The Russian Problem (Darby Stansfield Thriller Book 2)

by John Charles

  The light turned green and Viktor screeched forward. Moving through traffic, he regained sight of the Smart Car and stayed three car lengths behind it.

  You feeble-minded American. You think you can put me, Viktor Kazapov, behind bars? You have no idea what I am capable of. Darby had to understand this before Viktor killed him. He had to experience fear. He had to know how powerful a force Viktor Kazapov could be.

  Under the conditions Viktor faced, he needed two things to dispose of Darby. The time needed for preparation and weapons—neither of which he had available to him now. One thing Viktor was sure of was that it needed to be quick. A drive-by might be the best move given the circumstances, but he wanted Darby to know who he had dared to challenge.

  82

  I was about four miles away from The Vic when I noticed a brown sedan driving erratically a few cars back. Ever since Fat Sal got the jump on me six months ago, I had made it habit to pay attention to my surroundings. I didn’t want him to have the opportunity again. I probably spent more time looking in my rearview mirror than I did looking ahead.

  I slowed a bit, wanting to see who the driver was. It didn’t take long before the sedan had caught up and was now one car behind. The man driving appeared to be Caucasian. Maybe he had a mustache. That’s all I could tell at the moment.

  The car didn’t seem to be getting any closer and it was no longer driving aggressively. I continued to watch it though. Not gonna slip this time. I watched the car fall farther back. It was probably my imagination getting the best of me. I was nearing The Vic anyway.

  When I pulled up outside the house, I was a bit disappointed. Where was the dog and pony show? Shouldn’t there have six or seven black-and-whites parked all over the place and a command center set-up? The entire street was devoid of San Francisco’s finest, from what I could tell. The parking lights didn’t give off much light, so there were a lot of dark patches on the street.

  No sooner had I turned off the ignition than five men surrounded my car. “Darby Stansfield?”

  “Yes, I’m Darby.”

  One of the men opened my car door and shoved a badge in my face.

  “I’m Special Agent Hernandez. This is Special Agent Moore. Please hurry; come with us right away.”

  Before I knew it, I was dragged out of my car and ushered to a black van across the street. Within seconds, I was tucked away inside and Tav and Ralphie were staring right at me. It felt good to see familiar faces.

  83

  Ralphie leapt from Tav’s arms and slammed right into me, slobbering all over my face with big, wet licks. He was happy to see me. I was happy to see him. “You miss me, buddy, huh?” I gave Ralphie a big hug. They always say that animals have a way of sensing if their owners are in trouble. While I wasn’t Tav, I think Ralphie knows I’m important to Tav, and he knew something was wrong. He was obviously relieved to see that I was okay.

  “Did they fill you in?” Tav asked.

  “Yeah. Detective Sokolov called me and told me and I rushed home.”

  “This is crazy.”

  I knew what Tav was getting at. “This is crazy,” was code for “Here we are again, caught up in a very dangerous situation.” I turned to the FBI guys who ushered me into the van. “So what happens now?”

  “We wait.”

  “Here in the van? All night?”

  “If need be.”

  “Aren’t we supposed to be holed up in a hotel or something?”

  “That only happens in the movies. You watch too much TV.” He gestured to the other side of the van. “There's soda and sandwiches in the cooler over there. You guys help yourselves.”

  And we did. I looked over at Tav between bites. “How long have you guys been in here?”

  “Not long. Maybe twenty minutes.”

  “What did Detective Sokolov tell you?”

  “Same thing he told you, except I was with him when he got the phone call.”

  “What phone call?”

  “He didn’t mention anything about your old apartment?”

  “No, why? What happened?”

  “Jeez, Darb, they said your old apartment was compromised. Viktor got in.”

  “Really?” Damn. Thank God I kept the old apartment. It threw the scent off of me.

  “There’s something else…” Tav said, sounding uncomfortable.

  “What?”

  “They found a body. A dead body.”

