“You killed my mother, you son of a bitch!” Nick shouted over the music. His face was filled with rage. But Alexei had something he didn’t have—a gun.
“Now you and your mommy are going to get to spend a lot of time together.”
Natalie screamed, but it was drowned out by her own music. Security backed off.
It was time for Darren to move in. “Drop the gun, Alexei,” he yelled as loud as he could.
Alexei looked more confused than anything. As expected, Zubov offered Alexei no help. When Alexei saw that his new adversary was Darren, his smug look returned. “Nick is the one you should be aiming at—he’s the one who’s been banging your wife.”
“I said put the gun down,” Darren remained firm.
Alexei bellowed a laugh. “Why would I put the gun down if you are going to shoot me?”
“Because if you don’t, then I will,” rang out a familiar voice.
Darren turned to see Becks. She had changed clothing, and her left shoulder was bandaged, but he was relieved to see that she was alive and kicking. She demonstrated that her shooting arm was completely healthy, as she held her Glock on Alexei.
“You too, Darren. Drop the gun—now!”
Dropping the gun meant Lilly would die. “Get out of here, Becks. I need to take care of this.”
“I can’t let you do that, Darren. If you don’t drop your weapon, I’m going to have to shoot you. I know I haven’t been straight with you the last couple days, but I’m dead serious right now.”
Darren raised his gun in defiance.
“I know why you’re doing this, Darren,” Becks pleaded. “Dava threatened Lilly’s life if you didn’t kill Alexei for them. And my guess is that Nick was used to lure Alexei, or else they’ll harm his sister. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer.
“If you don’t shut up, bitch, I’m going to make your death slow and torturous. First, I’m going to shoot your friends. And then I’m going to shoot you,” Alexei stated confidently.
“This place is surrounded by FBI—that’s a suicide mission, Alexei,” Becks shouted.
“Then I guess we’re all going to hell together,” Alexei said and took aim directly at Darren.
Before Darren could even compute what was happening, a gunshot echoed throughout the club and he hit the ground with a painful thud. But he hadn’t been shot. Becks had tackled him. And she returned fire at Alexei. A direct hit right through the heart.
People scattered. Celebrities, bodyguards, and Russian mobsters all stampeded. The music was drowned out by screams.
Becks pushed Darren away. “Get out of here now!”
“Not without you,” he replied.
She shook her head in annoyance. “I don’t like this new spine thing. Now get attah here!”
Darren knew how to take orders—it’s what he was best at. He scrambled to his feet. The feds and Russian thugs began shooting at each other like they were reenacting the Cold War. The gunshots were so loud that Darren thought his ears would pop.
Darren ran like he hadn’t done since he was known as Run DMC. He had one purpose—to get to Lilly and make sure she was safe.
Chapter 80
Darren knew the object being thrust into the small of his back was a gun. He turned slowly to see Zubov, sitting in his wheelchair with a smile on his face.
“You failed in your mission,” he said coldly.
“Alexei is dead, that’s what I was sent to do.”
“Technically yes, but I don’t remember anyone giving you permission to outsource the dirty work.”
“I would’ve killed him.”
A chuckling Zubov removed the gun. “Tell it to the judge.”
The Hummer limo skidded to a stop just feet from them, adding to the curbside bedlam. A door flung open and Darren was shoved into the back. Zubov was helped in, leaving his wheelchair behind.
Darren was seated next to Lilly, who was shaking. He wanted to reach out to her, until he noticed Nick on her other side. He had reached out to her, their hands were touching. It was like salt was running through an IV into his wounds.
Dava was seated across from them, along with Nick and his sister, and a visibly shaken Natalie Gold.
“Zubov tells me the mission was completed, even if it fell far from a success,” Dava said, glaring right through Darren.
“I did my part, now let Sasha go free like you promised,” Nick implored.
Sasha didn’t agree. “I’m not going anywhere without my brother.”
