by Cara Charles
Peder left the room, “Stay here.”
They got quiet, but stayed to snicker.
Peder returned carrying Mavra’s best crystal flutes on a silver tray filled with her best Champagne. They each took a glass and cheered, and waited for Peder.
Peder raised his glass to them, and then to Ivan’s portrait.
“Avenge, O Lord thy slaughtered saints whose bones lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold. Even them, who kept thy truth so pure of old, when all our fathers worshipped sticks and stones -- Milton.”
Peder toasted Ivan’s portrait over the fireplace, and downed the bubbly in one gulp. Peder threw the glass into the fireplace.
The others toasted Ivan and followed Peder’s lead enjoying expressing themselves and threw their flutes into the fireplace, then cheered.
The junior maid crept off to fetch the broom, as Peder smiled at Ivan’s portrait.
‘Now it finally begins,’ Peder promised. “I’ll be back later and bring us lots of pizza and perogies to celebrate her end. Chill more champagne!”
They cheered.
Peder stepped into the servant’s elevator, pushed the down button, and sighed quite disgusted.
“Ah, Alexei… you’ve got the worst luck.” Peder texted him that very thing and never heard back.
Mavra was out of her mind with rage.
“You fucking bitch! As soon as I get what I need from you, you’re dead! Hear me, Miss Lawyer! Like your family! Dead!”
Mavra raged on as she stomped through the car garage. She was running from the press and the authorities who would soon be at the entrance. She got into her old Jeep Cherokee and sped into traffic, hoping it would be disguise enough. She put on the brown wig and her old jean jacket buttoning it up to her neck and pushed number three on her cell for Dimitri.
“Yes, Princessa?” Dimitri was still laughing. “Bad publicity, yes?”
“Shut up. Get us and another team to that damn island. I’m gonna gut that bitch.”
“Yes, ma’am.” D disconnected and looked at his contact numbers.
This ballsy new widow threw down such a gauntlet, convincing him that the grieving Ms. Andersen could not possibly be acting alone.
‘Revenge is a curious thing,’ he thought.
Dimitri’s text alert jingled. He fell out laughing.
‘You are a luscious, treacherous cunt,’ he texted her. Then Dimitri shut off his phone. “That will frost your ass, Chiquita.”
Dimitri searched his computer for what she requested. D texted her the cost from his computer. He waited, tapping his toes in time to “Stayin’ Alive” the Bee Gees song.
‘Two minutes now… How hard could this decision be when you’re one of the richest people in the world?’
His email alerted.
Mavra transferred expense money with an eleven percent bump, as D’s finder’s fee. He’d just gotten a one percent raise, without any fanfare. Just like her.
D immediately transferred his finder’s fee to a private account, keeping her expense balance intact.
Mavra knew paying him had addicted him to her, money his heroin.
Dimitri quickly found retired boat crews in the government archives. He composed an email search to the senior officers to find the others.
A modern day pirate adventure would lure them, because they were as evil and cutthroat as their ancient pirate brethren. Their pay would include completion and recovery bonuses. He had little time to get them assembled and to their destination.
They were signing on to find the 1890 wreck of the paddle wheeler the SS Pacific, a $43 million dollar treasure in Wells Fargo gold dust still in the safe of the SS Pacific somewhere in a 140 fathom sea canyon at the western edge of the Strait of San Juan de Fuca and the Olympic Peninsula.
CHAPTER TWO -- CROCODILE TEARS
AS AN INCENTIVE, Dimitri sent those crew who were in the far corners of the continent First Class airline tickets to Vancouver, British Columbia.
Once there, the First Mate would give them each a $25,000 sign-on bonus upon arrival at the five-star L’Hermitage, close to the hot clubs. The next day they were to haul their hung over asses to the Bear Mountain Golf Resort in Victoria. They’d play hard there too, while waiting on their newly purchased vessels to arrive in Sydney Harbor, in a day or two.
Dimitri grabbed his continuously packed mission duffle and second laptop, and ran out the door. Time to get to her plane.
He desperately wanted to see their showdown, because… ‘Money changes everything.’
