He didn’t want to take his eyes off her. Not because of her beauty—it was a ploy to avoid having to look into Zubov’s soulless eyes. Just being in the same room with him made Eicher’s skin crawl.
Natalie Gold spoke first, “My lawyer is on his way. If this is what America is all about, then no wonder people around the world are always burning your flag.”
“Mr. Zubov is a lead suspect in a murder case, which makes you an accessory,” Eicher fired back.
“I know nothing of any murder. But I do know that Zubov was sent to pick me up by Viktor Sarvydas, a man you Americans have treated with utter disrespect, despite all he’s done for your country.”
“Yeah, he’s some hero,” Eicher quipped, then found the courage to face the man in the suit. He looked like your average business traveler—having shed his disguise—but Eicher had seen his type of business in many gruesome crime scene photos. It was the work of the devil.
“So what are you really doing here, Zubov?” Eicher asked in his most forceful voice, fighting off any signs of weakness.
“How many times do I have to tell you? You think if you keep telling a rabbit he’s a pig he will oink.”
“Just humor me, Bugs.”
Zubov dramatically sighed. “I arrive on flight from Denver. My job is to pick up Natalie at gate. I arrive early because your friends come after me.”
“Denver? That’s an interesting coincidence, because Rob Bachynsky was murdered in Denver last night.”
“That’s too bad. But you know how Rob liked to play the ladies, especially the married ones. I knew eventually one of those angry husbands would get him.”
“I think you killed him.”
“How could I kill anyone in my position. I’m handicapped.”
“Why are you in a wheelchair?”
“Skiing accident—was on vacation in Colorado. I wasn’t there to kill some dumb cop.”
The comment sent the normally cool Dava over the edge. “You’re lying, you son of a bitch!”
He laughed, further infuriating her.
Eicher gave her a calming look. No good could come of fighting this monster.
“Show me your knees,” Eicher demanded.
“I don’t give it up on the first date,” Zubov replied with a grin.
“Our lawyer is going to have a field day with you, Eicher. And then I’m going to trash you in the press tonight for your police brutality,” Natalie snarled. “Your ignorance will be headlines around the world tomorrow.”
He ignored her. Although, he did notice that her accent had transformed since she arrived. She had been in America for less than an hour, but had picked up a slight twang that might be found in the Great Plains or Northern Texas. Interesting, but he moved on. This was about Zubov, not Natalie Gold.
“Skiing in Colorado after spending your morning in Las Vegas? I’m jealous. Sarvydas must take good care of you—what’s your position again?” Eicher knew Zubov was too smart to deny being in Vegas, aware that the casino cameras picked up his every move.
“I am Director of Human Resources at Sarvy Music,” he said with a grin—he was enjoying this, no doubt. He pushed a business card across the table, which Eicher examined.
“Director of Human Resources, that’s a good one,” Eicher mocked. “Did you know that while you were in Vegas, Officer Dantelli had an unfortunate accident in his pool?”
“Perhaps he don’t wait hour to swim after eating. My mother always told me that.”
Eicher pushed a couple photos back at him. They were of Dantelli’s decapitated body.
Zubov admired his work. Then bellowed, “How do you get a guinea out of the pool?”
Receiving no response, he answered his own joke, “Throw in bar of soap.” He laughed so hard he almost tipped his wheelchair over.
Eicher calmly pushed more photos across the table. “It seems you were his last visitor.”
The smile wiped from his face as he looked the photo of him entering. “Right after Nick Zellen and Lilly McLaughlin were there. No wonder I couldn’t find Dantelli to say hello. They must have killed him before I got there.”
Eicher rose to his feet and began pacing. “I understand why you killed Dantelli and Bachynsky, but I’m confused by Ron Treadwell, the pilot.”
“I don’t know what you speak of, but I do admit my doctor tell me to lose a couple pounds. He said maybe I should ron on a treadwell.”
“Tell us why you killed him!” Dava jumped back into the tiger cage.
