Dead End

by R. J. Patterson

  DEAD END

  A Cal Murphy Thriller

  R.J. Patterson

  What Others are Saying

  about Jack Patterson

  “Jack’s storytelling feels as natural as James Patterson’s, and the short-chapter setup is the literary answer to Lay’s potato chips: you just want one more and before you know it, you’ve gone through the whole thing.

  - David Bashore

  The Times-News, Twin Falls, ID

  “Jack Patterson does a fantastic job at keeping you engaged and interested. I look forward to more from this talented author.”

  -Aaron Patterson

  bestselling author of SWEET DREAMS

  Dead Shot

  “Small town life in southern Idaho might seem quaint and idyllic to some. But when local newspaper reporter Cal Murphy begins to uncover a series of strange deaths that are linked to a sticky spider web of deception, the lid on the peaceful town is blown wide open. Told with all the energy and bravado of an old pro, first-timer Jack Patterson hits one out of the park his first time at bat with Dead Shot. It’s that good.”

  -Vincent Zandri

  bestselling author of THE REMAINS

  * * *

  “You can tell Jack knows what it’s like to live in the newspaper world, but with Dead Shot, he’s proven that he also can write one heck of a murder mystery. With a clever plot and characters you badly want to succeed, he is on his way to becoming a new era James Patterson.”

  - Josh Katzowitz

  NFL writer for CBSSports.com

  author ofSid Gillman: Father of the Passing Game

  * * *

  “Patterson has a mean streak about a mile wide and puts his two main characters through quite a horrible ride, which makes for good reading.”

  -Richard D., reader

  Dead Line

  “This book kept me on the edge of my seat the whole time. I didn’t really want to put it down. Jack Patterson has hooked me. I’ll be back for more.”

  -Bob Behler

  3-time Idaho broadcaster of the year

  and play-by-play voice for Boise State football

  “Like a John Grisham novel, from the very start I was pulled right into the story and couldn’t put the book down. It was as if I personally knew and cared about what happened to each of the main characters. Every chapter ended with so much excitement and suspense I had to continue to read until I learned how it ended, even though it kept me up until 3:00 A.M.

  -Ray F., reader

  OTHER TITLES BY JACK PATTERSON

  * * *

  Brady Hawk series

  First Strike

  Deep Cover

  Point of Impact

  Full Blast

  Target Zero

  Fury

  State of Play

  Seige

  * * *

  Cal Murphy Thriller series

  Dead Shot

  Dead Line

  Better off Dead

  Dead in the Water

  Dead Man's Curve

  Dead and Gone

  Dead Wrong

  Dead Man's Land

  Dead Drop

  Dead to Rights

  Dead End

  * * *

  James Flynn Thriller series

  The Warren Omissions

  Imminent Threat

  The Cooper Affair

  Seeds of War

  To Ruben,

  a great friend and fellow adventurer

  Chapter 1

  Samara, Russia

  YURI LISTYEV NEVER REFUSED to entertain tips and theories from well-meaning and concerned citizens. They were, after all, the people he worked for, if not monetarily, most definitely in principal. But his hand shook as he yanked the flash drive free and dropped it on his desk. He stared at the device for a moment in the peaceful silence of his home office, certain that mere possession of the information would lead to his death. While Yuri still had much to live for, he’d grown tired of looking over his shoulder, wondering when his unfortunate accident would occur. It was only a matter of time—and he knew it.

  Better pass the torch while there’s still a flicker.

  He threw his head back and glanced at the ceiling before rubbing his face with both hands. A slight groan escaped his lips, interrupting the quiet. He sighed and scooted forward in his chair, hunching over his desk as he began to peck away on the keyboard. After a few moments of scouring the internet, he found what he was looking for. Satisfied, he created a file and saved it. He closed his laptop and pocketed the flash drive.

  “Papa? Papa? Are you here?”

  Listyev finger combed his wispy gray hair before he stood and lumbered toward the sound of the voice. His countenance lightened upon making eye contact with his only daughter.

  “Natalya,” he said warmly. “If it isn’t the most beautiful girl in all of the world. Come here and give your papa a hug.”

  Natalya stood pat, placing her hands on her hips. “How many times have I told you that I’m not a girl any more?” she chided him with a faint smile.

  He started moving toward her. “You’ll always be my little girl. Now give me a hug.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and received his embrace, a tender moment that occurred more often since they’d lost Irina to a heart attack five years ago. Irina, fifteen years her husband’s junior, played the role of a dutiful wife and loving mother when she wasn’t stirring up trouble as a police detective. Yuri had been accused many times of getting his best news tips during pillow talk, but he swore that all work talk ended when they both crossed over the threshold of their home.

  Natalya released her father gently and gazed toward the fireplace.

  “What is it?” he asked, eyeing her closely.

  “I miss her,” Natalya said, nodding toward a picture on the mantle of all three of them taken a few months before Irina died.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  Yuri took a deep breath and reached for Natalya’s hands. “Let’s sit down. We need to talk.”