Desiree had called the editors of the Journal and the Islander, the island’s local papers. They were the first to arrive at the tiny dock terminal.
KIRO-7’s blue floatplane arrived. Crew and equipment were hauled out. They knew the locale and ran up the dock to the ferry terminal shed, as the other Seattle affiliates, and the Canadians taxied in. Taxis had lined up at the airport and raced back to the ferry terminal, relishing the unexpected winter revenue from this news fest.
1145. No Elise Andersen.
The TV reporters did their stand up outside the crowded 10’ x 10’ terminal room. They sent someone across the street to the Latitude 48 Coffee Shop to get everyone coffee. They were all pals and rivals. They had spotters with her photo in their hands on Spring Street and East Street.
The increasing winds were creating chop within the harbor. A small boat arrived at the far west dock. A group of six, four in ski masks, one woman, one man in hooded foul weather parkas got off the boat, and headed up the dock turning toward the ferry terminal somewhat unnoticed, as everyone was watching the streets. John the spotter chief was the fourth in the ski mask. Eamon as Sheriff, and two deputies, met them and escorted them forward.
At 1149 PST, Dez would be calling the process server. He was waiting in the lobby of the New York City 5th Avenue high rise that housed Kimirov’s law firm to deliver Elise’s lawsuit paperwork.
The group ran to the terminal as they caught the eye of an astute look out.
He walkied his reporter inside, “Group of six, four men in hoods, with the Sheriff coming your way.”
Elise and her team jogged to the ferry dock. She walked into the building with her hood on, followed by Sam. She took the mic and removed her hood.
“Good morning, I’m Elise Andersen of Larsen and Andersen, Los Angeles.”
Elise was recognized, the cameras clicked as the questions erupted.
“Why would Mavra Kimirov kill your family and not you?” the Journal reporter probed.
“Revenge for the $500 million dollar Kimirov Mining damages cash award, specifically because the sole owner Ivan Kimirov, Mavra’s grandfather chose morality over his assets and gladly chose to pay,” Elise answered.
A gasp rippled trough the crowd.
“Have you heard from Mavra Kimirov or her attorneys? On what evidence do you base your accusations? Are you prepared for her to counter sue?”
Elise held up her hand. “Listen to this tape, very carefully. After this presentation, I will take questions. Hold your questions until we’ve finished.”
From her burner phone memo, Elise played Ivan’s warning from her home phone answering machine.
The reporters were dead quiet, some gasped, all were intently listening, recording, and writing.
The message over. Elise shows the reporters the brief.
“As members of the Washington State Bar Association, at nine a.m. this morning, in the San Juan County courthouse, I Elise Larsen Andersen, filed a civil action wrongful death lawsuit against Ms. Mavra Kimirov for monetary, punitive and general damages in the amount of five billion, with a ‘b’, billion dollars. Her estimated entire net worth after Ivan’s estate is awarded.”
“Ms. Kimirov is presumed dead. How can you sue a dead woman?” a reporter from KIRO jumped in.
The room erupted agreeing with him.
Sam stepped to the mic, “I’m Sam Larsen, partner in Larsen and Andersen. Ms. Elise Andersen is my sister. As my sister’s a
ttorney, I will field her questions.”
Elise watched the feeding frenzy and held up her hand to calm them.
“There will be order. A show of hands. Take turns. We’ll give you five minutes, no more,” Sam said, pointed to the first person that held up their hand. “Yes.”
“Ms. Kimirov’s plane blew up over the Desert. Yet you think she’s alive?”
Sam answered, so practiced and controlled, “Her proximity to our family says otherwise. She had a body double aboard, a Valentina Batinov. We have analyzed footage obtained from the Mammoth Hospital security cameras dated the day we lost our family. We have face recognition software confirmation of Mavra Kimirov’s presence at the scene and it is now with the FBI for further analysis. Her face has been photographed from a million angles over the years. Literally, in ten short seconds of scanning we had our confirmation. The woman at the Mammoth Hospital is Mavra Kimirov. Her business jet had already been airborne for fifty-five minutes. You’ll be able to see that footage in about 24 hours. Because Ms. Kimirov’s face has been photographed thousands of times, the sophistication of the software required, was very minimal. She gave us ample opportunity to match her angle for angle. Her desire for publicity has come full circle to bite her in the ass. Her identification is undeniable and indisputable.”
