by L. T. Ryan
Jack approached her. Kept his gun out to the side and aimed at the Russian. Kept his eyes on Igor.
“We need to get some info on the big picture here, Jack. I don’t care what we do with this guy, but I know Frank will want him detained. Fine with me. But we need to get as much info out of him as we can before we call this in.”
Jack nodded and didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know if he’ll take me seriously. Most guys don’t think a woman is a threat. At least, not until I kick their ass.”
Jack smiled.
“How are you with interrogation techniques?” she asked.
“I’m so-so.” An understatement. Jack had honed his technique since his days as a Marine on-loan to the CIA, and then as a member of the SIS. He even had an apartment in New York specifically for the purpose of interrogation.
“OK,” Jasmine said. “So you can back me up then?”
“Sure.”
“You want to start?”
“Yeah, why not.” He pointed at Igor. “You sure he’s OK there?”
Jasmine nodded. “Hands and legs are bound. He’s hooded. Not going anywhere.”
Jack walked up to the Russian. The man pressed himself into the tree as if trying to hide inside of it. Jack hit him in the stomach. The Russian leaned forward. Jack grabbed him by the back of his hair and lifted his head. Backhanded him across his face.
“Who do you report to?”
The man said nothing. He couldn’t say anything because he couldn’t breathe. His face turned red and deepened into a shade of purple.
Jack pulled the man forward so he leaned over, then lifted him back up. Repeated the process three times. The man inhaled with a groan and then took several short breaths.
“Now,” Jack said, “tell me who you report to.”
“Nobody.”
“You like not breathing? Want to stay that way forever?”
The man closed his eyes and shook his head.
Jack leaned in with one hand placed just below the man’s neck. “Then tell me what I want to know.”
“I know nothing.”
Jack whipped his free hand across the Russian’s face. The slap of the hand was followed by a grunt from the man.
“Tell me.”
The man said nothing. His thick jaw muscles worked as he clenched his mouth tight.
Jack drew his arm back to strike the man in the face with a full force punch. He felt Jasmine’s hand on his wrist. He looked back at her.
“Let me handle this, Jack.”
Jack held up his hands and stepped back. “You think I did a bad job?”
The Russian shifted his eyes between Jack and Jasmine.
She stepped forward, a smile on her face.
“Look, um, what’s your name?”
“I am no one of consequence.”
She kept smiling. “Right, well, Mr. Consequence then. I apologize for my partner’s technique. Brute force isn’t always the best option. Right?”
The Russian returned her smile. “No, it isn’t.” He glanced at Jack and then back at her. “It does not work with my people. We are strong. Unlike you Americans.”
Jasmine’s smile broadened. She continued. “Frankly, you look at me and probably don’t fear me. Right?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “But you should fear me more. You see, I can’t beat you like he can. Which means I have to resort to more drastic actions.”
She pulled out her pistol and shot the Russian in the foot.
He screamed and fell over to the side. The bullet went through the top of his foot and out the bottom. He clutched the wounded appendage in both hands. Blood poured from the entrance and exit wounds.
Jack crossed his arms. Smiled. He was impressed.
“Now tell me who you report to,” she said.
The Russian had scooted himself back and sat against the tree. He still held his foot in both hands, pressing tightly in an attempt to stop the bleeding. “His name…” He paused to catch his breath. His face twisted and turned upward.
“His name is what?”
The Russian opened his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth. “Lazar.”
“Is that a first or last name?”
The Russian said nothing. He leaned his head back against the tree and seemed to be losing consciousness.
“Answer me.” Jasmine placed the barrel of her gun against his head.
The Russian pushed his head back against the tree and turned to the side. Tears fell from the far corners of both eyes.
“That’s his first name.”
Jack watched in amazement at how easily Jasmine had gotten the information. The man didn’t fear Jack’s strength, but he turned coat at the possibility that Jasmine would kill him one shot at a time.
“What’s his last name? And where is he?” Jasmine asked.
The man took two quick breaths and one deep inhalation. He held the air in his lungs for a few seconds and then exhaled. “Chernov. His name is Lazar Chernov. He’s in Georgia.”
“The country?” Jasmine asked.