  “Oh, no, Papa,” she said, shaking her head. “Don’t give me any more bad news. I don’t want to hear it.”

  He forced a smile. “No, no. It’s not like that. I mean, it’s not exactly like that.”

  “What’s wrong?” she said, squeezing his hands tightly.

  Yuri withdrew one of his hands and dug into his pants pocket. He produced the flash drive and held it out for her.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  “I need you to hold on to this for me.”

  “What’s going on, Papa?”

  “In case something happens to me, I want you to keep this and give it to an American journalist who’ll be here next week when the World Cup begins. All the instructions are on a file for you when you open up the drive. Can you promise me you’ll do that for me?”

  “What is this all about? Are you investigating something again? Just because Mama isn’t here doesn’t mean you can go back on your word.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “It’s not like that. I didn’t go looking for this, but it found me. And I’m afraid it might be the death of me.”

  “Then throw it away. Get rid of it. Burn it. You’re not obligated to do anything.”

  “If I don’t do something, the death of thousands upon thousands of people will all be on my hands. How can I ignore what’s about to happen. That’s not the kind of man I am.”

  “But you promised Mama,” she pleaded.

  “Even she wouldn’t let me ignore this kind of information, promises be damned.”

  She snatched the flash drive from him and held it up in front of her face. “And you think giving this to me will keep you safe?”

  He shrugged. “It might buy me more time, the kind of time I need to make sure the right pe
ople find out about this. It’s just a Plan B.”

  Natalya tucked the device into her bra. “Knowing you, it’s the only plan.”

  A faint smile spread across his lips. “That’s my girl. You have the instincts of an investigative reporter. Too bad they are being wasted right now.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t want your twisted compliments. I just want you to promise me you’re going to be safe and you won’t do anything stupid. Losing Mama was bad enough, but I can’t lose you, too.”

  “I won’t make any promises about what will happen to me, but I will do my best to avoid doing anything foolish.”

  “Good,” she said with a sharp nod. She drew closer and hugged him before planting a big kiss on his cheek.

  “You still love me?” he asked.

  “With all my heart. Just please be here when I get back, okay?”

  “Where are you going? I thought we were going to play a game of chess?”

  She shook her head. “We had a last-minute event come up my boss asked me to work. Apparently it’s some wealthy clients who like to spread their money around.”

  “So, big tips?”

  “The biggest.”

  “Be careful, Natalya. And don’t tell anyone about that flash drive. It’s only in case I—”

  “Sshhh, Papa. Don’t even say it. I will see you later tonight if you’re still up. We’ll drink coffee and play chess in the morning, just like old times.”

  “Just like old times,” he said softly as he watched her turn and head toward the door.

  Once the door latched shut, Yuri secured it with a deadbolt. He ambled into the kitchen and poured himself a shot of vodka then retired to his study. He tossed a log on the fire and then pulled out his favorite Alexander Pushkin novel, The Captain’s Daughter. Yuri had read the novel of his favorite author at least a half dozen times. Yuri’s fascination with Pushkin’s work and life was what led to Yuri and Irina naming their only child Natalya after Pushkin’s wife. While Yuri never dabbled in fiction—concluding that the truth was far more fascinating to research and write—he admired those who could craft such stories. He also enjoyed how novels gave him a peek behind the curtain at the life of the author. Despite most novelists’ adamant denial that their protagonists are based on their own lives, Yuri knew better. It’s why he found The Captain’s Daughter so fascination, a study of fiction turning into reality. Pushkin’s captivation with duels was evident in the book as the main character, Pyotr Grinyov, was wounded in a duel. Later in life, Pushkin wouldn’t be so fortunate when he engaged in a duel of his own. Yuri believed Pushkin’s early exit from life said something about the man, causing the journalist to wonder what his work would say about him once he was dead.

  Natalya had been gone nearly three hours before he heard someone rapping hard on his front door.

  Who would be here at this hour? It’s eleven thirty.

  He set his book down and shuffled toward the front of the house. Remaining quiet, he peered through the peephole and recognized the look of the FSB agents—the rebranded version of the KGB.

  “Please open the door, Mr. Listyev,” one of the agents said. “We don’t want to dismantle it, but we will if necessary.”

  Yuri spun back toward his office and moved as quickly as his sixty-six-year-old legs would take him. He activated a program on his laptop that would erase any of the files he’d received from the informant he’d met several weeks ago. Though he’d used a password encryption for select files, such measures wouldn’t last long against the FSB’s team of analysts and experts. The procedure took less than a minute, but by the time Yuri returned to open the door, the agents had already initiated the battering-ram protocol. In a matter of seconds, wood shards scattered about the floor, giving the men access to his home. Yuri gaped as they stormed inside, guns trained on him.

  One of the FSB agents, Oleg Damiecki, rushed over to Yuri. In recent years, Yuri had several run-ins with Damiecki over allegations of abuse by the FSB against innocent people. Yuri’s bold reporting on the topic failed to change anything—except for the agency’s animus toward him. Instead of being merely disliked, Yuri had become despised.