The room laughed. Sam chose another reporter.
“Where do you think Ms. Kimirov is now?”
“I’ll answer that,” Elise said. “She’s coming for me. She won’t be able to control her impulses to get what she wants. Me, as part of the team who distributed a healthy part of her inheritance. We created bank accounts, college trust funds and education funds for the widows and children of the dead miners. You heard her grandfather clearly. Morality is not in her DNA. It skipped her generation. Her lack of impulse control has resulted in over 13 deaths, possibly more that we may never know of. Her insatiable, psychotic needs will be her downfall. If I disappear or have a mysterious unexplained death, you’ll know where to look. This concludes our press conference.”
Eamon stepped up to the mic. “I have nothing more to add. Thank you all for coming.”
Elise and Sam exited the tiny overcrowded room and joined Iain, Mac and Dave, John, and Eamon as Sheriff, all still covered in ski masks waiting for her outside. They went back to the small motor launch, name and number covered and cast off, not to be chased by the press.
The news crews did their stand-ups, all filed their stories and then, took off in different directions to get back to their home stations, or have a bite of lunch.
The second Kimirov BBJ in their fleet had taken off out of JFK two hours ago when Dimitri got the news on the Wifi on the plane.
Mavra Kimirov quietly watched the news conference end in Friday Harbor.
Dimitri kept a straight face, but was laughing hysterically, inside.
“You said the Botox and fillers would be enough!”
“No, I said… You can’t change bone structure, love. You only hear what you want to hear. Told you not to go.”
“We’ll see who’s the better chess player. Pour,” Mavra slammed her shot of Vodka. “Why are you here? I thought you found this, barbaric, disgusting and distasteful?”
“That has not changed. Adding to my retirement fund, love.”
The Captain came from the cockpit in his jacket, “Landing in another three hours, Ms. Kimirov.”
“Thank you.”
Mavra retired to the bedroom on the plane and slammed the door on all the masculinity. She pulled the white cashmere blanket over her head and thought of how to kill Dimitri and the rest of them. She smiled. Her “bag” of tricks was amongst her luggage.
METAPHOR’s Boston Whaler parted the glassy water in the harbor.
Elise’s soul demanded a break from the suffering, ‘Enjoy the rare beauty you fight to protect.’ But, she rationalized, ‘if I give in to such pleasures, I’ll lose my edge. There’ll be the rest of my life to enjoy such beauty.’
Iain looked over her shoulder at the perimeter road.
Elise followed his gaze. No one was following as they headed for the UW lab dock. She appreciated his watchful, professional eye, and smiled at him admiring his intelligence.
Dave smiled at her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “This ends our easy life. They’ll be coming now. We need more prep time.”
Elise nodded as the skiff pulled up to the dock. No one was lurking in the woods, but the Vets knew someone could be watching.
Iain, Dave, Mac and John nodded to each other, and watched the woods as they headed toward Desiree in the METAPHOR van surrounding Elise and Sam.
CHAPTER THREE -- BATTLE LINES
THE NEW MAVRA KIMIROV TEAM of meat were experienced. The submariners and sailors settled into their rooms at L’Hermitage in Vancouver.
Less than an hour later, the men wasted no time hitting the clubs. They smelled of new money, and wild testosterone, drawing the women.
Dimitri was on the phone in her sitting room. He took a tiny bump of coke. He went into the bedroom.
Mavra was depressed. Despite the great orgasm he’d given her, she refused to sleep. She was watching CNBC announce Kimirov Mining stock was tumbling, thirteen percent so far.
“Their ETA is 2100 at an inlet near Sydney Harbor, tomorrow. Dr. Arden will meet us at the ferry to Sydney. They’ll pick us up and we’ll cross the Strait. If all goes well in locating her, we’ll bring her aboard at 2300 tomorrow from an inlet on the west side of the island. OK? Oh and Dr. Wise said the launch of the face cream is close.”
