Grey Lady

by Paul Kemprecos

  “Did he say who they were or where they were coming from?”

  “Not specifically. Like I said, the U.S. Navy thinks the Chinese have been showing the strongest interest in swarmbots.”

  “My boat sank two nights ago. The third day after that would be tomorrow.”

  “Chernko say anything about location?” Flagg said.

  “I’m sorry. Everything went black after that.”

  “You did just fine,” Flagg said.

  He handed him a cell phone and told him to call his daughter. Malloy punched out the number and broke out in an ear-to-ear grin when his daughter answered. Flagg let the happy reunion go on for a minute, then signaled Malloy to cut the conversation short.

  “Tell her some folks will be picking her up in a little while. They’ll say they are friends of mine and will mention my name. If anyone else comes by before they get there, tell her to dial 911. My friends will take her to a safe place. You’ll meet her there.”

  Malloy conveyed the message to his daughter, hung up and turned to us. “Thank you for that. What now?”

  “It’s best to get you off the island until Soc and I sort things out.” Flagg asked Malloy where his daughter lived, and then he called a number on his cell phone, had a brief conversation and hung up. “Plane’s waiting for us. Team is on its way to your daughter’s place. You okay to walk?” he said to Malloy.

  After talking to his daughter, Malloy said he was ready to dance. Not quite. He was still shaky and we had to support him on each side on the walk from the beach house to Flagg’s car. Lisa’s Jeep was in the driveway. She was probably still with her grandfather.

  We tucked Malloy in the back seat. I drove while Flagg rode shotgun. We got to the airport without incident and escorted Malloy to a Cessna Citation in the section of tarmac reserved for private planes. The pilot Flagg had called from the beach shack helped Malloy into the plane and made sure he was belted in. Minutes later, we watched the plane taxi down the runway and leap into the darkening sky.

  On the walk back to the car Flagg said, “If what Malloy told us is the truth, we’ve got to move fast or some people could be hurt real bad. You come up with any ideas, Soc?”

  “Doesn’t seem we have a lot of choice, does it? If we want more info on the test, what better place than the horse’s mouth?”

  “Chernko?”

  I nodded. “He knows what we want to find out.”

  “You going to bribe ol’ Mr. Ed with a sugar cube?”

  “Wish it were that easy. You got any better schemes, I’d love to hear them.”

  “What about Ramsey? Bet we could get some answers if we rough him up.”

  “First we’d have to find him. Chernko advised him to lay low.”

  “No guarantee Chernko is around. He could be on the high seas.”

  “Let’s assume that Malloy is right and the observers are coming from China. Any way we can check up on that? See if there’s any connection to Ramsey or Nantucket Capital Investment Partnership.”

  Flagg said he’d make a few calls, which he did. After he hung up with the last one, he said it would take time. “I originally thought I should call in the Marines and raid the yacht with guns blazing, but if the Chinese are involved, this might complicate things.”

  “It’s already complicated. Chernko is a pretty important guy back in Russia and Ramsey is a big-deal businessman with lots of contacts. We might look real silly if we shot up the yacht and didn’t find anything except a few cases of vodka and caviar.”

  “You’ve got a point. Okay. You do recon. I’ll cover your ass. Just like the old days back in Nam.”

  “Wish you had used a better example, Flagg. As I recall from my days in Vietnam, we won the battle, but lost the war. And don’t give me any of that ‘we, white man’ stuff.”

  Flagg had faced discrimination as an Indian kid growing up on Martha’s Vineyard, and when I first knew him he maintained that Vietnam was a case of the white guys against the darker-skinned guys, no different than General Custer and the Sioux. But he has mellowed through the years, so I was happy to see his grin and hear his reply:

  “In that case, we’ll just have to do better this time around, Soc.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Despite my manly-chest thumping, I knew that walking into the den of a murderous mobster nicknamed Ivan the Terrible wasn’t conducive to good health. I needed an edge. And I knew just where to find one. Chernko had been out on his yacht last night. That meant Tanya would have been kicked off the Volga for a shore-side shopping spree.