  “How did a dead body get in there? Who is it?”

  “They don’t know. There wasn’t any ID and she was naked.” He swallowed. “It might be Hillary, Darb…”

  Hillary? No, it can’t be Hillary. How did she—oh my god, the key! I sat still, flabbergasted, jaw slightly open. I had given Hillary the key to my old apartment. I totally forgot. And she kept it. I didn’t think she would. This is my fault. I’m responsible for Hillary’s death.

  “Darb, you okay?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  This was the second girl that I’d been involved with that had died. Wait, backtrack—make that murdered. Am I cursed?

  The shock felt worse with Hillary. Over the last month, the relationship had progressed in ways I had never imagined. I think that was the key difference between Tatiana and Hillary. I simply had more time to get to know Hillary.

  “There’s a chance it might not be her,” Tav said.

  “It’s her.”

  “Chin up, man. Until you know––“

  “Six months ago I gave her the key to my apartment as a joke. Told her if she ever felt like stopping by naked in an overcoat, don’t hesitate. She must have kept the key.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. That was a long time ago. How could you have known this would happen?”

  I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw up. Hillary was dead because of me—me and my stupid joking. Seriously, Darb, you need to grow up. “I caused this. I’m responsible.”

  “No, you’re not, Darb.”

  “I don’t know. If she didn’t have the key…”

  Then Agent Moore chimed in. “Look, pal, this ain’t none of my business, but don’t beat yourself up about it. There’s no way you could have known. Plus, let’s not forget about the psycho who’s out there. He did the killing, not you. Remember that.” He handed me a cup of coffee.

  It tasted good. I always wondered what surveillance coffee tasted like, whether they got the gourmet stuff or the generic swill.

  “It’s an unfortunate event. Wrong place at the wrong time,” agreed Agent Hernandez. “But that’s why we’re here: to nail this sonofabitch.”

  I sipped my coffee. I knew what they were saying was true. “Special Agent Hernandez, what’s your experience with guys like Viktor?”

  “They’re the worst. They feel no remorse for their kills—even take pride in them. Much like an Army sniper will take pride in his kills, but that’s war. This––this is just him killing someone for no reason.”

  “Do you think we’ll get him?”

  “Without a doubt. We have six cars with highly trained agents spread out over this street. There are agents in the house. If he makes a move here, we’ll take him down.”

  “I hope so. This guy seems to move, well, like a ghost.”

  It was getting later and still no sign of Viktor. No one was sure if he was coming or not or if he even knew of this address, but they had to assume he would, given he was Ghostface. Someone that good figured stuff out.

  84

  The sniper on the building opposite The Vic kept track of all movement on the street. He blended perfectly with the background. He was invisible to the naked eye down below.

  From his vantage point, he could see everything. He watched the old lady walking her dog, the jogger, the pizza delivery kid. He watched them all. Maybe that’s why he missed the man standing right behind him.

  Viktor reached around with his blade and slit the sniper’s neck, leaving him gurgling on the rooftop. His life ended a few seconds later.

  Viktor p
icked up the brand new DSR-1 sniper rifle with quick-detachable tactical silencer and night vision scope. It was a German product. Such a powerful weapon… this wasn’t the local police force, Viktor thought. They brought their best welcoming party.

  He surveyed the other rooftops to see if there was a second shooter. When he was convinced they had deployed only one, he scoped the streets, the cars, and the surrounding buildings. He easily spotted law enforcement in their vehicles. The black van at the top of the street must be a command center. Viktor had to assume they had men inside the house.

  The white Smart Car was parked right outside of a Victorian home. Earlier, Viktor got caught up in traffic and fell behind more than he wanted. But seeing that Darby was heading back into a residential area, he simply drove up and down every street until he spotted the car.

