the pressure in my ears intensified a lingering migraine. My eyes drifted out the window as the city lights and busy freeways disappeared beneath the clouds. From a young age, I’d flown with Dad all over the world. To me it was like riding in a car — I was never afraid. Never. But tonight, I was on edge, anxious for the short flight to be over.

  Once we were at cruising altitude, I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed the overnight bag, and slipped past the Russian into a sleeping quarters at the rear of the cabin. I pulled the door closed, dropped the bag on the bed and unzipped it. Inside was a much-needed change of clothes, and beneath the clothes was twenty thousand in cash and a forty-five. After a quick change, I stuffed the cash into an inner pocket of a zipped hoodie and tucked the forty-five behind my back.

  Returning to my seat, I tried to relax and ease my aching bones. Within minutes, my eyes grew heavy as I slipped into a dream state — somewhere between sleep, staying awake, and unconsciously being aware of my surroundings. My fingers gripped the armrest tight as images hallucinated behind my eyelids.

  At first, Laney was seated across from me when the jet shook and swayed from side to side. Shuddering turbulence rocked the aircraft as the point of view cut to me looking into the eyes of Dad now seated where Laney had been. He didn’t look afraid, no he seemed quite calm. Reaching out my hand, I tried to grab him, but no matter how far I leaned forward he stayed out of reach. Pressure weighed on my shoulders as the jet nosedived and the g-force grew unbearable. Keeping my gaze on Dad, he looked back at me with those grayish eyes that had always brought comfort.

  I will always love you, son.

  With a jerk, my eyes opened as I let go of the armrests. My heart pumped rapidly, my hands shook, and I felt beads of sweat slide down the side my neck seeping over the stitches. All the while, the jet cruised smoothly at fourteen thousand feet.

  “Chase, are you okay?” Laney asked.

  I tried to bury the nightmare beneath the surface. “I’m fine.”

  Her eyes never left me. “Russell said you disappeared in Baghdad.”

  “After Sarina introduced us to Akram, it was the next step.”

  “What happened during those days?”

  “At the hospital, Akram pulled a hood over my head, pushed me into a vehicle with at least one other man, and drove about an hour outside Baghdad to a small village. I was kept inside a heavily guarded house and questioned by Akram for three straight days.”

  “Were you tortured?”

  “I was given hallucinogens.” Shifting uncomfortably in my seat, I allowed myself to unlock what I’d kept hidden. “I would’ve told them everything if it hadn’t been for Sarina. Before every encounter with Akram, she snuck into the house and injected me with a serum. No clue what it was, but when Akram arrived, he was convinced he had the upper hand. While he interrogated me for hours — tried to beat the truth out of me — I acted drugged and lied with every answer.

  “That’s why he never suspected…”

  “If Sarina hadn’t been there, I’d be dead. No question.” I’d never talked about those days, not even to Elena or Dax. For the first time I realized something. “I used Sarina — like you used me. I guess we’re not that different, you and me.”

  FIFTY

  SCOTTSDALE, AZ

  Across the street from Sweet Lou’s Saloon on Main Street, the last of the line-dancing, Memphis-ribs-eating, beer-guzzling patrons stumbled onto the sidewalk. It was nearly 3AM, well past the mandatory closing hour. But we weren’t there to police the joint. From inside an SUV our eyes were on identifying Sarah Rostom, one of Sweet Lou’s bartenders — AKA, Sarina Fatima.

  The nightmare from the flight and brief exchange with Laney left my mind racing with what if she wasn’t a Fed, hadn’t lied, and wasn’t indirectly responsible for Dad’s death. Maybe it would’ve turned out different if she’d told me the truth. At least it would’ve given me a chance to warn Dad. Then again, I was the one who lit a spark in Mosul that raged into an inferno threatening to burn down the forest.

  Our love wasn’t strong enough to bind threads of unforgiveness. A fairytale romance wasn’t going to end in a happily ever after with a walk down the aisle or children’s laughter warming a home. We were over, no matter where we ended up at the end of all this. Dad’s death would forever remain the root that cracked our foundation.

  To think, there would never come a day when Dad stood beside me at my wedding, roared with laughter with his grandkids, or saw me be the man I’d yet to become. Grief waged a war in my soul, fueling a burning desire for revenge. A thirst I feared would leave in its wake a more-costly suffering.

  “What’d you mean by a mistake?” I asked.

  “Huh?”

  “On the beach, you said it was a mistake.”

  Seated behind the wheel, Laney sighed. “I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Because I got too close to you, people died.”

  “We both bear that cross — but what we had was real.”

/>   “In another life, under different circumstances, it was perfect.”