  “Was that necessary?” Yuri asked, gesturing toward the destroyed door.

  Damiecki turned toward the mess and shrugged. “Perhaps you should’ve answered the door more quickly instead of dawdling in your study so you could erase files on your laptop.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about? What exactly are you suggesting?”

  Damiecki wagged a finger at Yuri. “Don’t play games with me, Mr. Listyev. I don’t like games, and even if I did, I wouldn’t have time for them.”

  Yuri glanced at the agents scurrying around, weaving in and out of the house. “Have I done something wrong? Is there something I should be aware of? Or is this retribution for what I wrote about the FSB? Perhaps you want to show me firsthand how you treat innocent people. It’ll make for a fascinating follow-up article.”

  “I doubt you’ll write another article again once we find the evidence we’re looking for,” Damiecki warned.

  “Good thing there’s no evidence against me then.”

  A woman called from the study. “Found it, sir.”

  Damiecki looked at Yuri and smiled. “You shouldn’t be so hasty in your arrogance. It appears that we have what we need.”

  “As if you need anything to do what you want to do to me.”

  Damiecki nodded in agreement. “You have a point.” He paused. “But I’m not here to antagonize you. I simply need to retrieve a bit of information that you apparently have received in an unlawful manner.”

  “Agent Damiecki, I don’t operate in the shadows. I think you know that about me already though.”

  “Our definitions of ‘the shadows’ likely aren’t the same.”

  Yuri huffed a laugh through his nose. “Neither are our definitions of the truth.”

  Damiecki slapped Yuri. The old journalist staggered back a step and clutched his jaw.

  “Was that really necessary?” Yuri asked.

  “It might only be the beginning if we don’t get what we came for.”

  Yuri retreated to a corner chair in his study while he watched the FSB agents rifle through his office files. One man sat at Yuri’s desk and typed furiously on the laptop. After about fifteen minutes filled with swarming activity accompanied by frustrated moans, Damiecki ordered Yuri to stand as all but one other agent vacated the office.

  “I’m going to give you one final chance,” Damiecki said. “Where are the files that man gave you?”

  “I still have no idea what files you’re talking about,” Yuri said, holding fast to his lie.

  “The ones passed to you recently by a paranoid young man, a young man who unfortunately has met an early demise.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me?” Yuri asked, eyes narrowed and locked on Damiecki. “Because it doesn’t. Do whatever you’re going to do, but I have no files to give you.”

  “You have no files to give because you don’t have them or you simply won’t give them to me?”

  “Will my answer make any difference?”

  Damiecki shrugged. “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what your answer is.”

  Yuri took a deep breath then sighed. “I don’t have them.”

  Damiecki clutched his hands behind his back and paced around the office. “But do you know where they are?”

  “I never had them to begin with.”

  Damiecki unleashed a backhanded slap that landed hard against Yuri’s face. This time, Yuri didn’t move. Instead, he glared at Damiecki.

  “Time’s up,” Damiecki said. “No more playing games.”

  Damiecki turned and nodded at the other agent, who rushed over and bound Yuri’s hands behind his back. Damiecki jerked Yuri to his feet and shoved him into a chair placed in the center of the room.

  “This doesn’t have to be painful,” Damie
cki said. “All you have to do is tell us where the files are.”

  “Are you deaf or just stupid? I said I don’t have them.”

  Damiecki kept his back to Yuri before spinning around and slashing him across the face with a knife. Yuri let out a yelp in pain, grimacing as blood gushed down his cheek.

  “Next time, I will aim lower,” Damiecki said.

  Yuri could feel his face warming, partially from the blood, partially from the anger. “If you’re going to kill me, do it already. I have no regrets—or anything to give you.”

  Damiecki stared at his blade, running it gently across his thumb. “Last chance, Mr. Listyev.”

  “Go to hell, you bastard.”

  “Interesting choice for your last words,” Damiecki said with a snarl.

  With that statement, Damiecki whipped around and slashed Yuri in the throat, nicking his carotid artery. Damiecki shoved Yuri to the ground and watched the old man crumple into the corner against a bookshelf.

  “When your daughter arrives home, she’ll find you dead,” Damiecki said. “I hope clinging to that lie was worth it.”

  Yuri tried to stop the bleeding as a slow trickle of blood seeped from his neck. With his hands still bound behind him, there was nothing he could do. He rolled over and glowered at Damiecki.

  “It wasn’t a lie.”

  Damiecki shrugged glibly. “At least I can tell my superiors that I was diligent.”

  Yuri watched Damiecki and the other FSB agent collect their things and exit the room. Curled in a fetal position on the ground, Yuri felt the warm trickle of blood easing down his throat. Each drop that splattered on the hardwood floor sounded like sonic booms, the very essence of his life being drained from him. This wasn’t how he imagined himself going. He’d preferred to go while living in a comfortable cottage near the Black Sea, surrounded by Natalya and his future grandchildren. But instead, Yuri would have to settle for an audience of mostly dusty books and relative silence of a creaky old house.