“I can’t wait to get my hands on that brazen bitch. Wake me in two hours. We’ll work out. The men will need to work off the booze and the women.”
“As you wish.” Dimitri backed out of the room head down, bowing, mocking her.
He opened his laptop. There would be no sleep for him. He had too much to do which included smothering his conscience.
Back at Desiree’s they’d come into the shop under the cover of darkness. John had gone back to his duties. They’d given everyone new and the dogs a ride around the island, so Elise could get a sense of the place for the purpose of orientation and hiding.
After a good meal the Vets gave Elise more manuals to study; survival in cold waters, off the land, the currents and how to get back to the island on the water if she found herself out there, alone. She had two hours to scan all the manuals.
She took a test they’d prepared for her and passed it 100%. They gave her a final on the killing skills both practical and written. All four men had come at her at once and she subdued them all. Elise, the runner,
was barely breathing hard.
“Well done Elise,” Desiree clapped and mentally sighed.
“You’ve got it all, well done. How long does the memory last, Elise?” Dave patted her on the back.
Iain and Mac listened as their chests heaved.
“It passes from short into long term memory. If I recall it often in the first few days, I have total recall. Odd how my brain works.”
“Miraculous is more like it,” Dave answered recovering.
Desiree smiled, “Let’s call it a night. Tomorrow will be a big day.” She’d call Sid to see what his ETA might be. Oregon was nothing but the center of snow storm alley right now.
Mavra couldn’t sleep. Dimitri summoned Dr. Arden to their suite having decided she should be in the same hotel to help Mavra.
The two Ambien Dr. Arden administered gave Mavra only two hours sleep.
Dr. Arden had an ass some “six ax handles across” Ivan would have said. The doctor plodded around the room taking gigantic, unnatural strides like a parading Bolshevik slapping her huge black Crocs covered feet on the limestone tile. Dairy cows at auction had more poise. She was abrupt. Her attempt at highlights in her mousey, over permed bob, smacked of home remedy and made her look even more unattractive. Mavra laughed at her, several times.
Dr. Arden was proud of her no nonsense reputation in the lab.
It
was rumored she’d even been married once and had several children. Poor things. She was severe and scary. What man would settle for that? She’d once been on the woman’s Olympic heavy weight lifting team. What was once muscle was long gone.
Mavra watched the doctor crack walnuts in one hand. ‘Ball buster.’
Mavra hated the stereotypical image of the draft horse size Russian woman of the Steppes. It wasn’t the doctor’s size that offended Mavra, big is beautiful. It was her superior demeanor that grated Mavra. Mavra was going to make her cry. That would be fun. Mavra finally fell asleep hard because of all the pain meds she was taking for her nose and her ear lobes.
“Ha!” Marva said hours later. Hyped from the much needed rest, Mavra laughed out loud, threw back the sheet, admiring the rear view of Dimitri’s lusciously sculpted body, but they had no time this morning. He was dead asleep. She slapped his firm, shapely ass.
Dimitri came up out of his sleep with a balled fist, ready to punch her, “You wench! You know better than to wake me like that! Get up! Come with me!”
He grabbed her wrist, and dragged her to the shower. She didn’t resist.
He turned on the shower with one hand and held onto her with the other. She was lost in thought as she watched Dimitri adjust the water temperature and pull her in.
The shock of the water brought her attention back to Dimitri.
He showed off for her, rubbing soap all over himself.
She smiled as he rinsed off. She’d settled on her plan.
Dimitri soaped her up, and kissed her roughly.
She sighed, ‘Ah Dimitri. Change my mind, will you?’
He pinched her nipples hard as the soap washed down her legs. He firmly grabbed a breast in each hand, sucking on them hard.
She was on fire now, breathing harder, arching her body for him. Mavra lifted his face. He looked into her glassy eyes.
His cold, blue eyes and ‘I’ve won you over again’ smile urged her to pull him to her hungry mouth. He pinched her nipple extra hard.
She gasped then laughed at his wicked power over her. Before she’d finished laughing, he’d stuck his talented tongue down her throat.