THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  Desiree already knew that answer.

  ‘Everyone.’

  MINUTES LATER, a vintage black BMW 750iL Protection model four door sedan with bullet proof windows pulled up at the kiosk, as Ivan hung up.

  He’d completed another call.

  The winter sky looked like a Northern Lights light show. So many emergency vehicles had arrived at the train station.

  “Sorry I’m late, boss. Could not get passed all the sirens,” Peder his huge valet from the Steppes said.

  ‘Five and six are completed. Did you deliver the package?’ Ivan sighed. He’d grown colder.

  Peder caught Ivan sliding into a faint.

  “Da. All went smoothly. However, the Princess was not in the car. That objective is not completed. She and her boyfriends were at your kiosk. They’ll be tracing your calls. You should have allowed me to shoot her.”

  Peder laid Ivan in the back seat, covered him, and tightened his scarf around his wound.

  “Patience, Peder. It must appear natural.”

  “Baaah! Patience is for peasants.” Peder left the back door open.

  “Alright then shoot her,” Ivan whispered too weakly.

  Peder didn’t hear him. He’d run back to kick fresh snow over Ivan’s blood.

  Covering Ivan with a lap robe, elevating his feet over the passenger seat, Peder speed-dialed a number. While it rang, Peder lit a big cigar, puffed it into a glowing ember. Peder pulled open the coat, jacket and bandage. Peder sees Ivan has dug out his GPS. He sticks the glowing cigar into Ivan’s wound. Ivan screams as Peder holds him down.

  “Sorry boss. Is necessary.”

  Ivan’s breathing slows. He grabs Peder’s lapel.

  “You must stop her. Promise me if I die, you must…”

  “Da. I promise boss. It will be my extreme pleasure.”

  Peder threw the cigar in the snow, but thinking better of it he retrieved it, got back in the old car, and floored it.

  “Taking you to hospital, boss.”

  “Go home to starve in Grozny, then. Just take me to the apartment.”

  The call picked up.

  “Yes, yes, you’re too old to take such risks and too tough to die. He’s shot, he fainted, losing more blood and getting cold. Call the plane while I drive to airport. And bring your doctor kit to the plane. You’ve got to dig out this bullet. And hurry, they’re closing the roads.”

  TWO BLACK MERCEDES SUV’S pull up at the phone kiosk. They find tire marks and sets of footprints and minute droplets of blood. Their tracking device had them chasing a rat that had eaten the cheese. They traced the calls from the phone, then reported the numbers to Janitor, then erased them with a hand-held device.

  “I’ll be sending numbers, and he dug out his chip,” a METAPHOR man told Janitor.

  “Bloody hell! Satellite is out of range. Stake out their planes. Try his apartments. Follow that little bitch! Out.”

  Janitor was pissed. Ivan was still a pain in his ass after all these years. The numbers came in, matching Dear’s shop and Elise Andersen’s home phone.

  The shit was out.

  PEDER WAS minutes away from Ivan’s old basement apartment, which Ivan visited every April since his freedom. But Peder knew they had to make the plane and turned the car toward the airport as Ivan closed his eyes convinced they’d never make it past the checkpoints.

  The only one who knew of Ivan and Winifred’s love nest all these years had been Peder, until Mavra had recently found it. The sting of her laughter, mocking Ivan and his undying love broke Peder’s heart and sealed her fate with him. He’d kill her if Ivan didn’t.

  Peder hurried through the back streets, taking an indirect route to the airport. If they’re caught in the dragnet, all the streets would be barricaded and Ivan will die.

  IVAN LISTENED TO THE SIRENS, ‘She had her men burglarize our apartment.’

  He’d vomited when Peder showed him the tapes from his hidden cameras. Peder’s instincts had never been wrong. Ivan’s precious Mavra, had laughed at him as she went through Winnie’s private things, so fragile with age.

  When the new tapes showed her rifling through Ivan’s safe in New York, they’d raced to Berlin.

  Today, she’d seen the newsreel footage. Mavra’s betrayal sealed Ivan’s decision. It was over between them.

  Peder would make sure of it.

  Ivan had come back to his old life to have the old memories help him think of what to do with her. Knowing she’d follow him, Ivan and Peder had built the bombs together while Ivan cried, already mourning her.