“No, the state. Near Atlanta.”
Jasmine looked back at Jack and nodded.
He shrugged and held out his hands.
“Call the name in,” she said.
“There’s lots of us there,” the man said.
Jasmine shook her head and gestured for Jack to hold on.
“Wait, what? How many?”
The Russian laughed. Closed his eyes and shook his head. “Screw you lady.”
She aimed her gun at him again.
“Jasmine, stop,” Jack said. “Come over here for a minute.”
She backed up, keeping her eyes and gun focused on the man sitting against the tree.
Jack said, “Let’s check out this Chernov guy.”
She nodded. Holstered her gun. Reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She pressed and held down a single button and then hit another button to turn on the speaker when the line began ringing. Frank picked up mid-way through the second ring.
“Jasmine, what do you guys have for me?”
“We got a name. Lazar Chernov. Possibly in the Atlanta, Georgia area.”
“OK, give me a minute.”
The line went silent. Jasmine leaned in against the side of the car and looked at Jack. He stood a few feet away, around the corner and behind the trunk. They locked eyes for a few seconds while Frank checked on the name.
The Russian yelled something unintelligible.
“Shut up,” Jack said.
“What?” Frank said.
“Not you,” Jasmine said.
“Oh, OK. Um, yeah, so nothing from our database or the FBI’s. Pulling up the CIA’s now and running a search on Homeland Security’s DB concurrently.”
Neither Jack or Jasmine said anything. The Russian groaned. Igor sat still, like he had throughout the interrogation of the Russian.
“Nothing from the CIA. Ah, there it is, Lazar Chernov, aka Lazlo and Lyov Chernov. Current whereabouts are Canton, Georgia. Let’s see what else we’ve got.” The line went silent again.
Jack asked, “What do you want to do with him?”
Jasmine shrugged and covered the phone’s mouthpiece. “I’ve got no use for him. He’s just going to get blood all over the car.”
Jack held up his gun. “Should I—”
“No.” Jasmine laughed. “Frank will have our location and he’ll send someone out for him. We’ll tie him to a tree or something.” She motioned toward the trunk. “Look in there.”
Jack went to the driver’s seat and popped the trunk. Returned to the back of the car and pulled out a length of black rope.
“OK,” Frank said. “This is our guy. He’s connected with this cell. I can’t say for sure that this guy is the top dog, but he’s certainly high up there. Makes sense given the location, so close to Atlanta. You two get going now. I’ll send a team out there to clean up after you.”
Jasmine hung up the phone. Smiled. “See.”
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“What about Igor?” Jack asked.
“Throw him in the trunk. We’ll drop him off in town.”
Jack took the rope to the injured Russian and tied his legs and then wrists together. Then he tied his chest to the tree.
“What are you doing?” the man asked.
“Leaving.”
“What about me?”
Jack shrugged. Walked over to Igor without looking back at the other man. The Russian yelled in the background.
“Get up.”
Igor struggled to get off the ground. Jack reached down and yanked him to his feet. Led him to the car and placed him back in the trunk.
“Not the trunk again,” Igor said.
“It’s just for a few minutes.” He waited for Igor to step in and then slammed the lid shut.
Ten minutes later they dropped him off a few blocks from the laundromat. Less than fifteen minutes later they were on I-95 southbound, crossing the Walt Whitman bridge into Philadelphia.
“We got twelve hours to kill,” Jasmine said. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to since you left SIS.”
Jack turned his head to face the window. “I’ll pass.”
15
“There they are,” Boris said.
“Hmm?” The old man lifted his head and looked across the desk at Boris.
Boris held out his hand and pointed at the window.
The old man saw five men walking toward the house. Four of them carried black duffel bags. One of them carried a blond haired girl. Feng narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. The girl looked familiar. As the men passed the window they turned. When the man carrying the child turned, the old man got a close up view. He knew why she looked familiar. She was the little girl he had held at the compound. The little girl that Jack had busted his balls over when he held the documents hostage.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
“What’s that?” Boris said.
“Nothing,” Feng said. “I don’t want them in the room.”
Boris cocked his head and leaned back in his chair.
“I am serious. Deal’s off if they enter the room. I don’t even want them to see me.”
