One Child

by Jeff Buick

One thing was certain. When U2 took to the stage in Luzhniki Stadium in five days, the power was going out and not coming back on. Not until the crowds were long gone and the timer in the remote turned the power back on. The whole thing was brilliant. Simply brilliant.

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  Chapter

  50

  Soho, New York

  Julie Lindstrom spotted the well-dressed man almost immediately.

  He was walking slowly eastward on Spring Street, smoking a cigarette and pausing occasionally to look in the L'Occitane and Chanel showcase windows. He reached a point halfway down the block, then turned and strolled back at the same speed. Other people were either stopped and talking, sitting at one of the small bistros, or moving at a normal pace. Aside from an outing in Central Park, Julie knew that New Yorkers seldom meandered when they walked. They went from point A to point B with purpose. All except him.

  Julie took one of the tables facing onto the street a block east at the Manhattan Bistro and ordered a sandwich and sparkling water. She had a clear view of the street from her seat - perfect for watching the pedestrians as they ebbed and flowed past. The man who had captured her attention had slid into the back seat of an Audi with tinted windows, but had not pulled away from the curb. He was still inside, and the vehicle was parked in a spot that allowed surveillance of Grant's apartment building. Twenty years of experience told her that this man was a problem.

  She hadn't expected to walk into a situation. The flight from Miami had landed at La Guardia on time, putting her in New York a bit after lunch. She took a cab to Grant's address in Soho intending to wait and speak with him when he arrived home from work. But things had changed. Meeting Grant and talking with him was important, but finding out who this new man was now took priority.

  An hour passed. She ordered a latte and handed her server a twenty-dollar tip, then pulled a paperback from her bag and read a few chapters. The Audi's back door opened and the man stepped out, lit a cigarette and walked slowly toward her. Julie popped her cell phone out of her purse and held it to her right ear. She angled her body so she was looking at the buildings directly across from her, pointing the camera up the sidewalk. As he walked closer, she adjusted her shoulders slightly and began snapping pictures. She took about twenty shots as he walked past, then shut the phone and set it on the table. When he walked back she was immersed in her book, the phone sitting idly next to her plate. He continued up the sidewalk, smoked another cigarette and got back in the Audi.

  Julie knew how easy it was for an amateur to make a mistake. Like snapping photos of someone, then immediately looking at the pictures. If the person being photographed is a professional, they see the phone pointing toward them and watch what happens after they pass. They use storefront windows or glance back to see if traffic is coming before crossing the street. They have their ways, and if they see something suspicious, they're onto you. She gave him nothing. To him, she was simply another woman having lunch at a sidewalk deli.

  When enough time had passed, Julie retrieved the photos, zoomed in on the best one until only his face was on the screen and sent it to Evan Lucas as an attachment. In the e-mail accompanying the photo, she asked him to use facial identification to see if the subject was in any of the international police databases. She ordered a salad and settled in with her book.

  Another half hour ticked by, taking the time to five minutes past three before Evan's e-mail came in. She flipped open her laptop and viewed the attachment. A picture of the man she had seen on the street came up on the screen. Alexi Androv. He had pleasing features - welcoming eyes and a warm smile. Three pages of written text followed. He was a contract man, splitting his time between designing complex electrical components for covert operations and killing people.

  Androv was a hired assassin with an extensive client base. In addition to a number of private contractors, numerous government agencies, including the CIA, SVR, and MI-6 regularly used his services. His CV was a global road map of shallow graves. Julie counted at least sixty known contracts and stopped. She got the picture. Alexi Androv was an extremely dangerous man.

  So why was he here, watching Carson Grant's apartment? There really could only be one answer. Someone had hired him to kill Grant. And this was happening a few hours after Grant had called her company and asked if there were any problems with the U2 concert in Moscow. There was no possibility of this being a coincidence. The likelihood of Carson Grant dying bothered her in an offhand way, but the idea of someone targeting one of her client's concerts was much more alarming.

  She had to intercept Carson before Androv did. Once he entered Grant's building, it was over. She packed up her computer and paid the bill, then walked down the sidewalk away from where Androv was parked. The thought of catching a cab to Carson's Midtown office occurred to her, but the traffic was building and she might miss him if he left early. She discounted that possibility and concentrated on how to intercept him at his apartment. She rounded the corner and stopped, looking for a back entrance to the building. When Grant arrived home from work there would be a very short window to save his life and she needed to be ready.

  Then she would put together how all this involved her upcoming concert.

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  Chapter

  51

  Soho, New York

  Carson slipped his key into the lock on the front door and pushed. He took the stairs to the third floor one at a time. He was tired and discouraged. Spending nine or ten hours a day at Platinus Investments making more money for William Fleming was the last way he wanted to spend his day. He hated it and could hardly wait to get out.

  He opened the door to the apartment, then closed and locked it behind him. Cooking odors drifted through the short hallway and he made his way to the kitchen. Nicki was at the counter dicing vegetables and didn't hear him. He snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the waist.