“Check the surveillance videos, lady” he sneered. “I got off my plane and went right to Natalie’s gate. I have no time for other things. Everybody knows I have killed a lot of people,” he wagged his finger, “but I have never killed an innocent person! This Ron Treadwell you speak of sounds like an innocent person.”
Eicher was about to follow up about the note left in Treadwell’s skull, when the doors swung open and a portly man in a rumpled suit barged in like he owned the place. His balding head glared from the sharp lighting of the interrogation room.
Eicher groaned.
Chapter 69
“Don’t answer that question!” famed trial lawyer Barney Cook shouted out.
Zubov didn’t seem happy that someone was raining on his parade. “Go fuck yourself, Barney. I’ll answer any question I want.”
“Like it or not, Zubov, I’m your lawyer. And Mr. Sarvydas says you won’t answer that question.”
“I only take orders from the don’s son these days.”
“I’m hired by the entire Sarvydas estate, and you will not answer.”
Zubov quieted. Even he didn’t cross Sarvydas.
Cook supplied airport surveillance tapes, which confirmed that Zubov was never near the airline in which Treadwell was murdered. He laughed off Eicher’s assertion that wearing a disguise indicated flight, and therefore, guilt.
Zubov butted in, “I’m a celebrity. I need to wear disguise for privacy. People are always bugging me, please sign an autograph, Zubov—please kill my wife for me, Zubov—it gets very tiring.”
Natalie stood, and moved to a pushing position behind Zubov. They were walking out of here and they knew it, even if one of them would do it in a wheelchair. But before they did, Cook and Eicher’s cell phones simultaneously rang. Eicher listened to the news and his face sunk. He avoided any eye contact with Dava, who appeared eager to hear the news. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her.
Cook spoke for him, “That was the judge. Alexei Sarvydas is being released—the case has been dismissed.”
Natalie immediately began wheeling Zubov toward the door. “We have to go pick up Alexei. He is going to be my date to my party tonight.”
Zubov craned his head back toward Eicher and Dava. “I just want to remind you one more time. I have never killed an innocent person.”
“What do you want, a medal?” Dava fired back at him. “Now get out of my face!”
When they were gone, Dava marched toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Eicher asked.
“I’m going to find Nick. This thing isn’t over yet!”
Chapter 70
In the midst of the chaos, Darren and Becks were able to slip out of the plane unnoticed. But the gate area was overcrowding with police and airport security—there was no way to avoid them. Darren knew he didn’t have time for their inquiries about Treadwell’s death—he needed to get to Lilly before she ended up with a similar fate.
As if repulsed by the sight of him, the authorities began running in the opposite direction. Darren had no idea where they were headed, but wasn’t complaining. It was the small miracle that he needed.
He wasn’t sure of his next move, but Becks was decisive. She declared airport security to be the dumbest organism on the planet, and began marching their way out of the airport, pretending her South Chandler High ID was the badge of a federal air marshal. They were let through, without even a request to look at the credentials.
They ran out of the airpor
t and hopped into a cab at almost the same spot where the earlier shootout took place. When the cabbie asked them where to, Darren replied, “Brighton Beach.” He knew that’s where this whole thing was headed. Where everything would be decided, one way or another. He knew he had to plant his feet and fight back. There was no other choice.
“Moscow on the Hudson, here we come,” the driver replied. “Any place in particular?”
“Sarvy’s,” Becks said, catching on.
“That’s the place to be tonight. You big Natalie Gold fans?” the driver asked.
“I love her song ‘Vengeance’,” Becks replied. “We’re all about vengeance today. It’s kind of our theme.”
They couldn’t get within five blocks of Sarvy’s—the area had been secured for the Natalie Gold’s arrival. The driver dropped them under an elevated subway track, near an enormous housing project. He provided them with directions, and they headed toward Sarvy’s on foot. A light rain began to fall.
