by Ty Patterson
Chapter Fifty-Four
Back in New York, the day after Chernihiv. Hot outside. Air-conditioned cool inside their Columbus Avenue office.
Beth, Meghan and Broker hunched over their screens, working together, prying List Europe’s secrets from the hard-drives they had brought back.
Zeb made calls. To Andropov, to Thompson, to Pierre Gurtin and Eric Schmidt. He spoke tersely, brought them up to speed.
‘We’re watching everyone in France, from the names Clare shared,’ the Frenchman responded. ‘Xavier Douffet, the Louvre killer. We couldn’t do anything about him, though.’
‘He’s got the same profile?’
‘Oui. Hate-filled right-winger. Single, male. He’s lawyered up and isn’t talking, but his internet history and laptop, there’s enough in them for us to work on.’
Noon. Beth did her thing with her foot. Her face flushed with excitement. But she and her sister didn’t reveal what they had found. Broker adopted a Sphinx-like expression.
‘We’re going to DC, right? To brief Clare and Daniel Klouse,’ the younger twin replied when Bwana cajoled her into spilling. ‘You can wait till then.’
‘But-’
‘Nope!’
* * *
Two SUVs to JFK and then onto their Gulfstream. It was evening by the time they reached their boss’s office in DC. A few blocks away, The White House, visible from where they were, painted orange and gold by the setting sun.
Zeb stopped them by holding up his phone and turning its screen to them. A newsflash. A dead body, badly burned, had been identified in Paris. Nikolai Tverskoy, killed in a hotel room along with his girlfriend. Gang attack, the police said.
‘Someone’s cleaning up,’ he said and led them inside.
* * *
Clare and the National Security Advisor, Daniel Klouse, in the conference room. Brief greetings. It wasn’t the time for how was your flight, kind of questions.
‘Nikolai Tverskoy couldn’t be acting alone,’ Zeb said. ‘The scale of these killings, the vision behind List and Content. This isn’t the work of one Russian Mafia gang.’
‘Agreed,’ Klouse steepled his fingers. ‘But it’s hard to believe the Kremlin is involved. There have been killings in Russia too. And how do they benefit?’
‘Their meddling in our elections –’ Chloe began.
‘There was a goal there. Is,’ he corrected himself. ‘We’ve not shut down their bots, their covert agencies, completely. In the elections, they hoped to influence our politics. Install a leader friendly to them. Remove the sanctions on them. Reduce the current hostility that the West has to Russia. But these killings? They aren’t directed at us alone. They are all across the world. What’s the Kremlin’s motive in these, if it’s involved?’
‘You agree, sir, that Tverskoy would have to have political backing?’ Zeb asked.
‘Yeah, I’m with you on that.’
‘It’s too late to ask him now, because he’s dead. You might have heard the news.’
Klouse and his boss nodded.
‘We looked into his sponsors. It gets murky there, because it looks like he bribed as many politicians as he could. That’s what all these pakhans do. High-ranking ministers with enormous clout, who report directly to the President. We’re still working on that angle.’
‘We’re running out of time,’ the National Security Advisor warned. ‘The G20 Summit is about a month away. President Morgan wants to announce something positive there. He wants world leaders to come together and win back confidence in democracy. We need answers, Zeb, and fast.’
‘They might be in Indonesia,’ Beth strode to a wall on which a photograph was projected. ‘Jakarta. We have narrowed down where the List Asia team could be located. We compared the photographs on Sebastian’s drive, ran algos –’
‘Cakung, he was looking at that district, wasn’t he?’ Bear interrupted her.
‘Yeah, but we’ve zoomed in even further.’ The image enlarged. Shanty dwellings bordering a river to the east of the city. ‘That’s Cakung river, and on its banks, in those slums, is where the team is hidden. There are a few notable preman gangs, the Cakung Brotherhood, the Bali Boys, Garuda…but there are only two who we think can be protecting List Asia. The Cakung Brotherhood and the Garuda.’
Preman, the Indonesian word for a gang member, a word they all knew and didn’t need her to explain.
She clicked the remote in her hand. A new image appeared on the wall. A fierce-looking Indonesian, goatee, bandana.
