The Broken Chase

by Cap Daniels

  He finished his glass of whiskey. “So, this is a family thing for you, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s exactly what it is.”

  “If that’s the case, understand that you’re my family now. You and I are soldiers in the same army. We’re brothers-in-arms. And even though I can’t figure out how Ms. Ana fits into all of this, apparently, she’s one of us, too. You saw tonight how SF soldiers stick together. Porter and his guys never once questioned what we were doing or why we were doing it. I needed their help, and they helped. It’s that simple. That’s what you get from me, Chase. If you need or want my help, you’ve got it. If you want me to drop you off in Miami and disappear, that’s up to you, but I’m not walking out on you now. Here’s my skillset: I can fight, kick in doors, shoot, fly, and dive. I can be a diminutive courier delivering packages to Jekyll Island, or I can kick down a door and start spraying bullets. I think I’ve demonstrated both of those recently. If you need any of that done, I’m your guy. If not, I can probably find somebody to do pretty much anything you need.”

  Anya surprised both of us by quoting part of the U.S. Army Ranger Creed . . . almost verbatim. “I will never leave fallen comrade to fall into hands of enemy, and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.”

  “Exactly,” said Clark.

  I appreciated his willingness to crawl around in the trenches with me. “Have you got any friends in Miami who might know this Giovani character?” I asked.

  “I know a guy who works Dade County vice, but I’ll bet that pretty little Russian girl behind you could ask around and find Giovani before my vice cop can.”

  “I have skillset, too,” Anya said.

  Clark stood and placed his empty glass on the dresser. “I’m sure you do. I guess I’d better go sleep off this whiskey. It sounds like we’ll be flying to Miami in the morning to find your little sister.” He pulled me into a hug I hadn’t expected. “You’ve had a tough night, man. Try to get some sleep.”

  I grimaced and let out that little girl sound again.

  Clark laughed and patted my ribs. “Rub a little dirt on it and embrace the suck, my friend. Goodnight.”

  I locked the door behind him and asked Anya, “What do you think? Should we keep him?”

  “We should. And you should take medicine for pain and sleep.”

  I swallowed the two pain pills she placed in my hand, then we turned out the lights and crawled into bed. I was careful to avoid lying on my broken ribs, but they still hurt like I’d wrestled a bear. I found a position that didn’t leaving me gasping in pain, and Anya placed her hand on my ribs.

  How could a woman who was such a warrior be so gentle? The dichotomy of Anya Burinkova was almost beyond comprehension.

  I brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead and found myself wanting to know everything that lay behind those beautiful eyes. “You’re not really pregnant, are you?”

  “Goodnight, my Chase,” is all she said.

  12

  Have Faith

  I don’t know from which continent the continental breakfast originated, but the inhabitants of said continent have no understanding of a good morning meal. Cold muffins, cereal from a huge plastic tub, and a paper shot glass full of watered-down orange juice doesn’t qualify as breakfast.

  The pain meds did nothing to help me sleep or ease my pain. All they did was make me itch and left me incapable of thinking clearly for several hours through the night. Anya slept like a kitten. She curled up and never moved. I envied her ability to sleep in almost any environment. My inability to sleep was fueled primarily by my struggle to deal with the fact that I’d unnecessarily killed a man in cold blood. I could’ve justified it with a dozen excuses, but ultimately, there was no reason for me to kill him. We had extracted the information we’d needed. He’d been tortured mentally and physically beyond what anyone deserves, and after all, he was a human and may have had a family who depended on him. I could never take back what I’d done no matter how much anguish I suffered over the deed, but that didn’t stop it from haunting me.

  While I was pushing my bagel around on my Styrofoam plate, I overheard Clark ask Anya, “Is he all right?”

  She just shrugged.

  * * *

  We left the hotel and crossed A1A, the four-lane highway running along the south side of the island, and began walking the mile to the airport instead of waiting for the shuttle. I watched morning runners and early-bird seashell collectors sharing Smathers Beach as the sun pierced the eastern sky and bathed the island with its orange light. The darkness consuming my psyche from ending Micky’s life without necessity was not going to be so easily overtaken as the darkness that enveloped the island every night. It was going to take far more than an inferno-consumed star some ninety-three-million miles distant to burn away the darkness looming inside me.

  The burning star I needed was walking beside me and crying inside because she couldn’t bear seeing me torture myself over what I’d done.

  Anya said, “We will meet you at airplane, Clark.”

  She took my hand and led me from the sidewalk, onto the white sand, and down to the water’s edge.

  We sat and watched the sun’s light play across the gently breaking waves while pelicans dived on baitfish in the shallow water. It was a postcard scene come to life, but I was in no mood for postcards. I was focused on three things: finding Skipper and getting her home safely, finding out if Anya was really pregnant, and figuring out how long it would take to get over my guilt for ruthlessly killing Micky.

  The relentless wind made Anya’s hair float on the morning breeze. She pulled her hair into a ponytail then turned so her back was to the rising sun.