  I asked Flagg to drop me off at the Jared Coffin House, suggested he scout out the yacht and said I’d meet him at the ferry dock. I only got as far as Tanya’s first name before the young woman at the inn’s reception desk gave me a broad grin. “Oh yes, I know who you mean. She comes in with all those shopping bags.”

  “That would be Tanya,” I said. “I wonder if I could get a message to her. She stayed here last night.”

  The receptionist checked her computer. “Sorry. That reservation was canceled.”

  Alarm bells went off in my head. Tanya always stayed on shore the nights Chernko was running tests. I thanked the receptionist and headed for the ferry dock. The summer carnival was in full swing. There were the usual couples and families with kids, oldsters and youngsters, one group tanned, the other pale-faced, like two different tribes.

  I stood near a T-shirt shop and scanned the happy crowd until I saw the top of Flagg’s head moving above the milling throng. He homed in on my waving arm.

  He had an ice cream cone clutched in his big hand. He went to take a lick, then paused to offer the cone. “Want a bite?” he said. “It’s peanut butter cup.”

  I eyed the dripping blob. “Maybe I’ll reward myself with a treat after my talk with Chernko.”

  “Don’t blame you, Soc. Guy makes me want to puke my guts out and I don’t even know him.” He gnawed off half the cone like a hungry T-rex. “Tell you what, pal. I’ll buy you a double scoop.”

  “You’ve got a deal. Ready to go?”

  Flagg hefted the bag of tricks slung around his shoulder so that the contents clanked, then he finished off the ice cream, and wiped down his sticky hand with a paper napkin. “I’m ready,” he said.

  We headed for the yacht dock. The Volga was a major tourist attraction. Knots of camera-toting tourists stood around snapping photos, unaware that the pretty yacht that filled their viewfinders was the lair of a monster.

  From the sleek white-hulled vessel, Chernko’s slimy tentacles snaked out to Viktor Karpov, burned alive; to my cousin Alex, dragged once again into the drug world he had left far behind; to Malloy, held prisoner and squeezed to make him give up the dangerous technology he had worked so hard to create. Then there was me. My new boat was destroyed, and I’d almost lost my old pal Kojak. Just because Chernko was annoyed.

  Now I was annoyed. If my mother saw the angry fire smoldering in my eyes, she would know that was no small thing. Some personal history is in order here. After I beat up a bully in defense of my younger brother, Ma began to worry that I had inherited the genes from her Cretan grandfather, a mild-mannered farmer who had waged a one-man war against Turkish occupiers. He had become a pallikari, an embodiment of all that is good and manly, but in his campaign to defend the weak against the strong, he became a cold-blooded killer.

  My mother had urged me to study the classics in college, hoping that philosophy would soften the harder aspects of my personality. It came as a disappointment, but no surprise to my mother, when I quit school and ended up in a far-off land fighting a war that blurred the line between the good guys and the bad guys. Blood will tell, she said.

  As I stood on the dock next to Flagg, my simmering blood wanted revenge. Not just because of the trouble Chernko had caused me, but for the woe
s he bestowed on others and his plans to inflict even more pain in the future.

  Flagg and I had talked strategy on the ride in from the airport. Since we didn’t have a lot going for us, it was a short talk. We would keep it simple. Get on board. Take a look around. Get off in one piece. I didn’t try to kid myself. I was pushing middle age and my body suffered from the rewards of a lifestyle that was far from wholesome and pure. Maybe this wasn’t a bad thing, because it made me realize that I’d need more than muscle to deal with a professional criminal like Chernko and his small army.

  I told Flagg about my stop at the Jared Coffin House and my suspicion that Tanya was being held on board the yacht. He grunted and told me what I already knew, that Tanya complicated a complex situation and that I would have to be extra-special careful. We slapped palms for good luck. Flagg began to shoot photos of the yacht, and I strolled up to the gangway.

