The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

The Acadia Motor Inn’s neon-orange sign flashed NO VACANCY above the entrance to the main office and swayed lazily in rhythm with the gentle ocean breeze.

  Merrick opened the door and stepped inside. The manager glanced up from his crossword puzzle book and set down his pen. He pointed to the outside sign.

  “Sorry, mister,” the manager said. “Like the sign says, we’re full up.”

  “You use a pen,” Merrick said. “I’m impressed!”

  Confused, the manager looked up. “Say what?”

  Merrick qualified his remark. “The crossword you’re working on. Very few people are confident enough in their puzzle-solving ability to use a pen. Most use a pencil. It’s so much easier. You make a mistake, erase it, make the correction, and move on. But using a pen exemplifies an entirely different level of commitment. We pen-users allow no provision for error. We’re ‘all-in’, as the younger crowd is fond of saying. You can learn a lot about an individual by the approach he or she takes to solving such minor challenges as the completion of a crossword puzzle. I too have always loved them. They are an insignificant distraction, of course. But nonetheless a test of one’s intellectual mettle.” Merrick stepped around the counter. “I’ve always found crosswords to be incredibly stimulating and so much more enjoyable when completed with a friend. You’ve piqued my curiosity. Mind if I have a look?”

  “Uh, sure… I guess so,” the manager said, disarmed by the charm and confidence of the stranger. “This one clue does have me a little stumped.”

  Merrick laughed. “Isn’t that always the case? There’s always one clue that’s a nuisance. But that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Merrick picked up the pen from the counter. “Which one is it that’s tripping you up? I’m sure we can figure it out together.”

  “24 across,” the manager said. The desk phone rang. He disregarded the call, drawn back into the puzzle by Merrick’s offer of assistance. “Seven letters: ‘Serve as evidence or proof.’ Been stuck on that for the last twenty minutes. You got any idea what that is?”

  “I may,” Merrick said. “Mind if I borrow your pen?”

  “Sure,” the manager said. He placed the pen on the desk. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Frustrated that his work responsibility was getting in the way of puzzle-solving he finally said, “I better get that.”

  “Yes, of course. Go ahead,” Merrick said. He picked up the pen. “No, wait. Yes, I’ve got it!” He laughed. He turned to the manager. “Isn’t it funny? Sometimes the answer is so blatantly obvious it might as well be staring you in the face.”

  The managers let the phone ring. He turned his attention back to the puzzle.

  “You figured it out?” he said. “What is it?”

  Merrick plunged the pen deep into the man’s neck. The manager’s eyes widened. Merrick covered his mouth as he began to gag, then lowered him to the floor beneath the reception desk.

  “Witness,” Merrick whispered into the dying man’s ear. He peered out the window and watched as the children played in the pool under the warm California sun. “W-I-T-N-E-S-S,” he spelled out. “Something I can’t afford to have.”

  The manager’s eyes fluttered. His body fell slack.

  A roll of paper towels and other housekeeping items sat on a shelf below the manager’s desk. Merrick tore off several sheets, wiped the blood off the counter, and cleaned his hands. The keys to a late model Volvo lay in a glass bowl under the desk. Merrick scooped them out of the bowl and exited the office. On the key ring was the key to the front door. He locked it behind him as he left. A sign affixed to the wall in front of the Volvo read MANAGER.

  Merrick started the dead man’s car, backed out of his parking space, put the vehicle into gear, and left the Acadia Motor Inn.

  Long Beach awaited, as did Commander Egan.

  And payback.

  101

  “SO THAT’S IT?” Deputy Poole said. “We’re shut down… just like that?”

  “It’s not our game anymore, Jack,” Chief Jenkins said. “Tell the boys to box up everything they’ve processed so far and hand it over to Colonel Hallier.”

  “You mean Mr. Green Suit?”

  “I don’t like it any more than you do,” Jenkins replied. “But we’re done here. Hallier claims we’re not equipped to handle it, that it’s too dangerous for Corona P.D., and that we’re to consider it a matter of national security.”