Brighton Beach, or Little Odessa as the driver called it, was a place of great highs and lows. The oceanfront of the Atlantic was lined with gaudy art deco apartments. Flashy Mercedes sped the streets, and Armani-clad men shopped the boardwalk with gold-draped women. But a block later, it turned into infested crack houses and decaying clapboard homes.
There was one consistent theme—Russian, Russian, Russian. Darren was convinced that Moscow was less Russian than Brighton Beach. The storefronts were labeled in Russian, and it was the preferred language of the street. Darren thought there were a lot of guns in Arizona, but in Brighton they seemed as common as wearing a watch.
They passed the pushcart vendor who was responsible for their “arrest.” He winked at them. Darren felt another attack of paranoia coming on—nobody was who they seemed.
They arrived at Sarvy’s, which already had a parade of limos out front, despite the party being hours away. The men were dressed in tuxedos, accompanied by plastic blondes in low-cut evening gowns. And of course, gold was everywhere. This was not the trendy/celebrity crowd that would show up later, this was standard Brighton Beach.
Darren realized that they weren’t getting in to the club with their current outfits. The pilot uniform wasn’t going to cut it. So when in Russia, do as the Russians do. They found a nearby high-end clothing store where Darren purchased a tuxedo, while Becks was fitted for a silk chiffon dress that cascaded to the floor. When Darren met her yesterday she was a high school kid trudging around in flip-flops, and a day later it looked like it was her wedding day. They grow up so fast.
They came across a street vendor selling gold, and they strung all they could afford around themselves. The vendor proudly told them the jewelry was stolen. Thievery seemed to be a source of pride in these parts.
Looking the part, they were able to gain entrance into the club. The same bouncers frisked them as earlier, yet they went unrecognized in their new duds. They passed the weapons inspection, but Darren got the idea that maybe they should have thought twice about not being armed.
They walked inside to find the reconstruction project complete. The cavernous room had been transformed into a laser-light-show extravaganza with elaborate stage and video screen. There was no shortage of food, drink, or drug.
Becks went right to a beefy guard and demanded to see Parmalov. He claimed not to know of any such person, and walked away.
She would not be so easily deterred. She shot up onto the stage where Natalie Gold would perform later, and grabbed the microphone. “The Russian mob is red, the police are blue, and Parmalov I’ve come for you!” she shouted into the PA system, before the guards could even figure out their response.
Becks wasn’t done. She showed off impressive karaoke abilities, belting out The Beatles classic “Back in the USSR” without any accompanying music. It seemed an appropriate choice.
Darren thought she was either the gutsiest or craziest person he’d ever met. Maybe both. He was initially frozen by fear, but a vision of Treadwell popped into his head. He remembered his words about being a caveman, which inspired him to make a mad dash for the stage in an attempt to save her. But a group of Parmalov’s men met him there, and put an end to his heroism.
“You’re going to get your wish. Mr. Parmalov will see you now,” one guard said.
“I thought you didn’t know who he was,” Becks shot back.
The guard smiled fiendishly. “When he gets done with you, you’re going to wish I was right.”
Chapter 71
Lilly held Nick’s hand as they deplaned in New York. It was a cross-country chase that had taken them from Arizona to Las Vegas to Denver, with a stopover in Dallas/Oklahoma, and would end with a headfirst dive into the Sarvydas’ shark tank in Brighton Beach.
But Lilly knew that she couldn’t have talked Nick out of it even if she’d wanted to. He was desperate to get home to try to protect Sasha.
Lilly stepped into the gate area, still clutching onto Nick. The first thing she noticed was the chaos—something was going on in the airport. A tension hung in the air, and a large police presence was detectable.
It was too late to turn around, so they confidently stepped forward. Lilly straightened her posture, and walked confidently into the unknown.
The chaotic scene seemed to slightly unnerve Nick, but he calmly asked a security guard, “What’s all the commotion?”
The large man replied in a robust whisper. “Found a pilot dead on one of the planes.”