  Access to the yacht was barred by a crewman who could have gotten a job as a car lift in a garage. His chest strained against the seams of his sky blue T-shirt. His close-cropped head sat directly on his broad shoulders. He wore baggy gray workout pants that could have concealed an entire gun show. He was about six feet tall and half as wide. He untucked one of the arms folded across his chest and shoved a palm in my face.

  “Go away,” he snarled. “Private property.”

  I snarled back. “Tell Chernko I want to see him.”

  I must have out-snarled him, because he slowly pulled his arm back and removed his mirrored sunglasses. Chernko’s minions came in different shapes and sizes, but they all had the same apathetic expressions that you see in the bad guy posters tacked up on post office bulletin boards.

  “Name,” he said.

  I told him who I was. He studied me for a moment, then, with a studied deliberation, slid the shades back onto his eyes and removed a radio from his belt. He carried on a conversation in Russian, keeping watch to make sure I didn’t try to dash past him and up the gangway. His lips turned down to form a reverse image of the dark mono-brow that connected his eyes. He switched off the radio, stood aside and jerked his thumb at the yacht.

  I deliberately brushed him with my shoulder and climbed the gangway to the deck where I was greeted by two clones of the dock guard. They were both wearing sidearms. When I stepped on board, they crowded in from both sides in a deliberate effort to intimidate me. They weren’t doing a bad job of it.

  One man said, “That way,” and pointed to a door at the deck level of the yacht’s superstructure. Allowing myself to be dragged into the bowels of the Volga didn’t seem prudent.

  “Nyet.” I shook my head. “I want to see Mr. Chernko out here. On the deck.”

  So much for the direct approach. They grabbed my arms in a steely grip and tried to muscle me toward the door. I planted my feet and swung my elbows back and into their guts. They both made a sound that was surprisingly high-pitched for a pair of tough guys, then doubled over and released my arms.

  Things started to happen fast. Flagg had been watching from the dock. He started toward the gangway in a brisk, deliberate pace, his hand reaching into his satchel. The deck crewmen were recovering from my sucker punch. They were holding their stomachs with one hand, reaching with the other for their belt holsters. There was murder in their tear-filled eyes. The dock guard had been watching the encounter, and now he was sprinting up the gangway to join our jolly threesome. The whole idea of a civilized visit with Chernko was about to swirl down the drain.

  That’s when the door in the superstructure swung wide open and Chernko popped out.

  He shouted in Russian. The two men backed off, shot me a see-you-later glance, and headed for the door they had wanted to drag me through into the superstructure. Chernko came over and waved away the approaching gangway guard who turned around and went back to his post. Flagg had frozen in place when he’d seen Chernko, waiting for a signal from me. His hand was in the open satchel.

  Chernko saw Flagg staring at him. “Is that large gentleman a friend of yours, Mr. Socarides?”

  “A very good friend. If I disappear from his sight, he will summon more friends who are waiting nearby. At the same time, he will reach in that bag for the portable rocket launcher that he will fire at the waterline of your pretty boat. Then he will take out an automatic weapon and hand grenades, and he will storm the sinking yacht. Your men may eventually stop him, but not before he takes out the primary target.”

  “Which is?”

  “Ivan Chernko,” I said.

  I was bluffing about the back-up and I wasn’t sure whether Flagg had a rocket launcher, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he carried a nuclear warhead in that bag of his. Chernko gazed at Flagg for a moment, a slight smile on his lips, then turned to me.

  “That will hardly be necessary, Mr. Socarides,” he said with the friendly Uncle Ivan voice I had noticed on our first encounter. He dragged a couple of deck chairs close to the rail. He sat in one and gestured toward the other.

  I plunked myself down, making sure my head and shoulders were visible from the dock, and gave Flagg a wave. He removed his hand from inside the satchel and waved back.