  “Bullshit,” Poole replied. “I could say the same thing about my wife’s meatloaf.”

  “A Department of Defense team is on the way. Tell the men to provide them with whatever assistance they need when they arrive.”

  “Whatever you say, Chief.”

  “And Jack?”

  “Yeah, Chief?”

  “Your wife’s meatloaf…”

  “What about it?”

  “Give Hallier the recipe. Tell him to lock it away some place no one will ever find it.”

  “Good idea,” Poole said. “How about Nevada. Area 51.”

  Jenkins smiled. “That should be secure enough.”

  Poole shook his head and turned away. “I’ll tell the boys to clean up.”

  “Good man.”

  “And don’t forget about Friday,” Poole called out.

  “Friday?”

  “Nora invited you to our place for dinner, remember?”

  Jenkins put his hands on his hips. “You wouldn’t.”

  Poole waved over his shoulder as he walked away. “Damn straight I would. I’ll let her know it’s your favorite.”

  Chief Jenkins sat in his Jeep outside the barricade and reviewed his officer’s incident reports prior to handing the case over to the Department of Defense.

  Earl Kent walked over and leaned against the door. “I hear the feds are taking it from here,” he said.

  Jenkins kept reading. “Looks that way, doc.” He held up Kent’s paperwork. “Anything you want to add?”

  Kent shook his head. “It’s all there. Best I can give you, anyway. I’m just a simple medical examiner.”

  “A simple, Johns Hopkins-educated medical examiner,” Jenkins added. “Tell me the truth, doc. What do you make out of all this? Last night I dealt with the first homicide Corona has seen in a decade and today you’re scraping human paste off the ground. Next thing we know, the government shows up at our investigation and tells us thanks for keeping dinner warm, now kindly piss off.”

  Dr. Kent shrugged his shoulders. “Right place, wrong time, Chief. Nothing more to it than that.” The coroner’s phone rang. He stepped away and took the call.

  Jenkins returned to his paperwork. Two military vehicles pulled up to the entrance to the shopping plaza. He watched Deputy Poole point them in the direction of the crime scene and wave them through.

  Dr. Kent pocketed his phone as he walked back to the Jeep. “That was forensics. Odontology confirmed the dental implant belonged to Dan Labrada.”

  “At least now we know who our vic is,” Jenkins said. “The only remaining questions are who killed him and why. Maybe Poole’s right.”

  “That it could be drug-related?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kent shook his head. “I doubt it.”

  “Why?”

  “The manner of death for starters” Kent said. “Unless Labrada was a drug kingpin or organized crime boss it’s highly unlikely he would come to that kind of an end. And if he was a drug lord or Mafia, he probably would have come up on your radar a long time ago.”

  “True.”

  “Second, if he was a high-value player, DEA, FBI, or DHS would have advised you that they were conducting an op in your jurisdiction.”

  “You ever consider trading in your scalpel for a badge?” Jenkins asked.

  Kent smiled. “Third… the Department of Defense took over your investigation, not the DEA, FBI, or DHS. DARPA doesn’t deal with narcotics or organized crime. What about the wife in Norco? Did your officers check her out?”

  Jenkins nodded. “She hadn’t heard from Labrada since yes
terday. and from what I understand didn’t care if she ever did again. Apparently the two of them are on the ropes. She was planning to ask him for a divorce as soon as she worked up the nerve. She gave us everything we asked for. Labrada was clean.”

  “Too bad. It could have made life a little easier.”

  “Yeah.”

  The military vehicles accelerated through the parking lot and rolled to a stop in front of Chief Jenkins and Dr. Kent. Colonel Hallier greeted the soldiers.

  Jenkins stepped out of the Jeep. “I guess it’s time I get this over with.”

  “I suppose so,” Kent replied.

  The men watched as Hallier’s soldiers removed several cases marked HAZMAT from their vehicles and carried them into the crime scene.

