by Ty Patterson
She hadn’t been able to complete the call to Bwana, but the cell phone had stayed on. It would have acted like a homing beacon. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine how they looked. Bwana and Bear granite-faced, Chloe narrow-eyed and tight-lipped. Roger and Bear whistling tunelessly, but not in joy.
And Zeb. His fingers would have trembled, just the slightest, almost imperceptibly, signaling his killing rage.
Her friends.
‘Where?’ she asked Bwana, trying to control her voice.
‘Staten Island,’ he understood her question. ‘In the remote woods. Nearest sign of civilization was a golf course, but that was a good distance away. He was smart. Very few people know the island has one of the most secluded areas in the city.’
She nodded and listened to them josh as they settled around her. Roger discovered that the sisters’ rooms were separated by a slidable partition. He got to work, and when a nurse came bustling in, he and Broker turned on their charm. The two could have been front-cover models in a different life. They smiled, flirted and sent her away without her uttering a word of admonishment.
Bwana wheeled Beth’s bed over, and as the sisters lay side by side, someone opened a wine bottle. Zeb leaned against a wall, his eyes serious. He nodded when he met Meghan’s eyes and she knew he would go for a punishing run afterwards. He would drain the dark anger in him and would be able to relax only the next day.
Her friends. Her world.
They left when the nurse brought reinforcements, battle-axes who stared Roger and Broker down and hustled all of them out of the hospital.
Meghan got to her feet unsteadily and went to Beth’s bed. Saw her sister’s swollen face, the wounds and the stitches. Remembered Yuri’s hand moving up and down as it hammered blows on her twin.
‘I almost lost you,’ she said brokenly.
Beth’s lips twisted, a look of devilment in her eyes. ‘Sorry, sis. I’m not that easy to get rid of.’
And then the tears came.
A week later, Beth and Meghan were back in their office. Not recovered fully but making rapid progress. Roger and Bwana were hard taskmasters and did not let up on their recovery regime.
Meghan stretched cautiously, wincing as a dull throb in her chest started. She cracked her fingers and looked over at her sister, who was peering intently at her screen.
‘Still down?’
‘Yeah,’ Beth replied.
The link to Nikolai’s game was dead. The sisters had visited several chat rooms and the darkweb sites they had access to. The murderous game hadn’t popped up anywhere else.
There had been no new attacks on Angie, and she had gone back to her apartment after Zeb declared it safe. Hiram Konstantin tried to pay them, and when he became insistent, the sisters asked him to donate to the NYPD Foundation.
The few headlines about the accident near the Verrazano bridge were soon forgotten. New Yorkers never came to know about Razor and the killings on Staten Island. Commissioner Bruce Rolando and Claire had collectively wielded their not insignificant clout to deter even the most inquisitive journalists.
Meghan didn’t have the usual satisfaction of closing another case, and she knew Beth felt the same.
Nikolai. He’s still out there. We don’t know who he is. She leaned back, closed her eyes and drifted off.
A thump on her desk woke her up.
A cell phone.
‘Funny,’ Bwana made a show of patting his pockets. ‘I plumb forgot to hand that over to the cops. Forgot to tell you, too.’
‘Whose is it?’ Meghan eyed the smartphone.
He fumbled with it and pressed a button.
A voice filled the room.
‘Have you killed them?’
Meghan sucked her breath sharply. Seeing the dawning realization in Beth’s eyes. That was Razor’s phone.
And that voice … Nikolai’s!
Chapter Forty-Five
They arrived in Moscow separately, six weeks after Bwana had handed Razor’s phone to Meghan.
He and Roger had come in from Europe, having joined a backpacking bunch of student travelers.
Broker flew in on a private jet, playing the role of a millionaire. Bear and Chloe arrived in a tour group, playing a couple in love, which wasn’t that hard to enact. They were in a relationship. Zeb joined a group of football fans who were following their club’s tour of Russia. It wasn’t his game, but he had had far more difficult covers.