  Viktor scanned the windows searching for a sign. He got it. There was a window with the lights on. The curtain was drawn, but there was a crack. He zeroed in with the scope and saw what looked like an FBI agent. I haven’t had the chance to tango with the FBI. This should be fun. He focused. He waited. He watched their movement. By his calculation, there were three, maybe four of them in that room.

  Viktor figured that if Darby were nearby, he would be in another room in the house or in the black van, the command center. His hunch told him they wouldn’t risk keeping him in the house.

  It was nearing half past nine. Viktor knew he needed to make a move. He had plans to leave on the red-eye to Taiwan. Boris would fly the coop while they continued to look for Viktor.

  He checked his ammunition. The magazine in the gun held five rounds and he found four more box magazines on the sniper. That gave him a total of twenty-five rounds.

  Viktor counted the law enforcement in the cars. By his count there were eight, plus the three or four he could see through the window in the apartment. Twelve rounds spoken for. Was he thinking of eliminating everyone? He was. It was the only way. He had to kill as many of them as possible, and quickly.

  The big unknown was the man count in the van. Viktor guessed three agents. That brought his count, including Darby, to fifteen people that needed to be eliminated.

  85

  The first shot was fired at exactly 9:45 p.m. The head of the agent in the driver’s seat of the black SUV exploded. A second later, his partner’s head popped open. Viktor moved on to the next vehicle and eliminated the two agents. That was four before anybody registered that they were being fired upon.

  The next two agents went down just as quickly. Viktor still had one more vehicle with two agents, plus the men in the apartment and the van. He swung the rifle toward the last car. Before he could get a shot off, he spotted the side of the van opening. Agent Hernandez stepped outside. Viktor aimed and sent a bullet right through the middle of his face. Presto, no more face. The body crumpled to the ground, half in the van, half outside. Viktor could hear screaming coming from the van.

  Scream, Darby. You’re next.

  A hand pushed the agent’s body the rest of the way out onto the street and slammed the door.

  By now the two agents in the last car were out and hiding behind it. Too bad Viktor could still see the tops of their foreheads with his night vision. Bam, bam, down. That’s how it’s done.

  86

  “The rooftop position has been compromised. I repeat, the rooftop position has been compromised. Our guy is the shooter on the roof,” Sokolov shouted over the radio. It didn’t take long for Sokolov and the other agents to spot the muzzle flashes. But by then, the damage had been done. To what extent, they were about to find out.

  Agent Moore cracked over the radio, “We have a man down outside of the van. I repeat, Agent Hernandez is down. He’s dead. The package is okay.”

  Sokolov continued to radio the other positions, but none of them were responding. After a quick reassessment, he realized Ghostface had eliminated all of the agents on the street, with the exception of Agent Moore in the van.

  The first to respond to the deadly news was the young Turk, Agent Krasowski. “Are we seriously down nine men? How did that happen? Who is this guy?”

  Sokolov turned to him. “I told you earlier that Ghostface was dangerous.”

  “That’s nine men gone. Shit.”

  “That can’t be,” said Agent Wilkonson as he walked over to the window and peeked out.

  “Get away from that window,” Sokolov shouted.

  Too late. The top of the agent’s head erupted, leaving a chunky mix of bone and brains in the cavity. Agent Krasowski began to move toward the body.

  “Stop,” Sokolov commanded. “Don’t move another inch. That’s what he wants. He can see through that crack in the drape with his scope.”

  “We just lost Agent Wilkonson in the apartment,” Sokolov radioed to Agent Moore. “That leaves you, me, Agent Bennett, and Agent Krasowski. He’s got the high ground. We’re pinned for now. I’m sending Agent Krasowski up to the roof to see if we can counter.”

  “Roger that. We’re not moving. As far as we know, he thinks there are more agents in the van.”

  Sokolov was busy radioing for help. “Multiple officers down. Need help. Very experienced sniper is positioned on a rooftop opposite our location and he has us pinned. Send SWAT. I repeat shooter is an expert sniper and is on the roof opposite our location. He has already eliminated ten men.”