  A smile came across her lips. “Chase,” she said, “I love you, and I love how you care for your friends. Do not worry. I am not pregnant. Maybe someday for us I will bring you baby, but not now. It was only what I said to make horrible little man shoot me and not you. I knew his gun would fail, but I couldn’t let him shoot you in case I was wrong.”

  She seemed to know my every thought, and her look of sorrow was breaking my heart.

  She held my face in her hands. “Listen to me, Chase. You killed that man for hurting Skipper and for other girls. This is true, but not all of reason. You saw him point gun at me and pull trigger. He tried to kill me, and you made him pay for this. I cry when I think of this—when I think of how much anger you have for someone who tries to hurt me. You are protector of me and for all girls that man would hurt for rest of his life.”

  “How do you always know exactly what to say?” I asked.

  She pressed her finger to my lips. “Quiet. I am not finished. Inside, you are also hurting and afraid for daughter of your friends. We will find her and take home to Laura. Do not doubt, Chasechka . . . believe. I do not know your God, but I see faith in you when you talk to Him. Have same faith we will find her.”

  Had she really been watching and listening when I prayed? Did my questions and doubts appear to be faith to her? How can this woman see so easily into my soul and understand the depths of my pain?

  “You’re supposed to be an assassin, Anya Burinkova, not a psychologist.”

  “I am many things. Assassin is only small part.”

  The truth of her statement was powerful, just like the woman herself.

  “If we don’t get moving, Clark is going to leave without us,” I said.

  “He will not leave us here. He will wait for us. We must first finish talk. I need to ask you question and you will not like to answer, but you must.”

  I stared into her hypnotic eyes and tried to imagine what was about to come out of her mouth.

  Still cupping my face in the palm of her hand, she peered into my soul. “What is it you truly want, my Chase?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to know what you want more than anything in whole world. Everyone wants something. What do you want?”

  Without hesitation, I said, “I want to
find Skipper and take her home to her folks.”

  “No, Chase. That is not what you want. That is mission for you. That is duty, and we will do that together, but after that, above all else”—she touched my chest with the tips of her fingers—“what is it that you want inside heart?”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. “I want to know about my father and my mother. I want to know who they really were and what really happened to them and my sister.”

  Anya bit at her bottom lip.

  “I spent my childhood believing they were missionaries,” I said. “Do you know what a missionary is?”

  She nodded but didn’t make eye contact.

  “We traveled all over the Caribbean, my parents, my sister and me, and I thought we were building schools and caring for those people, but that’s just what they wanted me and everyone else to believe. According to some of the people I, and now you work with, my parents were just like you and me. They were assassins and spies.”

  Anya licked her lips. “I know, Chase. I know about your parents and sister.”

  A sickening chill exploded through my body. Hearing her say those words made every hair on my skin stand on end. “What do you mean you know about my family? How could you know anything about them?”

  “I told you, Chase. I am many things—assassin is only one.”

  I pulled away from her. She reached for my hands, but I wouldn’t let her touch me.

  “Tell me what you know,” I demanded.

  She gazed toward the airport and then back at me, still not making eye contact. “I promise I will tell you everything after we find Skipper. I cannot tell you now. You must understand.”

  “No! I must not understand. You know about my family and you think I’m just going to agree that you’ll tell me later? No! That’s not how this works, Anya. You’ll tell me everything you think you know about my family, and you’ll tell me now. That’s how this works.”

  “No, Chase, not now.” She reached for my hands again.

  I stood up and dusted the sand from my pants, trying not boil over. I could see the frustration and pain on her face.

  “Why, Anya? Why can’t you tell me now?”

  She stood, and I let her take my hands as my breath came in shallow gasps.

  “My Chase. I love you with all of me, and I will tell you everything I know, but now you must focus on Skipper. She needs us, and we made promise to Laura and Coach. When we have made promise complete, I swear it. You will know everything we know.”

  “We?” I choked. “Who is we?”

  “SVR, Chase. I will tell you everything SVR knows about your family.”

  I lifted her chin, forcing her to look into my eyes. “You will tell me everything the second Skipper is safe, and not a minute after. And you are not SVR. That’s behind you.”

  “Yes, Chase, I promise.”

  We brushed the remaining sand from each other and headed for the airport. I signed for the fuel and overnight parking for the plane and found Clark finishing up his preflight inspection.

  “Do you want me to file for Miami Executive?” he asked.

  “No, let’s go to the Ocean Reef Club. The airport identifier is zero seven Fox Alpha. We can pick up my car there. It’ll be less than an hour’s drive to Miami Beach, and we’ll need wheels when we get there.”

  He agreed and filed the flight plan. We climbed aboard, Clark in the left seat, and me in the right with Anya in the first passenger seat. We went through the startup flow with me calling checklist items and Clark doing the work. The King Air was a magnificent airplane with a well-appointed cockpit and cabin.

  “Key West clearance delivery, this is King Air one zero Uniform Charlie on the general aviation ramp with information Bravo, request IFR clearance to 07FA.”

  I made the radio calls while Clark set up the navigation radios and GPS. It was less than a hundred miles to the Ocean Reef Club airport on Key Largo, so it would only take about twenty-five minutes to get there.