  NOW IVAN’S pride and joy Mavra, wanted to exploit who Winnie had sacrificed her own life to save, his beloved boss.

  Peder glanced back, hoping his boss would remain conscious.

  “Boss? Boss?”

  Ivan had slumped over.

  Peder pulled over, then poured cold coffee from his thermos down Ivan’s throat. Ivan choked and coughed. The volume and caffeine had to help him.

  Peder raced to the airport, angry with himself for passing up the turn to the hospital.

  While in and out of consciousness, Ivan watched the old brick buildings fly by and thought of Winnie.

  LUCK WAS STILL his mistress as they arrived at the airport private hanger area. Dr. Franken’s team was waiting to carry Ivan aboard and restore him to keep their secret.

  DRIVING to the private Berlin airport in a cab after finding nothing in the latrine debris and passing the checkpoints, Mavra kissed Dimitri.

  “I told you.”

  “Yes, you did.” ‘D’s instincts saved me. It’s abundantly clear my Deduska meant to kill me.’ Death was the cost of her curiosity, ‘it’s not personal, Deduska. It’s business. You taught me so well.’

  “Carlos? Charter another plane. And get some bomb dogs to check our old plane after we’re airborne.”

  Carlos got out his cell and followed her orders, as usual.

  OJAI

  Judge Robles noticed their security detail was jogging their way. “Ah? El? Looks like the boys are on edge. We’d better heed their instincts.”

  “Yes let’s,” Elise said as her adrenalin jumped, she picked her escape route and ran in place to warm up.

  Their entire twelve-man security team was running toward them, motioning them to their cart. The four-man team closest to them backed them toward the cart and closer to the tree-lined rough.

  A fast moving caravan of SUV’s on the perimeter road stopped next to the 7th fairway of Crosby’s Creek. Elise’s personal eight-man security detail, the four in front and four behind them closed the gap to their carts, guns drawn.

  The crunching of the California Oak leaves in the rough reached them. Every one grew tense and backed into the rough.

  The absence of slamming car doors was concerning. Instincts made them watch the trees.

  Four of the detail walked into the Crosby trees east of them. The eight with them put the women in their cart as their teams surrounded them choosing not to escape in their carts.

  Judge Robles withdrew the Sig Sauer 238 from her golf bag and chambered a round. She smiled not to panic Elise.

  Elise had been uneasy for the past year, since the uncontested, historical $500 million damages award. She’d hired Metaphor Security, all ex-military. Retaliation may have just arrived.

  Elise chambered a round and put her Glock 19 Gen 4 in the small of her back, knowing this secluded hole made them ripe for ambush.

  “All clear,” his earpiece reported from the four who disappeared in the trees. He relaxed and turned toward Elise and the Judge.

  Four masked men jumped out of the trees behind him. Their four did not return. Then four more masked men appeared behind the women. Their eight-man detail opened fire. The firefight began.

  Elise and the Judge dropped two from the trees and took shelter behind their cart.

  The Judge turned to Elise and whispered, “Run.”

  The Judge and her detail dropped a few more as Elise ran into the dry creek bott
om.

  Men sticking with Elise all dropped simultaneously.

  She was alone.

  Gunfire slowed. One pop, then two together. Then, deadly, sickening silence.

  Elise picked her next steps carefully. The dead leaves would give her away. And them.

  Two were coming.

  She waited, holding her breath, her pounding heart filled her ears. She opened her mouth to get more air.

  They stopped to listen for her, removing their masks, underneath her. They listened hard.

  She aimed then shot them both in the crown of their heads.

  They recoiled and fell like trees.

  She jumped down sure to land softly, examined their wrists and saw tattoos of a coiled snake on each, their faces no longer there. She crept back to the Judge.

  ANGELA WAS dead as were all their detail she dare take time to examine. She took a couple of their guns and clips and wiped away tears she couldn’t control. The dead assassination team littered the fairway.

  She ran back to the creek bed and ran east as quietly as she could, shaking uncontrollably, convinced death was lurking everywhere.

  She stopped to listen. There was something distant.

  She hid behind a giant oak. She had to risk texting Tom and Lara and brother Sam on her burner phone.

  ‘Run!!! Kill team ambushed us. Angela dead. I’m OK. Meet you at cabin. I love you.’

