Wolf's Vendetta

by Craig MacIntosh

  Two Boyevik—soldiers, men who formed the backbone of the gangs— nodded solemnly, their eyes following the trembling paper. Summoned along with their lieutenant, Sasha Mikoyan, to the boss’s apartment, the pair hung on the old man’s every word. “You have been instructed?” he rasped.

  The two nodded in unison, showing eagerness for the assignment, hoping their obligatory enthusiasm would win Levich’s favor. The godfather frowned, his face a wrinkled map. “Do not fail me. Those who serve me must not disappoint me. You know this?”

  The price paid by those who had failed Levich in even the smallest task was well known. The pair bobbed heads, modern-day serfs kowtowing to the master of the estate. Levich dismissed his hunting dogs away with a wave.

  Alone with his thoughts, he read the letter again, then tossed it in his fireplace. Levich sank into a favorite velvet chair. So much is being asked of me, he lamented. So much at risk. Fools! Why had they allowed records to be kept in the first place? Things like this are never to be put to paper. Written words talk. In the wrong hands they can destroy. Those two had better return with success in their pockets. Heads have rolled for much lesser mistakes. Mine will not be one of them.

  Levich picked up a cordless phone and called Dimitri Ivanov, his much younger second-in-command. “I have just dispatched Sasha’s two wolves. Yes, yes, Dimitri, I know you wished to go in their stead. Is not possible. I need you here. Sasha will stay in contact with them and report to you.”

  Levich held the receiver against his good left ear, enduring Ivanov’s protest for a brief moment. “Listen to me, my boy. You must cultivate fear in your subordinates. Do you understand? Once they fear you they will do what you want. And you must delegate. It is your duty to learn this. If you do not understand what I am telling you I may end up outliving you, eh? Yah, I know, you are loyal. Like a son, Dimitri Ivanov. And like a son I must teach you discipline. It is a meal that must be eaten in small bites from time to time. You understand? Good.”

  Levich shuffled into his library, the phone to his ear. “I have a task for you. Do not think this beneath you. I must be satisfied. My honor demands it. There is an old acquaintance of mine who owes me money. Is not much. The sum is not important. But I cannot suffer this impertinence. Come see me tomorrow and I entrust you with this task, eh? Good. I will see you then.”

  His housekeeper appeared in the doorway as Levich ended the call. The plump, gray-haired woman folded her hands in front of her like a timid schoolgirl. “What is it, Lydia?” he said.

  “A small lunch for you. You must be hungry, yes?”

  “Da. I will eat here, in the library.”

  Bowing, the little woman turned on her heel, reappearing moments later with a steaming bowl, soft bread, and hot tea. Levich dismissed her and let the soup cool. His thoughts turned to old comrades, better times. He ate half of what she had put before him and nodded off, his chin dropping to his chest, his eyes fluttering and closing.

  Tomorrow. Dimitri Ivanov will come. I will have my satisfaction.

  Chapter 22

  Wolf returned on the Metro, reaching home in early afternoon. He brooded about Colter’s death and the exchange with the State Department’s Nells. He changed into jeans and sweatshirt, then made himself a sandwich and a promise to check his email. As Wolf ate, he culled accumulated snail mail; tossing the junk, separating the bills, trashing solicitations. Between bites he cleared phone messages and opened a beer to wash down the last of the sandwich. He went into his den to power up his computer and tackle emails. Wolf typed his password and leaned back as the screen came alive. His eyes studied the sliding glass door to his patio.

  Something not quite right. His old tradecraft trick, easy to miss by someone in a hurry. Down on one knee, Wolf found two crushed beads in the door’s track. Small enough to be overlooked, the clay beads had been left as a primitive warning should the door be opened in his absence. The townhome’s front door, visible to neighbors, had been undisturbed. Curious, Wolf slid back the door, stepped on his ground-floor patio and walked the length of it. Possible footprints in the sodden patch of grass where a stubborn remnant of snow had melted.

  Maybe, maybe not. Don’t see things that aren’t there.

  Large ceramic pots stuffed with dead blossoms were where they were supposed to be. What few pieces of patio furniture he had were exactly as he had left them.