The sisters had finally identified Nikolai Khem, formerly Nikolai Kharkov, son of Anatole Kharkov.
It hadn’t been easy, despite the message on Razor’s phone. That voice matched no other in the databases Werner had access to.
The twins had turned to Andropov, finally. Their Russian friend, still burning with righteous anger, had taken the recording eagerly. He had scoured the databases at his end. When that search proved fruitless, he had run a match against all the politicians’ voices in the country. That hadn’t been successful, either. And then he had his brainwave.
If Nikolai was so deeply hidden it could only mean he served the most powerful.
The man in the Kremlin.
Andropov had used all his wiles, all his resources and ingenuity to record those in that man’s employ.
And after three weeks of digging, he had found a match. A recording in an exclusive Moscow nightclub. One man berating the manager for serving his vodka sloppily. A lot of bowing and scraping and apologizing from the manager.
Andropov checked out the security cameras and found the profile of the man whose voice matched. A profile wasn’t good enough. He visited the manager and asked for the customer’s name. The manager refused.
Andropov withdrew his gun and placed it on the table. ‘I have powers,’ he said.
The manager eyed the weapon silently.
‘I can make you disappear,’ he told the nightclub’s official.
‘He has no name,’ the man shivered. ‘We aren’t allowed to write it down.’
‘How do you know it is him, when he calls?’
‘He uses his boss’s name.’ Boss. The man in the Kremlin.
‘He must have a credit card. A car. An address?’
‘No card. We don’t charge him. His vehicle has no plates.’
‘I want something,’ Andropov told him sternly.
‘I can’t give it to you,’ the man cried.
Andropov took pity on him and left, but not before threatening him. ‘If you tell anyone …’ he warned.
‘I won’t.’
Andropov mounted watch, by himself.
He got lucky in the fourth week, when the voice turned up in an armored SUV. The man, dressed in a suit, snapped orders at his driver. Andropov’s directional microphone recorded them, and a laptop by his side confirmed again that it was the same voice on Razor’s phone.
Andropov checked out the SUV when the coast was clear. No plates, but he got its VIN number.
His screen told him the vehicle belonged to a trading company whose ownership was obscured by several holding companies.
He followed the voice when he left the establishment late at night.
Down the Rublyovo-Uspensekoye Highway, past several gated complexes, turning into a well-maintained road, falling back because his was the only other vehicle on the road, and driving past the iron gates beyond which the SUV’s lights had disappeared.
Andropov had two clues now: the fancy estate and the company.
He threatened and cajoled people, bribed and persuaded, until a gardener in the mansion gave up the man’s name.
Nikolai Khem.
And then the rest — piecing together Nikolai’s back story, finding out about the other occupant in the house, a young man named Vasily who did nothing all day but sit in front of a screen and play games — became easy.
And once Zeb got Nikolai’s details, he made a call to Claire, who created a fake mission that necessitated the visit to Moscow.
Beth and Meghan couldn’t be told. They would have in
sisted on coming along.
No, this was a job Zeb, Bwana, Roger, Broker, Bear and Chloe had to do themselves. No one laid a hand, directly or indirectly, on the sisters, and lived.
The sisters protested, but Zeb was unyielding. Mission fitness, he told them. And it was true. Meghan was recovering faster than Beth, but even she was a long way off from combat-readiness.
And so, the six arrived in Moscow. Bear and Chloe commenced surveillance on the mansion. They flew drones at night over the estate. The devices were equipped with stealth technology, built with radar-absorbing material, as well as electronic countermeasures and a low radar cross-section.
Each craft had a satellite tower that captured cell phone traffic from the mansion.
Nikolai’s mansion had physical and electronic security. Motion sensors and alarms. The compound fence was patrolled by armed guards who were former Russian soldiers.
Breaching the estate’s defenses would be a challenge.