  “You blindsided me.”

  “I’m sorry, Chase.”

  Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. A rupturing trifecta, buried beneath melancholy.

  “Why didn’t you trust me?” I guess she could ask the same of me.

  A woman of Middle Eastern descent, mid-thirties, stepped out into the brisk desert wind and walked toward a Jeep. Laney peered through the binoculars, but I didn’t need confirmation. Sarina had a pronounced limp, a wound from disobeying Fatima’s iron rule. Laney waited until the Jeep drove by then pulled a U-turn, keeping far enough back while tailing the Jeep down mostly empty streets.

  A few miles up the road, the Jeep turned into a neighborhood lined with modest tract homes. Street lights cast a dull glow over the single-story homes with their no-mow front yards. A block away, Laney slowed the SUV, killed the lights, and watched Sarina climb from the Jeep and enter the house. With the streets deserted, Laney drove the SUV forward until it blocked the Jeep in the driveway.

  “I’ll take the front,” she said.

  I slipped out the passenger side and cut through a side gate. A doorbell rang inside the house. Instinctively, I reached for the forty-five but thought twice. Sarina wasn’t Akram or Fatima. She wanted out — a new life — but that didn’t mean she’d be thrilled to see me.

  In the backyard, a sliding-glass door opened and a shadow stepped out. I froze near a shed, unsure of whether she’d seen me. Another doorbell rang. Sarina dashed toward a back fence, then her shadow turned to stone as a flashlight beamed across the yard. Laney stepped forward holding her FBI badge in front of the light.

  “Sarina, I’m Agent Kelley. FBI.”

  The calmness in Laney’s voice wasn’t enough.

  “Alsifara,” I said. Embassy.

  It was the code word I’d given her to escape Mosul.

  She whispered back, “Hamar Alhimar.” Donkey’s ass.

  Laney turned the flashlight on me. Blinded by the beam, I curved my hand over my eyes. “Sarina, can we go back inside, please?”

  She marched across the yard into the house. Laney passed by, and I swear even in the darkness a smugness pursed her lips. I followed them inside before sliding the glass door closed.

  Sarina turned on a light in a mostly bare kitchen, then stood on the other side of a counter staring intently in my direction.

  “You promised American dream,” she said. “Not life in desert.”

  There was no comparison between Mosul and Scottsdale for God’s sake, but reminding her of that fact would leave her less cooperative.

  “We’re here because you’re in danger,” I said.

  “All I do is pour drinks for dirty old men. That is life now.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Akram was arrested in Los Angeles.”

  “I betrayed him. Why do I care?”

  “He wasn’t alone,” I pressed. “Has anyone from Mosul contacted you?”

  “No one.”

  Sarina glared at me, reached inside a purse, then retrieved a lighter and cigarette. She flicked the Bic. Took a long drag. Exhaled a cloud of smoke through her nostrils that evaporated into the dingy yellow walls.

  “We need to show you a picture,” Laney set the photo on the counter and stepped back, allowing Sarina a moment to take it in.

  Why hadn’t she shown me the photo? I peered over Sarina’s shoulder to see Fatima and his men standing in the desert posing for the camera with their rifles and missile launchers. Laney asked the obvious. “Do you know these men?”

  Sarina pointed out each one. “Abdul, Sami, Omar, Fareed, Akram…” she stopped before saying Fatima’s name. “All with him?”

  “Akram is the only one left alive.” Laney pointed to the woman in the photo hidden behind a hijab. “Is that you standing next to your husband?”

  “Abu is dead. What does it matter?” Sarina reached into a cabinet and pulled out the only mug on a bare shelf. She poured water from the sink faucet into a kettle, turned on a burner, and kept her gaze on the stove. “Your government supplied guns and rockets to him.”

  I held up my hand before Laney asked the question again. “What do you mean by guns and rockets?”

  “Many months an American woman brought them for Abu to use against the military.”

  “Do you remember her name? Was it McIntyre?”

  Sarina ignored me and grabbed a tea bag from a cookie jar. Once the water boiled, she poured a cup as calmly as if we were old friends.

  “She was the same woman who helped me escape after I took her to a village where Abu hid the weapons. She asked about one that stopped electricity.”

  Electro-disruptor.

  Sarina drank her tea and eyed the photo. “We crossed the border to Kuwait, and she left me at an American base. I never saw her face again.”

  “We need your help to convince Akram to cooperate,” Laney said. “We believe there is another attack planned.”

  Sarina set the mug down and slumped onto a barstool. “I cannot help you.”

  Turning toward Laney, I knew we’d hit a brick wall. “Give us a minute.”