  If the moment had unnerved Chernko, he didn’t show it. He was dressed casually in white slacks, loafers and shirt and he lounged in his chair like the rich yachtsman that he was. He regarded me in silence; his chiseled marble face showed no hint of emotion. He obviously was waiting for me to say something. I obliged him with a smile and a quick glance around the deck.

  “The Volga is even more impressive up close,” I said.

  “Thank you. I added a few touches to the original design.”

  Chernko may have been talking about the cushion colors of the deck chairs around the swimming pool for all I knew. What I saw was that the Volga was a hybrid. With the A-frame, the stern-facing bridge, the powerful winches and the helicopter pad, the yacht was as well-fitted as any salvage vessel I had ever seen.

  “It’s a large ship and crew for only one passenger,” I said.

  “Perhaps, but I often have guests.”

  “Like the young lady who was with you the night of Ramsey’s party?”

  “She was transient, and has since left the ship to return to Bulgaria.”

  The little voice inside my head was reminding me that Tanya said she would rather die than go back to Bulgaria. Tanya’s shore leave had been canceled for some reason. What I was less sure of was her fate. Chernko would think nothing of having her killed, stuffed into a weighted-down body bag and tossed into the sea. I pushed the image out of my mind.

  “That’s too bad. She was quite attractive, as I recall.”

  He replied with a slight shrug. “Pleasure plays a secondary role on board this ship. The Volga serves as both my home and my place of business. Now, if you don’t mind, what business brings a private investigator to see me?”

  “I’ve talked to Malloy,” I said.

  “Sean Malloy?”

  “You admit you know him?”

  “Why would I deny it, Mr. Socarides? Malloy owned a research company in which my organization bought a controlling interest.”

  “You forgot to mention Ramsey’s involvement in the deal.”

  “That’s hardly a secret. You could read about our joint ventures in The Wall Street Journal.”

  “Would I also read about Malloy being held a prisoner on Ramsey’s property?”

  “Absurd. Malloy owned a company that I acquired working with Ramsey’s company, Nantucket Capital Investment Partnership. We invested heavily, but his lab was a money loser. Eventually we had to close it.”

  “That’s not how Malloy sees it. He says you grabbed his company, threatened his daughter and made him work for you.”

  “Malloy was very upset over losing control of his company. He has obviously become unhinged.”

&
nbsp; “He seemed quite rational when I talked to him a little while ago.”

  “And what did Malloy have to say?”

  Chernko would know by now that Malloy was missing from the bunker, but he found it hard to believe that I had anything to do with it. I tried to change his mind.

  “He told me all about the swarmbots you’ve been testing.”

  There was a slight change in the smooth facade. A miniscule narrowing of the eyes. A tiny down turn at the corner of the hard mouth. I had finally gotten through to him.

  “What else did he tell you?” His voice was quieter, more menacing.

  “Everything,” I said.

  It was an answer that was vague and specific at the same time. It had the desired effect.

  “What do you want, Socarides?” A growl.

  “This is more about what you want. Malloy. I’ll turn him over to you for a consideration.”

  Chernko could swat me down like a fly, but I suspected that he feared the wrath of his KGB debtors. He had to make the demonstration work so he could get the money from the Chinese to pay off his pals. And having Malloy on the loose could spoil his plans.

  “You’re quite straightforward, Mr. Socarides.”

  “I try to be.”

  “What sort of consideration did you have in mind?”

  “A replacement for my boat, to start with.”

  “Is that what this is all about?” he chortled. “Your boat?”

  “That’s a big part of it.”

  He tented his fingertips and stared through me. “We have only known each other a few days, Mr. Socarides. In that time you have managed to insinuate yourself into the most private corners of my business, so I find it hard to believe this is about something so trivial.”

  “You wrecked my boat. That’s not trivial. You got sloppy. I’m an opportunist. Besides the boat, I wanted revenge.”