  She called the Ventura County Sheriff’s Substation footsteps away.

  The number rang and rang. Something was wrong…

  “CABIN” WAS code for their secret get away boat. She had to get to their trawler cruiser moored in the Ventura West Marina, 30 minutes south.

  She ran along the dry San Antonio Creek bed to report to the sheriff station, three blocks east.

  ‘Angela had saved her.’

  Tears flooded her eyes, blinding her.

  Elise ran up the dry tributary as it turned north under S. Ventura Rd. right to the sheriff’s substation.

  She cautiously crawled up the embankment.

  There idling outside the substation were three Escalades, black with black windows. No sirens were coming for the carnage on the 8th hole. Something was very wrong.

  ‘Where were the golfers behind their team?’

  No time to matter. Elise ran to her car, blocks away.

  ELISE ARRIVED AT HER MECHANICS on North Signal a few blocks away. Still no sirens.

  ‘They had to have brought a clean up team.’

  Her, mechanic Jose’, waved.

  “Hi. I’m just grabbing some gear out of my car.”

  Elise grabbed a large heavy duffle.

  “Sure. It will be ready in another hour,” Jose said.

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Elise dialed an Uber cab and walked out, but not to the sidewalk.

  “I need a ride to Camarillo. I’m at Antonio’s in Ojai, the mechanic on North Signal. Know it?”

  “Yes. I’m close. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  Elise watched her phone but no response from Sam, Tom or Lara. They weren’t picking up. She considered calling the fire department but they’d be sitting ducks.

  She called the Ventura County Sheriff in Ventura and the Ventura C.H.P. office and reported gunfire at the golf course. They were 30 minutes away. A chopper was quicker.

  SANTA BARBARA’S METAPHOR TEAM #2 en route called in as Mammoth Mountain team texted. She read the SB team’s call first.

  “Lost contact with ORCA and her team. GPS chip non-op. We called in D&L. Orca’s car still in shop. Updating LOC on her credit cards, license, now in Santa Paula, stationary x 15min. D&L ETA 15+ min. to that LOC. We’ll make this right.”

  “My God! Find her! She was on the golf course, Hole #9 or #10 by now. Make contact. No reason in world for this to happen! Out.” ‘Pray to God, she’s in Santa Paula.’

  Desiree’s gut told her otherwise. Dez IM’d Janitor.

  ‘Lost contact with ORCA team and ORCA. Her GPS implant malfunctioning. Breach initiated by BIG RED. Seen by MK. Need immediate remedy for MK. What is the Artist’s status?’

  Dez contacted her Ojai ORCA team. Nothing came back. She knew they were dead…

  ‘Where was Elise? Why hadn’t she put another back-up GPS chip in her as considered?’

  Janitor texted.

  ‘Steady, Dear. Berlin team en route to station. Contacting Artist now.’

  VENTURA WEST MARINA, VENTURA CALIFORNIA

  The cabbie didn’t mind the $100 bill Elise gave him to not report their detour on his log.

  Elise ran to their boat Refugio Pirate, a Grand Banks 36 and warmed up the engines, checked the weather report, and radio. Wind, swell, current and the Channel’s “Windy Lane” was unusually calm, for winter. She called her family.

  ‘Circuits busy’ came back on her phone.

  She had no choice but to cast off and set out for Santa Barbara Harbor and home, the weather and chop cooperating. It would take her over two hours. She was shaking now as another attempt to reach her family failed.

  Their plan was solidly rehearsed. She would stash her bag in her mother’s family crypt on the Santa Barbara cemetery grounds, put on her disguise and run east toward the tunnel under the freeway toward home up Olive Mill Rd. near the Biltmore to get more guns and the other survival duffle, then back to the boat, only if it were safe. Otherwise everything they needed was on the boat. Leaving it was a huge risk but one she would take, because something was compelling her to do so.

  ‘Mavra Kimirov wants her grandfather’s $500 million back.’

  The ominous feeling invading Elise’s psyche was winning as she looked out at the rolling winter green-gray ocean in the Channel, praying her family was still safe.

  She repeated one of her family’s mottos to herself over and over to keep her panic harnessed…

  “I am only one, but I am one,

  I cannot do everything

  But I can do something,

  And by Grace of God

  What I can do, I will do.”