  “Think Hallier would keep you updated on the case if you asked him nicely?” Kent asked.

  Chief Jenkins shook his head. “I’d have a better chance of winning the lottery.”

  102

  THE HOUR WAS late, and Terminal D at Sheremetyevo International Airport was quiet. Marina Puzanova sat in the Aeroflot departure lounge waiting to board the final flight of the night leaving from Moscow for Los Angeles.

  She removed her cell phone and listened again to the call: ‘I know who you are... I know what you are... I know what you did... Is Ilya enjoying his studies at Cal State?’

  Bastard!

  She removed a notebook from her handbag and listed the details of the call: American accent, middle-aged. The sound of waves. The cry of seagulls. Dammit! So little to go on. Frustrated, she shoved the notepad back into her purse.

  He seemed to know exactly who she was, what type of business she was involved in, and specific details about The Company.

  Only one possible explanation made sense. Verenich had been compromised.

  Whoever the caller was, he had gained access to her through Taras. From the moment they had first met Marina knew the American attorney could not be trusted. If her superiors had listened to her and taken her concerns about him more seriously, she wouldn’t be sitting in the airport lounge right now, waiting to fly halfway around the world to take care of a problem that could have been dealt with long ago with a bullet to the lawyer’s head.

  Marina’s phone rang. The code number ‘000’ appeared on the screen. It was Kastonov, chairman of The Company. She answered the call.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kastonov.”

  “Marina, my dear,” Kastonov said joyfully. “How are you?”

  She tried to suppress the anxiety in her voice. “Very well, sir.”

  “Splendid. First, let me apologize for calling you at this late hour,” Kastonov said. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve had a very long day.”

  “It’s no intrusion whatsoever, sir. How can I help you?”

  “I promise I won’t take more than a minute of your time.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Very good. A quick question for you, if I may.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The warm tone melted from Kastonov’s voice. “My colleagues and I would like to know why you’re leaving for America without permission.”

  Marina’s throat felt dry. She had been under surveillance by Company operatives and did not know it. But why?

  She swallowed hard. “Sir?”

  “Now Marina,” Kastonov said, “you know as well as I do we have rules in place for a reason. I would encourage you to look at this situation from my perspective. When a respected member of my organization, and one of my best people I might add, arbitrarily decides to leave the country, without warning or any upline communication with her handlers…well, what am I to think?”

  “Sir, it’s just that…”

  “What do you suppose would be the first thought to go through my mind in a situation like that?”

  “Mr. Kastonov, if I may be permitted to explain…”

  “It’s that someone has made a deal. I’m not saying for a minute this is the case with you, my dear. I wouldn’t want you to think that that would be my first thought where you are concerned. Because if it were, I can assure you I wouldn’t have given you the courtesy of this phone call.”

  Marina was quiet.

  “Are you still there, my dear?”

  She paused. “I am.”

  “Good. Now do us both a favor. Go home. Get a good night’s rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning. I’m quite sure we can put this little misunderstanding behind us.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

  Kastonov was silent.

  The Aeroflot-hostess announced the business passengers pre-boarding call over the public address system. Marina stood from her seat and extended the pull-up handle on her carry-on case.

  “My business in the United States is personal, Mr. Kastonov. It has nothing to do with The Company. We will discuss it on my return.”

  “Marina. I strongly suggest you cancel your travel plans and leave the airport immediately,” Kastonov replied.

  “This does not concern you or The Company.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake, Ms. Puzanova.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Kastonov.” Marina terminated the call. She let out a long deep breath. Good God, she thought. What have I done? By hanging up on Kastonov she had stepped way over the line. They would make her accountable for her actions upon her return to Moscow. But none of that mattered right now.

  Her only concern was protecting Ilya from danger.

  As she walked down the gangway and entered the aircraft the stranger’s words played in her mind: ‘I’m going to take it all apart… in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.’

  We’ll see about that, she thought.