  "Gotcha," he said as she jerked at the unexpected touch.

  "Carson," she gasped. "Don't do that. You scared the shit out of me."

  He twisted her around so she was facing him, wrapped both arms around her and grinned. "Sorry."

  "No you're not."

  He motioned to the counter by tilting his head slightly. "What's for dinner?"

  "Chicken Marsala, roasted veggies and rice pilaf."

  "Mmmm. Lucky me."

  "How was work?" she asked.

  They separated and Nicki turned back to the chopping board as Carson opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and took a long sip. "Okay. I'm not all that impressed with Platinus. Might start looking for something else." He leaned on the counter next to her.

  Nicki stopped in mid-chop. She looked sideways at him. "What are you talking about?"

  He shrugged. "Fleming is a bit shady. I don't like some of the stuff that's going on."

  "That's not good," she said.

  A sound from the door leading to the living room caused them both to jerk their heads in that direction. Framed in the doorway was a figure. Carson sucked in a deep breath and pushed Nicki behind him, instinctively protecting her.

  * * *

  Soho, New York

  Once Carson had come into view on the street, Julie was on the move. She walked to the intersection of Spring and Wooster, then angled across the vacant lot to the rear of Carson's building. There was a narrow gap between Grant's building and the one to the south and the fire escape was tucked between the two buildings. She yanked on the bottom rung of the fire escape. The metal ladder slid down on its track and she was climbing the rungs before it was fully extended. She reached the second floor and pushed up hard on the window. It opened, a
s she knew it would. Two hours before she had determined the best way to access Grant's apartment without using the front door. She was in the building and on the stairwell leading to the third floor two minutes after Grant had entered the building.

  She reached his door and took a couple of seconds to listen. She could tell he was already deep inside the apartment. She worked on the lock and pushed and the door open. Voices came from somewhere inside the unit. She could smell cooking odors and assumed they would be in the kitchen. She moved quickly through the living room and stood in the doorway to the narrow kitchen. Both Grant and the woman swiveled their heads to look.

  * * *

  Soho, New York

  "Who the hell are you?" Carson asked. He had pushed Nicki behind him and reached for the chopping knife on the counter.

  "Julie Lindstrom," she replied. "You called my company and spoke to one of my employees about the upcoming U2 concert."

  He stared at her. Mouth open. And widening. "What the hell?" He composed himself and asked, "What are you doing here?"

  "I need to speak with you, but not here. We have to leave. Now."

  "I'm not going anywhere until I know what's going on," Carson said. Defiance crept into his voice and he raised the knife.

  "Put that thing down," Julie said harshly. "There's a man across the street who is here to kill you. If he'd arrived before me, you'd both be dead. I don't know if he's coming for you right away, but I'll guarantee he saw you go in the front door. He's coming - I'm just not sure how quickly."

  "To kill me?" Carson asked. The color drained from his face. "Why?"

  "We can figure that out somewhere else. Right now I need to get you out of here."

  "Carson," Nicki said, her fingers wrapped tight on his arm. "I think we'd better do what she says."

  He thought for a few seconds, then said, "Okay. We can go to another apartment on the second floor. The people who live there are on holiday and we have a key so we can water the plants."

  "That works," Julie said. "Let's move. And lock the door behind you."

  They filed out into the small, third-floor landing and Julie started down the stairs as Carson locked the door. He met them on the second floor and opened a door. They entered and locked it behind them. Julie pointed to the couch and Carson and Nicki sat. Julie didn't waste any time.

  "You called the main line for Details Matter. Is that correct?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  Both women were watching him. Julie, wanting an explanation and Nicki, expecting no less. "I work for Platinus Investments, a Wall Street firm owned by William Fleming."

  "I know more about you than you know," Julie said. "Keep it to the reasons you called and give it to me in bullet points. We are really pushed for time."

  "I saw some e-mails to Fleming indicating the sender had put a team together and there was a crash coming. At first I thought it was about rigging up some sort of stock market crash, but the more I looked into it, the less sure I was. I had a friend figure out who sent the e-mail, then find out a bit about them. Turns out the sender was Trey Miller, an ex-CIA agent who does contract jobs for Fleming. Your name was mentioned in one of the messages, along with Alexi and Petr. The names sounded Russian, so I Googled some keywords and came up with your name and Luzhniki Stadium."

  "And you tied Fleming to U2?" Julie asked.

  Carson nodded. "Fleming and Dimitri Volstov, the concert promoter, were involved in some pipeline deal back in 2002 where Fleming was embarrassed and had his financial ass kicked. He's not the kind of guy who likes to lose face or money. He doesn't like to lose - period."

  "So you thought Fleming might be trying to get back at Volstov."

  "Yes."

  "How did you get your information on Trey Miller?" Julie asked.

  "A friend of a friend hacked into the CIA database."

  "Shit," Julie said. "That's how they found you." She shook her head in disbelief. "What made you think that you can break into their computer and not get caught?"