Bwana and Roger kept watch on Nikolai’s office. It didn’t have as much security as the mansion, but it had enough.
They met ten days later, at a bar not far from Andropov’s office, and compared notes.
‘Mansion,’ Bwana emptied his beer and waved for another drink. ‘That’s where we should hit him. He rarely goes to the office.’
‘He’ll know he’s under attack,’ Bear objected.
‘Let him,’ Zeb replied.
The sniper agreed on their choice.
The shooter had easily spotted Bear and Chloe at the sprawling estate. Bwana and Roger weren’t hard to miss, either. The sniper drove a sleek Mercedes, wearing the uniform of a chauffeur, and picked up wealthy Russian women and dropped them off at malls. That cover enabled the assassin to observe Nikolai’s residence as well as his office.
The sniper knew about Zeb and his team. Was aware of their capabilities and the resources they had. The shooter wasn’t worried by them.
The assassin flew a drone when the operatives left. The craft was similar to the ones Bear and Chloe had used, but the sniper surveyed the mansion from different eyes.
He checked out windows and angles of fire. Spent time observing the smaller residences around the main building. One in particular, a guesthouse two hundred yards from Nikolai’s residence, was of interest.
Its roof had a sight line to several windows in Khem’s study. The Russian showed himself on the third night of the sniper’s watch. He stood at a window, a cell phone pressed to his ear, as he looked out into the night.
The sniper wasn’t interested in his conversation. The assassin noted how Nikolai stood, for how long, and recorded his appearances at the windows. No protection detail in the study, which was reassuring but wouldn’t have mattered for what the shooter planned.
On the final day of watch, the sniper hid in the hedges surrounding the mansion’s perimeter. The assassin saw Bear and Chloe arrive at night. Zeb and the remaining operatives came in separate vehicles. The shooter’s lips quirked at their rides. Russian police cruisers, the operatives wearing the correct uniforms. Zeb’s team huddled in front of the mansion’s gates and made plans while the security guards looked on.
The sniper made plans, too.
Chapter Forty-Six
The operatives decided to hit Nikolai three weeks after they had been in the country.
It was a warm, balmy night when they executed their plan.
Broker and Roger tipped a semi on the Rublyovka highway and blocked the approach to the mansion. They would stay back and make sure the route stayed closed. They were responsible for exfil as well. A chopper that would hover over the mansion’s roof and collect them after mission-complete.
Andropov, whom Zeb had persuaded to help without actively involving himself, kept the Moscow police busy, sending them on several fake terrorist alerts.
Bear and Chloe, Zeb and Bwana, drove up in Russian cruisers and parked off-road, in the darkness between two oligarchs’ estates.
They put on their skin suits, geared up, and jogged to the rear of Nikolai’s mansion, away from the highway.
They placed several cell phone jammers against the perimeter wall and launched three drones.
The crafts would orbit the estate, picking up any escaping cell phone traffic. They would also act as their eyes in the sky, transmitting their feeds to the NVGs on their faces. Night vision would turn on or off depending on ambient light and also when facing reflective surfaces. When off, the devices would convert to clear-lens goggles.
Zeb checked Nikolai’s location from the thermal imaging the drones were transmitting. The Russian was in his study.
He signaled Go!
Activity inside the compound picked up as soon as they climbed over the perimeter wall. Three guards raced towards them but went down when Bear and Chloe fired tranquilizer darts.
They split into two teams: Zeb and Bwana heading to a side entrance, Bear and Chloe going to a rear exit. They moved fast, cutting down any approaching guard. They could hear shouts from inside the residence, and radios on the fallen men squawked.
The sniper climbed over the same section of the wall the operatives had. The shooter crouched low, running fast, detouring away from the mansion, heading to the guest house.
Two guards ran in the direction of the main residence, drawn by the breach in the compound. Their heads turned, startled at the figure racing towards them. The sniper shot from the hip without faltering. A rapid double burst that cut them, followed by a double tap. Lethal rounds. No tranqs.