But Zubov had the final word. He grabbed her, opened the door and threw her out onto the sidewalk.
Zubov limped to the front of the limo. Without warning, he put two shots through the driver’s head. The gunfire sent shock waves of fear through the captives, and Lilly’s scream sliced through the limo.
In an apparent justification of his actions, Zubov declared that the driver was not innocent, as he had been working for Parmalov.
Zubov took over the driving duties—not acknowledging any pain from his kneecaps—directing the limo away from the chaos outside of Sarvy’s.
Darren remained seated beside Lilly, with Nick on her other side. Lilly was once again in the middle.
Dava addressed Lilly, “You are a very lucky woman to have these two men fighting over you.”
Lilly said nothing, but Darren couldn’t help noticing her subtle movement toward Nick. It was almost instinctive. She thought of him as the one who would protect her.
Nick didn’t seem to pick up on her body language—he was too busy staring at Natalie Gold. The woman he had embraced like a long-lost lover in Sarvy’s and referred to as Audrey. Darren still didn’t know what to make of that.
“I think you chose the wrong man,” Dava continued. “Your husband was the one who risked his life for you, willing to take another man’s life to save your pathetic one.”
Lilly hung her head. “Please let Darren go—he’s innocent. I’m the one who deserves to die.”
The look in her eyes told Darren another story. She would never put her life on the line for him, the way he did for her. And he couldn’t get the woman who did risk her life for him out of his thoughts. He feared the worst for Becks and regretted leaving her in that crossfire.
“It’s not up to you if you die,” Dava shot back, “but you will soon go on trial, just as all of you will.”
“Trial?” Nick asked.
“You will be tried in the court of Viktor Sarvydas at his estate in Netanya. I will be the prosecutor in the case.”
“Netanya, as in Israel?” Darren asked. This thing got crazier by the moment.
“It’s certainly not out on Long Island,” Dava snapped back.
“Why did you kill Alexei?” Natalie Gold asked.
“I’m sorry about your date, Ms. Gold, and that your party didn’t come off as expected. But we were ordered to bring you home,” Dava informed.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Natalie pushed.
“All the answers you seek will come out at trial.”
Darren found his inner-Becks, and proclaimed, “I have no idea who came up with this insane plan, but there is no way you will be able to get to Israel. All the airports are already on high alert. Do you really think they are just going to let you board a plane with hostages and clear you for takeoff?”
“No, I expect you to walk us onto a plane. And I expect you to fly us to Israel.”
“That has a zero percent chance of working.”
“Oh really,” Dava responded to Darren. She took out a cell phone and made a call. “It’s Kelli. We’re headed for the airport...we’ll see you soon.” Pause. “Yes, Nick is with us. Along with the McLaughlins and Natalie Gold. Let me know when we’ve been cleared.”
Dava smiled confidently upon hanging up. “That was Viktor—he sends his best and looks forward to your arrival. He assured me we will be cleared for takeoff. It seems the US doesn’t want blood on its hands if Israel’s national
treasure, Natalie Gold, was to be killed on US soil. And when you have friends in the highest places, these things have a way of working themselves out so that everyone gets what they want.”
All eyes went to Natalie. Except Nick’s—his had never left her. Dava picked up on this, as had Lilly.
“Seems your favorite student has a wandering eye,” Dava announced. She then turned to Darren.
“You are a better person than I am, Mr. McLaughlin.”
“Since you are a murderer, I don’t think that’s saying much.”
She ignored his retort. “After your wife so egregiously betrayed you, you risked your life for her, knowing that she wouldn’t even piss on you if you were on fire. Your response amazes me.”
“Marriage is for better or worse. Until death do us part,” Darren said.
“We’ll see what the judge has to say about that.”
Chapter 81
Becks stood fists on hips, refusing any medical treatment for her second bullet wound of the day, which tied her personal record. This one grazed her thigh, and besides the awful pain, it ruined a good pair of jeans. Just a typical night out in Brighton Beach.