  It would be only minutes before the arrival of the cavalry. Viktor knew that. He had fifteen rounds left. The van was parked facing away from him. Too bad: that eliminated the option of firing into the front window with every last round. The gun was capable of putting bullets through metal no more than a quarter of an inch thick. Viktor figured he was close enough that he could penetrate the van. But he wasn’t sure how powerful or accurate the bullet would be after puncturing metal.

  Viktor put two bullets into the back of the van, shattering both windows. To his surprise, the van was lit up inside. There in his view was an agent. It looked as if one of the rounds had gotten him in the chest. He appeared to still be breathing, barely. No sense wasting another bullet on him. From what he could see, everyone else must be on the right side of the van leaning up against the metal. Perfect.

  Just then a bullet ricocheted off of the roof only inches from Viktor. He swung around looking for the shooter. He couldn’t find him. The wail of the sirens was getting louder and louder.

  Viktor either had to leave or sign his own death warrant. Thirteen rounds left. What to do? He quickly put two rounds into the once-lit window of the Victorian. Eleven left. He then turned to the van and put three into the side. Eight left. Back to the darkened window, he pulled the trigger twice more. Six left. Make them count.

  But Viktor was losing focus. He had to accept that he might not get Darby. The entire block was seconds away from being overrun by uniforms.

  Two more shots rang out. Viktor felt one of the bullets zip by just above his head. That was close. That shot did not come from the window.

  Then he saw the shooter. He was on the building opposite him. He swung his rifle up and fired twice at the moving shadow. Four rounds left. Where are you, Darby?

  87

  Tav and I were lying on the floor of the van, away from the window, when two more rounds found their way into the van. The bullets had punched holes right through the metal above our heads. Thank God Agent Moore told us to lie down.

  No one said anything, not even Ralphie. He was being a good boy. He did exactly what he was told.

  I looked at Tav. He lay dormant on the floor of the van, his face devoid of any emotion. His colorless skin appeared clammy and wax like. He looked like the living dead. Once again I had put my best friend in grave danger. What is wrong with me? This is something I promised him I would never ever do again. Fail. I reached over Ralphie and patted Tav on the shoulder. My eyes told him everything was going to be okay. He said nothing. I prayed Tav would hold it together. The last thing I wanted was my best friend freaking out and getting himself killed.
/>
  Agent Moore was shot, but not bad. The bullet had clipped the side of his body armor, entering and exiting the right side of his torso. He was bleeding, but he said not to worry, he would live.

  Does that mean we will live? Viktor was still shooting at us. Agent Moore had a side arm and a tactical shotgun. Not much of a match for a sniper.

  Agent Moore picked up the radio. “We’re pinned down inside the van. I’m hit, but mobile. Viktor is shooting methodically at the van trying to hit us. We’re running out of room.”

  Sokolov could hear another round enter the van through the radio. He had to do something. Viktor was bound to hit one of them. He had heard Agent Krasowski fire off a couple of rounds, but nothing since then. He motioned for Agent Bennett to stack up behind him.

  Sokolov then used a tiny mirror to peek out of the window. He could see the barrel of the sniper rifle hanging over the edge of the roof. It was aimed in the direction of the van.

  He radioed back to Agent Moore. “He’s looking for movement. Stay still. Don’t give away anything. Backup will be here any second. We got this psychopath.”

  Seconds later we heard screeching tires outside the van. Agent Moore stuck his head up and looked out the front window. SWAT had arrived.

  Shouting and the crackle of two-way radios soon filled the air. Within minutes, bright lights lit up the street. A voice came over a loudspeaker telling residents to stay inside and lock all doors and windows. The announcement was repeated over and over.

  There was a knock on the door. Agent Moore opened the door and SFPD SWAT immediately scooped us up. They were all dressed in black, had on helmets, and wore complete body armor. They quickly ushered Tav, Ralphie, and me to a more secure location much further away from the van.