‘Taniwan Zhen. Leader of the Cakung gang. Reported to have three hundred members in Jakarta alone. Main business, as you can imagine, extortion, killing, drugs, prostitution. And cybercrime. That’s the fastest growing line of business for them.’
Another remote click, another photograph. A bald man, a scar by his right eye.
‘Lot Keling, leader of the Garuda. He’s been to prison twice. Served three years the first time, five the second. Killed three people while inside. He’s a hardcore criminal. Reputed to boil his enemies in oil. Alive.’
‘And you think one of these two gangs could be running List Asia?’ Zeb asked.
‘Yeah. They’ve got the engineers, the muscle, the political reach, and both have bases in Cakung. We ran some programs…remember those messages on that dating and realtor site on Sebastian’s machine? We crosschecked times of posting, tried to work back IP addresses. Ran some sniffing programs on these gang’s activities, went to some darknet message boards. Let me say, we are reasonably sure one of these two gangs is involved. But that slum, the one Sebastian was looking at,’ the previous image returned. ‘That’s in Garuda territory.’
‘Which gang is larger?’
‘The Brotherhood.
Tverskoy’s gang wasn’t the biggest in Moscow, Zeb thought. Is there a pattern here? That the biggest gang draws attention, so, whoever’s behind this, goes with the smaller ones?
‘I need to talk to Daritan,’ he said, referring to his friend, the head of the BIN.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ Beth mocked him with a smile. ‘Meg and I spoke to him before we left. He agrees with our theory and he says, if he was a betting man, he would go for the Garudas.’
‘Then let’s go talk to Lot Keling,’ Zeb said, simply.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Going to Indonesia required more organization than their operation in Ukraine. Zeb spoke at length to the BIN Director who admitted that both gangs were on his radar.
‘But not for this, temanku.’ My friend. ‘For other gang activities. And, you saw the news?’
Zeb nodded silently. Overnight, there had been a killing in Bali. A single man had opened fire on a bunch of Western tourists at a fancy resort. He too had clammed up when arrested but, going by his internet history, it looked like he was the latest killer turned by List Asia.
‘There are mass protests in Jakarta today,’ Jinhai said soberly. ‘It feels like my country is at a breaking point. Shall I arrest Keling and Zhen?’
‘No.’
‘Zeb, I need to do something,’ The Indonesian protested. ‘I have to report this to the ministry.’
‘That would be a big mistake. Keling and whoever his paymaster is, will own politicians. We don’t want to alert them or spook them.’
‘You’re going to hit them, aren’t you?’
Zeb didn’t reply.
‘You don’t have much to go on, other than a theory.’
‘Yeah, but what’s the worst that could happen? Keling turns out to have no hand in this…but we take him down.’
‘If you put it that way,’ Jinhai laughed, ‘I can live with that outcome. What do you need from me?’
‘Slow response.’
‘I can arrange that. But, Zeb,’ he warned. ‘No civilian casualties. No shootouts in public.’
‘Deal.’
* * *
Their second day in New York, after their return from Ukraine. Their plans were nearly complete. A trusted source would supply them with
weapons in Jakarta. They went through vast data that the sisters had compiled on the Garudas and on the Cakung Slums.
‘Let’s get him at his nightclub,’ Zeb decided. ‘That’s where he’s out in the open.’
Keling owned the largest bar on the Cakung River in East Jakarta. The venue was unassuming, appearing as a warehouse-like building on the outside. Black-painted. High walls. Sloping roof. Access through metal gates that opened on Raya Bekasi road. The inside was a large dance floor, a bar that ran from one wall to another, and private rooms.
The preman boss came to the establishment each Thursday evening, like a king gracing his court. Accompanied by heavies, he went to the bar, greeted a few regulars and checked that he wasn’t being skimmed by the staff and then went to a private room.
There, he entertained and discussed gang matters, until ten pm. He went back to his vehicle and was driven to his residence, a heavily fortified mansion in Jakarta.
All that was public knowledge. There were enough posts on social media, reports of sightings, photographs of the inside of the bar, for Zeb to plan a takedown.