Zeb’s team lobbed flashbangs into the residence and, when they entered the house, switched to lethal fire. Each one carried an HK416; Bear and Bwana had M320 grenade launchers fitted to theirs.
Zeb and Bwana entered a large room, which looked like a store for art.
‘Look at that.’ Bwana took a moment to admire a wall hanging before blasting oncoming guards with a short burst.
They checked the hallway. Clear.
‘We’re climbing,’ Chloe said in their earpieces. ‘Stairs from the back, going up.’
Zeb and Bwana raced down the hallway. Bwana let fly a grenade as a door opened far ahead. Three guards collapsed, their rounds flying harmlessly over their heads.
A turn. Footsteps pounding ahead of them.
They split, dived to the floor in opposite directions, sliding on its polished surface. Four guards rushing at them, reacting an instant too late as they figured out which target to go after.
In Zeb’s world, a fraction of a second’s delay was the difference between life and death. The heavies went down under their sustained fire. Zeb rose and looked at Bwana, who gave a thumbs-up.
More twists and turns in the passage, alarms now sounding in the mansion, shouts in the distance.
They reached a hall, some kind of reception room, at the far end of which was a grand staircase winding up.
They climbed swiftly, Zeb at the front, Bwana at the rear, coming to a landing that stretched to the left and right.
The sniper reached the side wall of the guesthouse. Paused for a few moments to fly a drone and check the building. Thermal imaging showed it was empty. The shooter activated a wave jammer that would interfere with the residence’s security system.
Sounds of firefights in the distance as Zeb and his operatives engaged the mansion’s security personnel. It was the cover the shooter had wanted. The sniper put on suction gloves and swiftly climbed the building.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Right, Zeb pointed, on reaching the landing. That was where Nikolai’s study was.
Sounds of an intense firefight.
Ducked their heads around a corner. Bear and Chloe pinned behind an upturned wooden desk that they had dragged from somewhere.
‘Duck,’ Bwana whispered, sent two grenades rapidly and backed them up with sustained fire.
The sounds of the explosions died down. Smoke and dust filled the passage. Someone cried in agony. Zeb held his hand up and started crawling.
‘Not a
good idea,’ Bwana warned. ‘Let me soften them up with a few more.’
Zeb didn’t stop. The passage ended in a T, with Nikolai’s study to the left. They had to know how many hostiles were in the intersecting hallway.
The hallway became his universe as he moved swiftly, alert for any movement. He knew he would be a tempting target for any guard. However, he was counting on his friends to provide cover. It was a foolhardy move, one that he wouldn’t have executed in different circumstances. However, plans needed to change when the terrain and hostilities did.
He brought out a telescopic camera when he reached the end. Swung it to the right. One guard crouching, another behind, both readying themselves for attack. Neither of them noticing the almost invisible cable’s tip.
He twisted the camera, pointed it to the left. Bodies on the floor, no movement.
The HK was too cumbersome to maneuver. He drew his Glock and fired to his right just as one of the guards leaped forward.
A double tap took the first hostile down, and then his crew was surging forward, cutting down the second guard, but not before Zeb’s cheek burned from a passing round.
That was close. He felt his face with his hand. His fingers came away red. He got to his feet and moved carefully to the study’s door.
The sniper moved across the guesthouse’s roof. No security guard at the top, which wasn’t surprising. Everyone would have been summoned to deal with the operatives in the main house.
The shooter skirted air-conditioning equipment and piping. Brought up a mental image of the building’s layout and the window in Nikolai’s study. Headed to that side of the guesthouse and slowed when the parapet neared.
The roof presented a problem. The parapet wall meant the sniper couldn’t lie down prone and take a shot.
The shooter shrugged. The shot would have to be taken kneeling. The sniper had planned for various shooting positions and had strapped on appropriate gear.