At least three medical technicians and two federal agents informed her that she was “lucky” to only have a flesh wound. She just gritted her teeth and nodded. The sting in her leg was pulsating through her entire body, but she wouldn’t allow anyone to see her wince, especially the FBI agents. Or Eicher, who stood next to her outside of Sarvy’s under the April moonlight.
Before he could even start in with the predictable condescending lecture, she went on the offensive, “So do you believe me now?”
“What I believe is that you messed up this whole case from the beginning, Fitzpatrick. From your substandard protection of Nick in Arizona, to recklessly exacerbating the situation in the club.”
“He was going to shoot Darren.”
“I think the judge will see it that Darren was the aggressor, especially since he threatened to shoot that TV reporter on his way in. The Sarvydas lawyers will have a field day—they already have made the case that we were on a witch hunt after their client, and now five minutes after he gets out of prison he gets shot by a rogue federal marshal.”
“If it wasn’t for me, Alexei Sarvydas would be dead,” she paused for a moment, her face turning distressed. “Okay, he’s dead anyway—but if I didn’t determine that Darren would be the shooter, he would have shot him instead of me.” She thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that’s not in our favor either. If it makes you feel any better, I think they were planning to kill Lilly McLaughlin and Sasha Zellen if Alexei lived. So you could make the case that I saved lives.”
Eicher sadly shook his head.
A team of FBI agents approached. “The place is secure,” said the lead agent, his silver hair illuminated by the moonlight.
Becks remained on the offensive, “What are you doing here? I thought they put you out to pasture in Oklahoma.”
LaPoint shook his head. It was like he and Eicher took a head-shaking class at Quantico. “When word got out that you were in New York, Chelsea, they sent me to clean up whatever mess you were going to make. And I must say, you outdid yourself this time.”
“It’s Fitzpatrick to you.”
“Since you want to keep this professional, I think it’s time to head back to Foley so we can depose you.”
Becks cringed. It was standard procedure anytime a federal agent was involved in a fatal shooting, but it could be long and tedious, and sometimes took days. She didn’t have that kind of time. She’d figured out what was going on here, and by their blank looks, she could see that her compadres had yet to solve the puzzle. The bottom line was that Darren was in deep trouble. She needed to think, so she headed toward a place she could better think.
“Where do you think you’re going?” LaPoint’s abrasive voice shot through the night air. She kept limping away. Their choice was to shoot or follow. They chose the latter, probably because they didn’t want to deal with the tedious deposition.
Brighton Beach was right on the Atlantic Ocean, and Becks could feel the salty sea air in her lungs. It was hard to believe they were only a couple of subway stops from skyscraper-lined Manhattan. It was also hard to believe they were in America. The sign on the bar she walked into was written in Cyrillic, so she didn’t know the name of the establishment, but could tell it was a bar by the guttural laughter of inebriation. They might have been speaking Russian, but Becks needed a drink, so they were speaking her language.
“Dos Vedanya?” a strapping brick wall of a bartender asked her, inquiring if she and her party were Russian.
Becks held up her badge. “Federal Marshals, FBI, KGB, it’s all the same. Now hook me up with a stiff White Russian, and I don’t mean that albino at the end of the bar.”
“We don’t serve cops,” the bartender informed.
“They told us the same thing at Sarvy’s—so I shot Alexei Sarvydas.”
She reached for her gun, but realized it had been confiscated, as her badge soon would be. But she had made her point. Word of Alexei’s death had spread throughout Brighton, and probably all the way to Moscow. The now agreeable bartender motioned for a waitress to take them to a table.
Becks didn’t really want to share her theory with Eicher and LaPoint, but since she would probably be on unpaid vacation by the time the clock hit midnight, they might be Darren’s only chance. So she laid out what she believed happened that fateful day at the Zellen estate. Alexei didn’t kill Karl Zellen, in fact, he wasn’t even there. And then she told them who did shoot Karl, and why.