  - Edward Everett Hale

  JANITOR’S MEN reported to Dez, airport security was too tight to access planes or get a flight out. A business jet had just exploded.

  IVAN’S old friend Dr. Franken, and two nurses revived Ivan with IV crystalloid blood volume expanders with colloid and packed red blood cell units standing by, dug out the bullet, cauterized the wound, and kept Ivan sedated as they accompanied them home to New York City in Ivan’s jet. Ivan had beaten Mavra back. He wouldn’t cry for her ever again.

  BACK IN IVAN’S secret New York apartment, with Ivan sleeping, Peder fetched antibiotics and more wound supplies for the doctor and nurses.

  Finally released from his duties Peder entered the subway, his overcoat pocket heavy with “persuasion.”

  THE KNOCK MADE JULES JUMP. The keyhole said someone had brought pizza.

  ‘Probably a beggar of little favors,’ Jules thought.

  Jules opened the locks, then the heavy door.

  Peder shoved the large pizza box at Jules who by reflex took it out of Peder’s hands before he’d looked into Peder’s face.

  Peder kicked Jules back inside, then locked the door. He pointed his big gun between Jules’ eyes. Then screwed on the silencer, while Jules watched frozen by confusion and fear, Peder loved this part because it always had great effect. Peder smiled as he looked at the photo of Jules in his hand, and showed the dumbfounded millennial.

  “So? Jules Zarzynski? Da, this is you. You will show me how you matched newsreels for Mavra Kimirov or Dimitri Vega. Or die very slowly, piece by piece. My specialty.” Peder grinned.

  “Sure, sure. No big deal really. But be cool, OK? I’ll give you whatever you want. OK? We cool? Can I get you a Coke? I bet you love Coke. Nothing better than Coke and Pizza. And just FYI, I can’t work with that big ass gun pointed at me.”

  “No Coke! No pizza! You shut up and work! Foolish, arrogant, boy! I’m so itching to do something bad to you! Let’s s
ee how quickly you bleed real blood! This is not video game!” Peder took the pizza away from Jules and waved the computer geek into his rolling desk chair.

  Jules opened up his face recognition program, wiping flop sweat with his shirttail.

  Peder settled in another rolling chair behind Jules, piled two slices on top of one another, then inhaled his double-decker slice in three bites.

  “See? Good? Huh, big man. If you can just chill this will go faster…”

  “No. You work, I eat. This not frat party, then we see if I kill you.”

  CHAPTER THREE — REIMS, FRANCE

  A LARGE SCHOOLHOUSE

  NEAR MIDNIGHT -- 7 MAY, 1945

  GENERAL EISENHOWER WASHED his hands in the small sink meant for school children, his mind on the signing of the German surrender waiting on him in a room down the hall. For hours, Ike had walked the halls of his headquarters, the three story red brick French school building that stretched for a city block, praying for a solution to his rage. Nazi Generals Jodl and Keitel remained arrogant, and completely unrepentant. For hours, Ike had purposefully made them sit on those hard wooden chairs like any schoolyard bully waiting on their punishment from the principal. Ike doubted these Generals were thinking about the consequences of their Reich’s newly discovered crimes against humanity. What was lost to them was only their dream of world supremacy. But what lay before them was the infinite legacy their dream of a Third Reich would have on the world. Their arrogance he would not allow to be redefined as German dignity. He wanted them contemplating their fate and letting the festering truth of what lay ahead for them personally, seep into every crevice measuring everything they found beautiful and precious, against it. At great sacrifice, the world had been saved from their ultimate domination, but Ike could not save the world from the horror yet to be told.

  ‘The Hell with them,’ Ike thought.

  Since he’d seen first hand evidence of their unimaginable horror, Ike had had a hard time not washing his hands. The sting of his chafing skin reminded him. The solution was seeping out of the walls of the old red brick schoolhouse into Ike’s soul. Within the last few hours, the ghosts of the lost children had been trying to reach him, to speak on their behalf. If there was to be a future for a sane humanity, it would begin here in an ancient schoolhouse, the quiet symbol of the unknown future that lay ahead and the past that would not die. Ike was determined to usher in the new world order with the correct first step toward resurrecting equal dignity for all races. It galled him those delusional animals he’d kept waiting showed absolutely no act of contrition.