  Still…

  He went back inside, uneasy. His monitor showed a white box asking for another password to his search engine. He typed it in, got his desktop with its scattered icons. A try at opening his email failed. A message: You are not connected to the Internet.

  “Yes I am,” he barked at the machine. Another attempt. Same rebuff.

  Wolf pushed the monitor aside, found a loose cable, fixed it, and tried again. This time the search engine came up. He logged in for email and got a laundry list. Scanning the incoming mail puzzled him. There was no encrypted mail sent via NASA’s link. He quit the search engine, did a restart, and hit another dead end. He and Colter had both sent the same message with its attachments. He had seen the NASA photographer do it. It had to be there.

  Don’t jump to conclusions. Colter’s computer. He’d have it.

  Wolf glanced at his watch. Four o’clock. He thought about Colter’s last words. Take my keys. Check my home computer.

  Colter’s home was three hours away—a condo in Virginia Beach, close to the sea. Traffic this time of day would be a problem. But he had no choice. Having some backup would be a good idea. He and Colter had a mutual friend living there. If luck held, the retiree was still around. A Marine Recon gunnery sergeant who had washed ashore after a long career, Keith Lindgren was a bit of a “gray man” himself. The kind of man who might come in handy. Someone who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut.

  Wolf dusted off his contacts and called, getting Lindgren’s wife on the third ring. “Hello, Carol, it’s Tom Wolf. Is Keith there?”

  “Oh, Lord help us,” she said on hearing Wolf’s name. “A voice from the past. Yes, he’s here. Did you know he’s happily retired?”

  Hearing suspicion in the woman’s voice, Wolf said, “Word gets around, Carol. I’m enjoying the fruits of retirement myself these days.”

  She wasn’t convinced. “Do tell. I’ve heard some of the stories.”

  “Don’t believe everything he tells you. Can you put him on?”

  A yelling in the background and Lindgren came on the line.

  “Keith, how the hell are you?”

  A rasping laugh. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to talk to you, Wolfman.”

  “Who’s in charge down there?”

  “That’s what I ask myself all the time. If you were to ask Carol…”

  “Well, I’m not asking Carol. I’m asking you. Good to hear your voice, Keith. Seriously, how you doing?”

  “I’m high and dry, fluffed and buffed, even-keeled, and content.”

  “A poet. Glad to hear it.” Wolf got to the point. “I need your help.”

  “Stand by. Let me take your call in the other room.”

  Wolf waited, heard TV’s Jeopardy in the background, then a click.

  “Okay. I’m here,” said Lindgren. “What’s the problem? Please tell me you’re not up to something dicey.”

  “It’s Dan Colter.”

  A groan like someone deflating in Wolf’s ear. “Were you involved in that?”

  Puzzled, Wolf said, “Involved? What are you referring to?”

  “That thing in Moscow?”

  “How…how did you know about that?”

  Lindgren babbled. “It’s been all over CNN and Fox. Don’t you watch the news? Didn’t you see the video?”

  “I haven’t watched television or read a paper since I got back two days ago. Enlighten me.”

  Lindgren said, “CNN had cellphone videos of a robbery in Domodedovo airport. A YouTube video. It’s been all over the news.”

  “Been out of touch, Keith. What did it have to do with
Colter?”

  “Some traveler posted it on YouTube. Couple of guys mixing it up. They showed Dan Colter’s picture; said an American tourist died in a robbery attempt by some skinheads or something. I don’t know all the details. But they showed Colter’s picture. Said he was stabbed to death. The thing’s gone viral. I can’t believe you haven’t seen it. You must live under a rock.”

  Wolf, speechless, sank down on the couch in his den. Television? The State Department guy hadn’t mentioned a video. Had he known? How did the Russians let that video get past them?

  Wolf said, “I’ve been out of touch, Keith. Haven’t had a chance to catch up with things.”

  “The news people are reporting it as a robbery gone bad. Apologies all around. The Russians have to be embarrassed. Geez, Wolfman, are you telling me you were mixed up in that? They never mentioned a second American.”