The reaction was expected. “That’s ridiculous,” Eicher said. “It can’t be.”
LaPoint was even less gracious. “Just because you were undercover in high school didn’t mean you had to start smoking pot.”
They weren’t buying what she was selling, but one thing they couldn’t deny was the fact that what happened to Karl was linked directly to the night long ago when Viktor allegedly had his wife and father-in-law murdered.
“I was right about Dava. Has she called in yet, Eicher? Maybe she was taking a nap and missed your five gazillion calls.”
Eicher looked like she’d slapped him across the face, and said nothing.
“And I was right about Darren. He was going to shoot Alexei at the party. So keep betting against me, boys, but remind me to never take you with me to Vegas.”
“So what do you suggest we do?” Eicher finally gave in.
Chapter 82
Before Becks could even pretend that she had a plan, a buzz swept through the bar and the chatter surrounding them intensified. The programming on the mounted televisions had changed from Russian language shows to a voice that was way too familiar to Becks.
The view on the screen was of the back of the Hummer limo that Natalie Gold arrived in at Sarvy’s. The camera angle was coming from a vehicle behind the limo, providing a perspective similar to that of an in-car camera during television coverage of auto racing. On the bottom of the screen was a banner graphic that shouted: Sarvy’s Shootout!
“This is Jessi Stafford reporting. After escaping Sarvy’s, we are now attempting to chase down the culprit in the tragic shooting, Darren McLaughlin.
“For those of you just tuning in, we will again play the video for you where the assailant came after Nick Zellen with a gun in an act of revenge. Zellen was thought to be a student named Brett Buckley, who ran off with McLaughlin’s wife.”
The video appeared on the screen of Darren pointing a gun at Jessi. The camera continued to roll, and moments later he would pull the same gun on Alexei Sarvydas and threaten to kill him.
That’s when Becks flew in to save the day. Sort of. After that, everything went dark, as the cameraman ran for his life as screams and gunshots rang out. Becks was glad the film ended there. She had no desire to relive the agony, the gunshot she received was the least of her pain. But that didn’t lessen the discomfort from the sharpest thorn in her si
de—Jessi Stafford.
“What Darren McLaughlin wasn’t counting on was Buckley’s high school girlfriend, Rebecca Ryan, also showing up looking for revenge. This toxic combination ended in deadly gunfire, and the death of Alexei Sarvydas.”
The view on the screen returned to the car chase. “We are following the suspects of the Sarvy’s Shooting, led by an armed and dangerous Darren McLaughlin. I am reporting that two partners in crime, Dava ‘Kelli’ Lazinski of the US Attorney’s Office, and his estranged wife, Lilly McLaughlin, are assisting him. This was confirmed when I gained access to Lilly McLaughlin’s cell phone, which included messages between Lilly and Lazinski. Nick Zellen has provided me information that will fully explain this situation, which I agreed to release only upon his instructions. But as a preview, we are releasing the first photo of Darren McLaughlin and Lazinski together, along with murder victim Ron Treadwell.”
The photo of the three amigos appeared on the screen. It was of Darren and Treadwell, posing with Dava, and appeared to have been taken in a bar. This new development was a speed bump in Becks’ theory and got her sideways looks from Eicher and LaPoint. She wasn’t sure how it fit in, but it didn’t cause her to waver. And it’s not like Eicher could talk, since he believed Dava was an innocent bystander in all this.
“To the best of our knowledge, the other victims inside the vehicle include pop princess Natalie Gold, a war veteran who calls himself Zubov, and Nick Zellen.”
Zubov a victim—really? The reporter was making Becks crave another gunshot wound—this one to her head—and she couldn’t believe she was reporting that Darren was the criminal mastermind. It seemed to Becks that she was the only one who had figured out who the real villain was.
Becks was forced to give some credit to the reporter—the video was very helpful. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen as the limo cruised through the New York night. Where were they headed?
LaPoint answered the question, “They’re going to the airport!”
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