  "Carson," Nicki said, staring at him. "Is this true?"

  "It's true. I didn't tell you because I thought it might upset you."

  "Well, you would have been right." She was struggling to breathe now, the CF jamming her lungs with phlegm. She looked at Julie. "Who is this person trying to kill Carson?"

  "His name is Alexi Androv. He's a professional assassin and from what I've read in his dossier, he never misses or gives up."

  "Alexi," Carson said. "One of the names of the men on Miller's team." He took a deep breath. "What now?"

  Julie took a few seconds, then said, "You need protection, Carson."

  "Or I'm dead."

  She didn't bother telling him he was right. They all knew it. Instead, she turned to Nicki. "You're in Carson's file. You have cystic fibrosis."

  "Yes."

  "That affects your lungs, doesn't it? Makes it tough to walk or climb hills."

  "That's pretty much simplifying it - but yes."

  Julie's face took on a softer look for a moment. "Is there somewhere safe you can go? Somewhere off the radar until we can sort this out."

  Nicki looked confused. Then what the woman was saying sunk in. They needed to split up. "I could visit my aunt in Virginia. She lives in Richmond."

  "Good. But don't call her from your cell phone. The call could be traced. You should just jump on a train and then call her once you're in Richmond."

  "What about Carson?"

  This time Julie didn't answer for the better part of a minute. She was quickly processing what had just happened, looking at all the options, eliminating the bad ones and whittling the good ones down until she had only one remaining. When she reached that point, she said, "I'm leaving for Moscow now. I think you should come with me."

  Carson was about to object, but stopped. She was right. What were his choices? There was a professional killer outside his building intent on eliminating him. What were his chances against someone like that? And Nicki would be in Virginia. He was finished at Platinus. The life he knew was basically screwed. He swallowed and nodded.

  "I'll need my passport. It's in our apartment."

  "And I need my medicine," Nicki said.

  "Tell me exactly what you need and where it is," Julie said. "I'll get it."

  She listened closely, then took his key and made her way back up the stairs. She entered the apartment and tiptoed through to the bedroom and retrieved Carson's passport from his bureau. Nicki's was with his and she grabbed it as well. She hurried to the bathroom and slid the mountain of pills into a plastic bag. She stopped as she neared the door, returned to the kitchen, removed a pot from the stove and turned off the element. She hustled to the front door. She checked the hallway, then let herself out and took the stairs down to the second floor. She knocked lightly and Carson answered.

  "Okay, we're out of here," she said, letting herself into the suite and heading directly for the window that overlooked the alley. She lifted the glass and stepped out onto the fire escape. Standing on the metal ribs she could see directly below her and had a clear view of both ends of the narrow lane as well. Androv was nowhere in sight. She motioned for Carson and Nicki to follow. They made their way down the rungs, Nicki gasping for air as she neared the bottom. When their feet were on the asphalt, Julie unhooked the bottom section and it slid back into place a couple of meters above ground. She glanced at her watch. Thirteen minutes had passed since Carson had walked in the front door of his building. They were lucky Androv wasn't already inside.

  Julie ran across the narrow lot that bordered Carson's building, checked both ways, then waved for Carson and Nicki to follow. They turned south on Wooster Street. At the next cross street they cut back west and headed for Avenue of the Americas. In less than a minute they had hailed a cab
and were lost in the sea of yellow heading into Midtown Manhattan. They had dodged a bullet. She knew it, and from the looks on Carson and Nicki's faces, they knew it too. Getting Nicki on a train to Richmond was easy. There was little to no way of tracking her if they paid cash for the ticket. But Carson was a different story. He would have to purchase a ticket in his real name and swipe his passport at the airport. She was positive Miller and Androv would be watching. They would know Carson had accompanied her to Moscow. And if they had decided Carson needed to be killed, they weren't about to quit when they missed him in New York.

  Then there was the most pressing question. What sort of disruption or violence were Trey Miller and his team planning to unleash on Luzhniki Stadium in five days?

  This was far from over.

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  Chapter

  52

  Soho, New York

  Androv was in no hurry. He preferred that his victims have time to eat before his visit. Food slowed response times and every second counted. Even amateurs could be dangerous. Perhaps even more so because they were unpredictable.

  Forty minutes after Grant arrived home from work, Androv strolled across the street and let himself into the building. He took the stairs to the third floor and waited by the door for a minute, listening for activity. Music, the television, pots clanging - anything that would tell him what Carson and his fiancee were doing. Where they were in the apartment.

  Nothing.

  He inserted the lock-picking tools and aligned the tumblers. A slight pressure on the door and it silently swung open. The knife appeared in his hand and he moved through the foyer into the living room. Empty. His grip tightened on the hilt as he rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen. There were pots on and beside the stove, dishes laid out on the counter, but no people. He continued on to the hallway leading to the bathroom and bedroom. They must have decided to have a nap before supper. Or sex. He grinned at the thought of killing them when they were naked.