‘This hallway is barred to the public,’ he laid a finger on the layout that Beth had printed. ‘Six bodyguards. Armed. We take them down and that door,’ he tapped the room on the sheet, ‘is the only thing between us and him.’
‘He’ll have men inside,’ Bear thought out loud. ‘But they’ll be relaxed. They won’t be expecting a hit in their stronghold.’
‘Correct,’ Meghan said briskly. ‘You and Chloe will be outside, with a getaway vehicle.’
‘We’ll miss the fun! I’ve always wanted to shoot up a bar.’
‘That’s definitely not happening,’ she snapped. We promised the Jinhai. Besides, we can’t have you and Bwana inside at the same time. You’ll get noticed.’
‘Bwana won’t?’ Bear spluttered.
‘I’ll be black as the night, slippery as an eel,’ the dark operative smirked, ‘I’ll be in and out so fast that even you won’t know I was there.’
Beth ignored him. ‘Zeb and Roger will remove those heavies. Silenced weapons. Shoot to kill. Yeah,’ she said when Chloe raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve got files on his men. None of them are innocents.’
‘Broker will stay back on the dance floor,’ Beth took over. ‘He’ll warn us if anyone heads our way. Meg and I, we’ll be in another vehicle, flying drones, jamming all signals. We’ll be in police uniforms, in a cop vehicle.’
‘How’ll you swing that?’ Roger queried.
‘You leave that to us,’ she replied haughtily.
Zeb hid a smile. They can procure a nuclear submarine if it’s needed for a mission. They’re that good.
‘We’ll block other vehicles coming inside the drive as soon as the bodyguards are out. Then, we hustle Keling to Chloe and Bear’s ride and we’re home free.’
They thrashed the plan about, what-if scenarios, and only when each one of them was satisfied did they stop.
‘Hyde,’ Zeb asked, once all plans had been made. ‘We’ve not found anything more on it.’
‘On that,’ Meghan replied. ‘I’ve got an idea.’
Everyone turned to her.
‘Hyde could be the name of the program. This whole thing.’
‘Like a mission name?’ Broker thought out aloud.
‘Yeah. I think that name was deliberately chosen. Jekyll and Hyde. Two faces. List and Content, innocuous by themselves, but deadly when used for such purposes.’
Zeb turned it over. Yeah, it makes sense. That’s why the engineers didn’t know it. They wouldn’t. Tverskoy and Keling’s backers, they’ll have coined the term.
* * *
Noon.
They stepped out of their building and briefly debated lunch venues. Roger and Broker wanted to go to a wine auction downtown and persuaded Bear, Chloe and Bwana to join them. Meghan wanted to go to a French café which was down Columbus Avenue, a regular hangout for the sisters when they were in town. Zeb joined them.
He and the twins ahead, the remaining operatives, several yards to their rear, heading to the subway.
The usual New York traffic. Cabs and tourist buses, angry honks and gas fumes. Office workers and gawking visitors.
Zeb was a pace behind the sisters, as they walked past the polished granite wall of their building.
He bent down to tighten a shoelace.
That saved his life.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Zeb didn’t hear the shot but felt the round impact in the wall.
He reacted instantly.
He fell prone, reached forward and grabbed the twins’ legs. Yanked hard and brought them crashing down.
Crawled back desperately, right hand reaching for his Glock, finding it, drawing it out in a smooth move, eyes searching desperately for the shooter. Another shot. Chips from the sidewalk spraying his face.
There! That black car. A dark hole inside its lowered window.
‘SHOOTER!’ he roared. Got to his feet and weaved and ducked, heading to the vehicle. Anything to draw the rounds at him, away from the sisters and the other operatives.
A bus honked angrily to his left. He ignored it. Someone screamed. More yells.
‘TO THE GROUND!’ he ordered and then he got a clear sight. Two men in the front of the car. One behind, holding a rifle. He triggered his Glock even as he felt a bullet tug his T-shirt and scream into the distance.
He fired again, knowing he had missed the first time. The vehicle shuddered. Did he hit it? No. The driver had fired it up and merged the car smoothly into the traffic.