  The controller said, “King Air one zero Uniform Charlie is cleared to the 07FA airport direct. On departure, climb and maintain two thousand, expect one one thousand ten minutes after departure. Departure frequency is one-two-four-point-zero-two-five and squawk four-two-seven-four.”

  I read back the clearance and we taxied out to runway two-seven.

  “Do you want to fly this leg?” Clark asked.

  I rarely passed up a chance to fly anything, especially an airplane as sexy as the King Air. I needed to focus on the flight to keep my mind from guessing what Anya would have to say about my family.

  “Sure,” I said. “I have the controls. You have the radios.”

  Clark responded, “You have the controls.”

  His discipline in the cockpit was impressive. Everything was by the book. I wasn’t always such a stickler for the rules, but in an airplane as sophisticated as that one was, being all business was a good thing.

  He pushed the button on the yoke. “Key West Tower, this is King Air one zero Uniform Charlie, holding short of two-seven, ready to go.”

  The crisp sounding tower controller said, “King Air ten UC, turn right on course, wind two-four-zero at niner, runway two-seven, cleared for takeoff.”

  “Right on course, cleared for takeoff, one zero Uniform Charlie,” replied Clark.

  I pushed the throttles forward and felt the airplane pick up speed.

  Clark called out, “Airspeed alive and building, cross-check . . . V-one . . . rotate.”

  At the command of “rotate,” I pulled the nosewheel off the ground and the plane leapt off the runway as if it yearned to fly. I gave the command, “Positive rate of climb, gear up.”

  He lifted the landing gear as I turned right, direct to Key Largo.

  The departure controller cleared us up to eleven thousand feet, and we leveled off in less than seven minutes. I pulled the power back, set the props for cruise, and settled in for the thirteen minutes of cruise flight. Clark reported the airport in sight from thirty miles away and the controller cleared us down to three thousand feet. About ten miles from the airport, Clark canceled our IFR clearance, and we made a visual approach to runway two-three.

  Taxiing to the parking ramp, I noticed Hank strolling out of the FBO. He was the airport manager who’d flown with Dr. Richter in the service and had become a good friend to me. He shielded his eyes from the morning sun, certainly wondering who’d landed at his private airport.

  I brought the plane to a stop on the parking ramp and shut down the engines. Anya had the cabin door open and the stairs deployed before Clark and I finished the shutdown checklist. I glanced out the small window to see her hugging Hank. He’d spent more than his share of time overseas doing some less-than-official dirty deeds for the good guys. Even though he was far from young anymore, he still loved having a beautiful young Russian greet him on an island airport.

  “Get your hands off my girl, you old scoundrel,” I said, stepping from the plane.

  Hank grabbed my shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Chase. Whose airplane have you stolen now?” he asked, looking up at the gleaming King Air.

  “It’s a company plane,” I said, “and this is Clark Johnson. Clark, meet Hank. He flew with Dr. Richter, but now he sweeps up around here and flirts with girls who are fifty years his junior.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Hank.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Clark, and don’t pay any attention to this lying dog. He don’t know nothing about sweeping up or how to treat a woman like her.” Hank ushered us into the office. “Where’s your boat, Chase?”

  Anya didn’t give me a chance to answer. She said, “We have new boat now.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We had a little accident with ours and had to pick up a new one. We’ll probably bring her back down here for the summer, but she’s up at Jekyll Island for now. It’s a long story, Hank, but I’ll tell you about that when we have time to talk. For now, we need to leave the King Air with you and take my car. Do you have room for th
e plane for a couple days?”

  “I’ve always got room for you, Chase. I’ll tuck her away nice and safe ’til you get back. Leave her here as long as you need.”

  Even though home was wherever I happened to fall asleep, there was something comfortable about being back in Key Largo. That island was the place I missed most when I was gone, so maybe that’s where home really was.

  13

  It’s Just Business

  Anya insisted on driving and I didn’t argue. Even with the traffic, her skill behind the wheel put us in South Beach in less than an hour. Being there was one thing, but finding Skipper and convincing her to come with us was quite another. I was still trying to piece together a plan to make all that happen.

  “I have been thinking,” Anya said, “and I have plan to find girl.”

  Thankful someone had a plan, I listened intently.

  She said, “First, we find Giovani person and make him understand he will give girl to us.”

  “How are we going to do that?” I asked.

  “I’ll call my buddy on vice.” Clark dialed his phone, talked for two minutes, then hung up. “Okay, he gave me a list of likely spots where we might find this Giovani character. I say we start at the top of the list and keep trying ’til we find him. Oh, and guys, he says to be careful. These guys aren’t amateurs. They’re well connected and usually keep plenty of muscle around.”

  “We can deal with the muscle,” I said. “We have to find this guy.”

  * * *

  We quickly discovered the sleazy side of Miami. After striking out three times, we were starting to get discouraged, but a feeling in my gut told me we were in the right place when we walked into Paradise Productions, a porn company specializing in girls who looked sixteen. I wanted to burn the place to the ground.

  We barged through the front office like we owned the place, and a pimple-faced girl tried to stop us from walking into Giovani Minelli’s office unannounced.