  “I was there, Keith. It’s a long story. Look, I have to come down to Dan’s place. He asked me to go there when I got back. He knew something.”

  “Are you going to ask me to go with you?”

  “Yeah. Just in case I need some backup.”

  Lindgren paused. “I don’t know. It sounds kinda loosey-goosey to me.”

  “He asked me, Keith. Gave me his keys just before they took him away to the hospital. I gave him my word.”

  “Says you.”

  “C’mon, you know me better than that. Dan and I were tight. I owe him.”

  “Okay, let’s do this. There’s a Mexican restaurant on Highway 60, Shore Drive. You know it?”

  “Guadalajara. I vaguely remember it. I’ll find it.”

  “Good. I can meet you there. What’s your ETA?”

  Wolf read his watch, said, “I figure twenty-hundred hours if traffic plays nice.”

  Lindgren said, “Make it twenty-thirty to be sure.”

  “Got it. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you when I cross the Lesner Bridge.” Scribbling the number Lindgren gave him, Wolf said, “I’m leaving in ten minutes. Appreciate your being willing to meet me.”

  “No harm in listening to what you’re up to. I figure this will square us.”

  “You got it, Gunny,” Wolf said, relieved. “I have some questions about what Dan was up to these last few years. I have my suspicions but I need to hear it from someone who knew him better than me.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can,” said Lindgren, “nothing more. I’m betting you haven’t slowed down a bit. Russia, huh? Geez. I want to know what you two were doing over there.”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll buy. Thanks, Keith. See you at the restaurant. Tell Carol goodbye for me.”

  “She keeps a list, Wolfman. And you’re still on it, you know.”

  “Then maybe it’s best you don’t mention my being in Russia.”

  Chapter 23

  Wolf stopped on Alexandria’s outskirts to fill his BMW’s tank for the two-hundred-mile drive. Fighting his way south with the other sheep, he took I-95 toward Richmond. Racing a dying sun, he pushed south through Virginia’s dark and bloody ground—crossing the Rapahannock above Fredricksburg, where Burnside blundered. Somewhere in the twilight, west of the highway, were Spotsylvania and The Wilderness, each with their ghosts.

  North of Richmond, he circled southeast on the 295 bypass to I-64. Traffic thinned beyond the capitol and Wolf gained on the clock. With the York River on his left, the James on his right, he pushed down the peninsula. Passing between pre-colonial Williamsburg in the west and Yorktown’s hallowed ground east along the York, Wolf joined a stream of cars and trucks flowing through Newport News. To him, it seemed every vehicle on the eastern seaboard was sharing his road. He aimed at Hampton, and beyond the tip of the peninsula: Norfolk.

  With the sun a dying sliver of gold on the horizon, Wolf tagged behind a bus and a string of vans across the dark waters of Hampton Roads. Fireflies—lights of cars on Fort Monroe’s tumorous littoral—marked Chesapeake Bay. Swallowed by darkness, the broad body of water had disappeared, leaving behind a shimmering necklace of car lights crawling east and west across the distant Bay Bridge to Wolf’s left. Keeping one eye on his GPS, Wolf split from I-64 and took Highway 13 north. He snagged his cellphone and called Lindgren.

  “Okay,” growled the Marine. “I’m leaving for the restaurant. By the time you cross Lesner Bridge, I’ll be finishing my first margarita.”

  “I need you sober, Gunny.”

  “Just messing with you, Wolfman. I gave that up two years ago.”

  Wolf laughed. “Maybe you’re right—I might not be able to recognize you after all.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “On my way. Give me ten minutes and order for me.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Whadaya like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “Oh, I certainly will.”

  Chapter 24

  Virginia Beach

  Wolf found the restaurant on Shore Drive and parked. Inside, a white-bearded Falstaffian figure signaled from a corner booth. The retired Marine rose to embrace Wolf. “Well, well, the Wolfman, in the flesh.”

  “Look at you, Keith. You’re right about not recognizing you. You have changed. Gone is the perpetual scowl and the ever-present cigar stub. Retirement must agree with you.”