Can’t lose them. Zeb broke into a sprint, down the avenue, cars swerving out of the way, drivers, unaware of the shots, swearing and honking at him.
He leaped over a cab’s hood. One moment he was in the air, time enough for a shot at the hitter’s vehicle. Its rear window shattered. Movement from its inside and then the rifle barrel poked. Zeb fell to the street and rolled desperately out of the way. He hit the sidewalk and came to a jarring stop and when he looked up, Bear and Bwana were leaning over him, but the vehicle had disappeared.
* * *
‘What the heck were you thinking?’ Roger caught hold of Zeb’s tee and hauled him up. ‘Chasing that car like that? Making yourself a target.’
Zeb didn’t reply. He cast his eyes around. Traffic had come to a standstill. A woman sobbing on the sidewalk. Several people on their phones. A cruiser wailed somewhere.
No sign of that car. They got away.
‘Zeb?’ Beth said sharply, ‘Are you hit?’
‘No,’ he looked down at his tee and fingered the hole in its side. ‘But it was close. Anyone get a look at them?’
‘No,’ Meghan admitted. ‘By the time we hit the ground and realized what was happening, the car was moving. No plates. I remember that.’
‘Yeah,’ Broker agreed. ‘I saw that too.’
And then the cops arrived and the questioning began.
* * *
An hour later they were heading back from the café to their office. Zeb, Meghan and Beth. The others had gone to the auction after giving their statements to the police.
‘I doubt they’ll be found,’ Beth grumbled, referring to the shooters. ‘And who could they be?’
‘It’s not as if we lack enemies,’ Meghan snorted. She overtook a slow-moving couple and brought out a small mirror from her shoulder bag. She checked out her face. Flicked away a stray hair from her cheek and – ‘ZEB!’ she screamed.
Zeb took a long side-step. Her voice. What did she see? He spun on his heel, beast roaring and filling him instantly when he took in the scene.
Three men in suits, close behind them. One holding a silenced revolver, the others reaching inside their jackets.
The Benchmade slipped into Zeb’s hand as if it had a life of its own. He lunged forward and slapped away the shooter’s gun hand. His right hand jabbed the knife into the attacker’s chest. Withdrew it, jabbed him again and shoved him at his companions.
Cl
ose quarters combat worked differently. There was little time to think and maneuver. An opponent’s move had to be turned into either defense or offense. No slashing with a knife. Only jabs and the blade swung up again when the two suits spread out, brought out their guns and turned on Zeb.
He dived at the nearest man, felt the blast of the gun. No time to figure out if he was shot. My body’s responding. No shock. Looks like he missed and then he was bodyslamming the gunman, grappling with him as they fell to the sidewalk, Zeb on top, evading as the man’s knee came up and from the corner of his eyes he could see Beth and Meghan take on the third attacker, their eyes sharp, narrowed, faces intent.
A blow to the side of his head rocked him. The attacker had flung his gun away and had grasped his knife wrist, turning the blade inside, towards his belly. Zeb headbutted him. The man’s nose burst. Red spread over his face. He grunted but his grip didn’t loosen.
Zeb jabbed his eyes with his fingers and at that the man yelled and with a savage kick, freed himself and got to his feet. He dove for his gun, landed on his shoulder, was turning it around, his eyes widening in triumph, when the Benchmade pierced his neck and jammed to its hilt.
‘You’re getting old.’ Beth, sardonic, but her eyes worried. She assessed him as he stood panting.
Sound returned. The city returned as the haze of the battle faded from his mind and the beast subsided and became blood pumping through his arteries.
Screaming from several onlookers as they stared at the bodies on the ground.
‘Your man?’ Zeb asked the sisters.
‘Dead,’ Meghan said bitterly. ‘We had no choice.’
He checked his attacker. He too was lifeless as was the first man.
‘Search them,’ he told the twins under his breath. The three of them bent over the bodies, patted them expertly.
‘Nothing,’ Beth stood back in frustration. ‘Not even a wallet. What’re you doing?’ this directed to her sister who was snapping pictures discreetly.