  Laney didn’t argue as she stepped into the other room.

  I sat next to Sarina, my hand reaching out and touching hers. Looking up at me with eyes of a woman who had survived the unspeakable, she whispered, “McIntyre said never speak of Abu to anyone or I will die.”

  “I’m not going to let that happen, I promise.” Unzipping the zipper of my hoodie, I pulled out the envelope with twenty grand. “Your husband is alive.” I scribbled my cell on the envelope. “You need to run as far from here as possible. If you need me, I will answer.”

  Sarina shivered, clearly distraught. “I have seen him in my dreams.”

  “Then you know the evil that flows through his veins.”

  “Akram will never betray Abu.” Sarina’s shaking finger tapped the photo. “He is in love with this woman.”

  “Who is she?”

  FIFTY-ONE

  “TAMA.”

  Sarina stepped around the counter and opened a bare pantry. She grabbed a go bag — clothes, false IDs, cash, unregistered gun — and stuffed the twenty grand inside, zipped it up, and swung the backpack over her shoulder.

  “In Arabic her name means thunder,” she said. “She is Abu’s youngest sister, taken by the government and trained in the Iraqi Presidential Guard.”

  “All those times you visited your mother at Ibna Sina,” I replied, putting the pieces together, “Akram joined you so he could see her?”

  “Abu forbade it.” Sarina’s eyes welled up. “I was a barren woman who lost him to another, so I chose to believe in love, not for me, but for Akram and Tama.”

  “If we take you to Akram, you can convince him.”

  She shook her head. “He will know I betrayed them.”

  “Even after all this time, they are still loyal to Abu?”

  “To the grave.” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “I must warn you, Akram and Abu are fighters, but Tama — she is a warrior.”

  “I’m forever in your debt, Sarina.” I tried to wrap my mind around what this meant, knowing that Laney was listening from the other room. “You kept me alive in Mosul.”

  “Now you have done the same.” Behind her tears a slight smile emerged. “You are still a donkey’s ass.” She walked over, wrapped her arms around me, and hugged tight. In a hushed voice, she said, “I pray you have the strength to finish what has begun.”

  “Russell, we don’t have seven minutes.” Laney entered the kitchen with her cell pressed firmly against her ear. She glanced toward the backyard. My eyes followed. Red lights swept across the windows. “We need to move, now.”

  Grabbing Sarina by the arm, I pulled her alongside and followed Laney’s lead as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. I reached for the forty-five and flipped the safety off. In seven minutes this would be over — or worse, we’d be dead.

  In the st
illness of the morning, the sliding-glass door to the backyard opened. My grip tightened on Sarina’s arm. She didn’t resist. This wasn’t the streets of Mosul, but that didn’t mean this wouldn’t end in bloodshed. We slipped into an empty bedroom where Laney peered through a crack in the blinds. I kept the forty-five aimed at the top of the stairs. Sarina unzipped her backpack and pulled out a semi-automatic handgun. Now we’re talking.

  “Is there access to the attic?” Sarina shook her head. Laney relayed the news to Vaughn in a hushed tone and urged, “Get them here ASAP.”

  Laney hung up as we held each other’s gaze, knowing there was no way out. My ears tuned in to the blaring noise of silence, listening for the slightest disturbance. A red beam bounced across the walls from the stairway. I nudged the door closed slightly. Laney moved away from the window, stepped in front of Sarina who held her semi-automatic by her side, then backed them into a corner on the opposite side of the door. A fatal funnel. They’d be the last thing the intruders would see when they burst into the room.

  Crouching low behind the door, I breathed in deep, and readied myself. I closed my eyes and listened intently. First, it was a creak in the stairs. Second, it was a whisper. Third, the door cracked open. A barrel of an AR-15 poked between the door and trim. Laney pointed her weapon straight ahead as a boot stepped into the opening. I fired once into the intruder’s foot. He stumbled forward, and Laney shot him between the eyes.

  A hail of gunfire ripped through the door. Using the dead man’s body for cover, I fired back aimlessly. Sarina unloaded a rattle of ammo toward a second intruder at the top of the stairs until he was down. Surreal to see her back fighting in the desert — but this time she wasn’t enslaved by Fatima.

  Laney kept close to the wall with Sarina on her heels. Scrambling to my feet, I shot a quick glance toward the stairs, then slipped into another room.

  A few seconds passed as the house grew eerily quiet. How many more? While I guarded the door, Laney opened a window allowing them to slip through the opening and descend a drainage pipe to the backyard. My instincts were to clear the house, but seeing as we were lucky to still be breathing, I pulled my leg over the windowsill and followed them down.