  The two sat opposite each other, Lindgren saying, “I ate at home. But I ordered for you. Hope you like enchiladas. No margaritas, though.”

  The server arrived with Wolf’s steaming plate and refilled Lindgren’s coffee. Hungrier than he realized, Wolf attacked his food while answering questions.

  “I drove by Dan Colter’s place on the way over here,” said Lindgren.

  Wolf asked, “Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “Looked calm. No cars in the driveway. One upstairs light on. Porch light as well. On timers, I’d guess. Otherwise, pretty routine. It’s a three-story condo. Nice place. Big bucks being that close to the beach. Expensive, but packed in tight and a little cookie-cutter for my tastes.”

  Working on his meal, Wolf said, “You have much contact with Dan?”

  Lindgren sipped his coffee. “I retired here first. When he called out of the blue four years ago to ask about houses, I was surprised. I knew Colter had divorced while serving with the teams but I never thought of him as the nesting kind.”

  Wolf kept eating. In between bites, he asked. “What about you? What keeps you busy? And what’s with the whiskers?”

  Stroking his luxuriant white beard, Lindgren smiled. “I gave up the fast lane to play jolly St. Nick.”

  “You serious?”

  Lindgren arched an eyebrow as if offended. “Absolutely. Carol and I do a nice side business with the Santa Claus thing. Parties, charities, special appearances, hospital visits, that sort of thing. Kids love it. And the parents book us six months in advance. Started as a hobby but it took off. We stick around until Christmas wraps up. Then we head south with our fifth-wheeler.”

  “I can’t reconcile your image—which I have to admit is damn near perfect—with your past.” Wolf smiled. “Do these little people and their parents know who’s behind that beard? Do they have any idea about your ‘other’ skills?”

  “Aw, c’mon, Wolfman. That was in another lifetime. Hell, even Mrs. Claus doesn’t know what I was involved in after I got out of the Marines.”

  “She know anything about your unofficial tours in Iraq and Afghanistan?”

  “No.”

  “Still do some work for our friends at Langley?”

  Lindgren shrugged. “Maybe a little consulting now and then.”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound, Keith.”

  Lindgren growled. “It’s not like that, Wolfman.”

  “Oh really? Carol know about Central America? Africa?”

  Shaking his head, Lindgren said, “No. And I’m counting on you to keep your mouth shut while you’re here. No need to stir the pot.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it. Does she know you and Colter go back?”

  “Not a clue. She
only met him at a housewarming when he moved here.”

  Wolf threw up his hands. “Then she won’t hear it from me.”

  “Good.” Lindgren tapped his temple. “What Dan and I did after we both left the service is locked away forever in here. The man was fearless. A patriot. God bless his memory…and yours.”

  “Appreciate the sentiment, Santa. Seriously, none of us did anything to be ashamed of.”

  Lindgren finished his coffee. “Speak for yourself. Desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures.”

  Wolf shrugged in agreement. “That they do. Let’s leave it at that.”

  He pushed away his plate. “Any idea what Dan was doing these last few years?”

  “You asking as a friend or officially?”

  “C’mon, Keith, I’m off the grid myself. I came down here because he asked me to. Said he wanted me to check something on his computer. It was the last thing he said.”

  “Yeah, Dan was involved in some pretty heavy stuff.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He was working on threat finance the last time we talked.”

  Wolf leaned forward, arms crossed. “Threat finance, as in terrorism banking, money laundering, that sort of thing?”

  “Yeah. State runs a program to follow the money. Dan was hooked up with them. My guess is he was spending a lot of time overseas trying to untangle some of the threads between banking, terrorists, and rogue governments.”

  A waitress made the rounds collecting plates and pouring more coffee.

  Lindgren glanced at his watch. “How much time do you need to check Dan’s place?”

  “I figure we could be in and out in under an hour, maybe less.”

  “What exactly are you looking for?”

  “Dan and I sent emails from Kazakhstan. We routed them through NASA’s uplink. Something happened to mine. I want to see if his came through okay.”

  Lindgren was cautious. “That’s it? You came all the way down here to look at emails? There’s gotta be more to it than that.”