  She had already established her priorities. First, secure Ilya. Second, terminate Verenich.

  Marina stored her case in the overhead compartment and took her seat. She looked out the window of the aircraft and thought about her call with Kastonov. Insubordination of any kind was not tolerated. There would be consequences.

  Maybe it was time for a new start. In a new country. With a new identity. Perhaps making a deal with the Americans in exchange for her knowledge of The Company might not be such a bad idea after all.

  Marina fastened her seat belt and selected a magazine from the front seatback pocket. The cover read, “America’s 100 Safest Cities.” She opened the magazine and skimmed through the article:

  Sunnyvale, California. The home of Silicon Valley offered plenty of companies in which she could invest her wealth and live very comfortably for the rest of her life.

  Honolulu, Hawaii. The year-round warmth of Hawaii would indeed be a welcome change to the cold of Moscow.

  Alexandria, Virginia. Some of the richest and most powerful men and women in the country lived there. She would have no trouble moving in such circles.

  So many choices.

  Kastonov’s call had been the tipping point. She made up her mind. The time had come for her to leave The Company and get out of the business.

  After she had settled her personal affairs she would meet with the FBI.

  She laid the magazine in her lap and closed her eyes.

  White sand, hot sun, ocean breeze.

  Hawaii it would be.

  Before long, the stress of the day overpowered her. She fell asleep. In her dream, she was walking along a secluded stretch of sandy beach. She could feel the heat of the sun on her face and the waves lapping at her feet. She had also found love on this island paradise. He put his arm around her, pulled her close and whispered in her ear: “I know who you are… I know what you are… I know what you did.”

  Marina woke with a start.

  The engines revved and receded. The aircraft taxied for takeoff.

  103

  JORDAN RECEIVED A second call from Agent Hawkins. “Go ahead, Hawk. You’re on speaker.”

  “Ever heard of a guy by the name of Alexi Vasiliev?” Agent Hawkins asked.

  “The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Jordan
said. Chris shook his head. “Not for Chris either.”

  “Vasiliev used to be a high-ranking member of the Russian mafia. I think Rosenfeld may have been acquiring his art and antiquities through him.”

  “Are you saying Rosenfeld was connected to the Russian mob?” Jordan asked.

  “I can’t confirm that yet. Our guys lifted several sets of prints from the back of the Pont Neuf and the Codex Leicester in Rosenfeld’s bedroom. IAFIS came back with three hits. Rosenfeld’s, of course, but also prints belonging to Alexi Vasiliev and another Russian, Vyacheslav Usoyan.”

  “Head of the Solntsevskaya Bratva,” Chris said. “Russia’s largest crime organization.”

  “That’s right,” Hawkins said. “Vasiliev is Usoyan’s brother-in-law. According to our intelligence Usoyan brought him into the family business a few years back. Seems he took to it pretty fast and received a number of rapid promotions within the Bratva, mostly due to his reputation for having an eye for art. Pretty soon he became the Bratva’s go-to guy for stolen art and artifacts. They’ve placed hundreds of stolen pieces into the hands of the elite over the years, primarily with collectors in the United States, Canada, France, Spain and Portugal.”

  “Wasn’t Usoyan on the Bureau’s Top Ten Most Wanted a couple of years back?” Chris asked.

  “Indeed. He was arrested in Russia for tax fraud, of all things, related to a financial institution of which he was the principal. It seems having access to all that money was a little too tempting. Usoyan ripped off the company for millions. Thousands of investors here in the States and abroad got burned. Many lost everything they had. We tried to arrest him when he was in the country but missed our window of opportunity by a matter of hours. By the time we received his arrest warrant he was already on a flight back to Russia. Since they have no extradition treaty with the United States it was over for us. Usoyan suspected law enforcement was on to him back home and he was right. Russian authorities took him into custody the second he stepped off the plane in Moscow. He handed the reins over to Vasiliev until he was released on bail. Since then he’s gone underground. No one has seen or heard from him in years.”