“Dead?” Lilly inquired further.
The guard shrugged. “There are rumors that he was murdered, but you didn’t hear that from me. My guess is he killed himself. These pilots sometimes live some lonely lives. If he was suicidal, I’m just glad he wasn’t flying my plane.”
As they spoke with the guard, something caught her eye. A tall blonde woman strolling carelessly through the terminal.
She whispered, “Isn’t that the reporter who put our picture on the TV, Jessi something-or-other?”
Nick said nothing, but his startled look confirmed her thoughts. He tightened the grip on her hand and pulled her out of the gate area, almost ripping Lilly’s shoulder from its socket in the process.
Lilly didn’t think it was by chance that a reporter who’d been tracking them across the country ended up in the same airport terminal. But the woman took a turn in the opposite direction without even a glance their way. Lilly watched as she disappeared into the crowd.
There was no time for relief. Around the next corner, both she and Nick recognized the man in the wheelchair. He wore a wig like he was some mustached cross-dresser. When you stand close enough to the Grim Reaper, you never forget his face. Lilly also knew the wheelchair wasn’t a total disguise. She had shot this man’s knees out.
“Zubov,” she whispered.
But he had other issues to deal with—the authorities began heading toward him, his disguise transparent. Despite the overwhelming numbers against him, Lilly still thought Zubov was the safe bet to prevail.
They weren’t going to hang around to find out. They exited the airport, passing mobs of screaming teenagers who had come to greet the arrival of their hero, Natalie Gold.
Nick found a limo service driver whose client failed to show, and he agreed to take them to the Zellen estate in Sands Point, Long Island.
Once settled in the vehicle, the first thing Lilly noticed was that her cell phone was missing. She went over in her mind where she could have left it—the most likely scenario was that it had fallen out of her pocket in her haste. And one particular instance came to mind. “I think I dropped my cell phone in the bathroom when we were…”
Nick grinned. “And they say phone sex isn’t as good as the real thing.”
Lilly bristled. “That’s not funny.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s just one of the throwaways you got in Vegas.”
Lilly bit her lip, mulling over the consequences of losing her phone.
As they hit the Long Island Expressway, passing over the Thro
gs Neck Bridge, they morphed into the doldrums. After all the excitement of the last forty hours, sitting in New York traffic just wasn’t feeding the monster.
Through the intercom, Lilly asked the driver to turn on the radio. He put on the all-news station 1010 WINS just in time for a breaking news story that a pilot named Ron Treadwell had been found dead at JFK Airport. No details had been released at this point, but there was speculation that it was linked to the airport shooting earlier in the day.
Lilly felt sick. She thought of Darren’s kooky but loyal friend—the one responsible for bringing them together. She prayed silently for Darren’s safety. She knew she could do nothing to stop the pain she had already caused him, but she couldn’t live with herself if he suffered a similar fate as Ron.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked with a concerned look, drawing her close.
She told him that she was. What was another lie at this point?
The other breaking news from JFK was that pop star Natalie Gold had arrived on American soil. Her high-profile arrival was complicating an already turbulent scene at the airport.
Nick’s thoughts seemed to go to a faraway place. But the next news item snapped him back to reality.
Alexei Sarvydas had been released from prison.
Chapter 72
Nick put his phone away, looking disgusted. “She’s still not answering!”
Lilly attempted to put her arm around him, but he rebuffed her.
“Sasha has been able to survive this year without protection, and she even worked out that secret meeting with you in Arizona. She’s tough, gutsy, and I’m sure, safe.”
“She needs protection from herself.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She’s going to the Natalie Gold premiere party tonight at Sarvy’s. When I called her from the road last night, she told me what she planned to do. She is so damn stubborn—once she sets her mind on something, it’s impossible to talk her out of it.”
Lilly’s look turned inquisitive. “Why would she do that? She knows what Sarvydas did to your parents, and that his people will be there, right?”
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