Boris leaned forward and pressed a button on his desk phone.
“Yes, sir,” Fletcher said.
“Fletcher, don’t escort the men back here. Apparently our guest doesn’t like the looks of them.” Boris looked up at the old man. “Do you trust Mr. Fletcher?”
Feng nodded.
Boris leaned over the phone. “You bring the money back.”
“OK. I’ll be there in five.”
Boris hung up the phone and sat back in his chair. He had an amused look on his face as he stared at the old man. He interlaced his fingers and wrapped them around the back of his head.
“It’s a funny thing, Feng.”
“What is?”
“Ah, nothing.”
“Need I remind you who I am?”
Boris laughed. “Fine. I was just thinking, here you are. This man with an incredible reputation. Yet, you are afraid of being seen by five of my guys. Five guys I trust enough to bring you your money.”
The old man shrugged. He refused to go down this path with Boris. The less Boris knew about Feng’s past with the little girl, the better. She was his hassle now. God forbid if Jack was in town. He couldn’t figure that part out, though. Every source he had told him that Jack was dead. Then he remembered Jack’s partner and figured the girl was there with the large man. That was just as bad as if Jack was alive and around, though. He had no problem letting Boris deal with the fallout that could come.
“What is taking so long?”
Boris held up his hands. Reached for his phone. Before he could press any of the buttons there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Boris said.
Fletcher entered carrying four black bags.
“Do you need to count it?” Boris asked the old man.
Feng nodded.
Boris motioned toward his desk and Fletcher sat the bags down.
Feng unzipped one bag. Boris unzipped the other. The money was stacked and bundled in wads of ten thousand dollars. It took them several minutes to count it all. When they were done, there was an overage of one hundred thousand dollars.
“Why don’t you give that to Mr. Fletcher,” Feng said. “He’s been so gracious toward me.”
Boris motioned toward Fletcher while keeping his eyes on the old man.
“Take it, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Is there a way to get outside through your office?” the old man asked.
Boris paused and tapped his fingers against his desk. “Mr. Fletcher, pull your car around. I’ll see Feng out.”
Fletcher left the room.
Boris stood, grabbed two bags and walked toward the outside facing wall. He looked over his shoulder and told Feng to grab the remaining bags and follow him. Then he slid one of the bookcases to the side and pulled a handle on a hidden door that opened up to the outside.
* * *
“Pull the car over,” the old man said.
“No,” Fletcher said.
“Are you not one hundred thousand dollars richer because of me?”
The man in the front passenger seat turned to look at Fletcher. Fletcher looked up in the rear-view mirror at the old man and shook his head. He pulled the car over on the emergency shoulder and put it in park.
“Why did you need me to stop?”
“I need to make a phone call.”
Feng opened the door and stepped down into six inches of slush and snow. He cursed under his breath as ice cold water flooded his six hundred dollar shoes. He found a dry spot, pulled out his cell phone and called Charles in Paris.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Charles, how are you?”
“What do you need?”
“Still don’t care for formalities, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
Feng smiled. “What is your arrangement with the Frenchman?”
“Pierre?”
“Yes, I believe that is his name. Friend of Mr. Jack’s, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s him. He finally agreed to work for me.”
“You mean us.”
“Yeah, us. You know what I mean.”
The old man paused while three caravanning eighteen-wheelers passed. “Mr. Charles, I want you to contact him. I need a job done here.”
“New York?”
“Iowa.”
“Iowa? What the hell are you doing in Iowa?”
“Never mind that. I saw something here. Someone. I think Jack Noble’s associate is here. I want to close the circle, but I don’t want our organization to handle it.”
“Gotcha. I’ll call him.”
The old man hung up and returned to the car. He slid into his seat.
“Take me back to the hotel.”
16
Pierre stood in front of the stove cooking breakfast. It was nice to have a working stove again. Kat’s apartment was a great place to stay. A bit larger than his. Her appliances were newer, though, and he appreciated that.
“Pierre.”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Kat walking toward him. She was wearing nothing more than a white t-shirt with three-quarter length pink sleeves. She held his cell phone in her hand.
“Your phone is ringing.”
“Ah.” He wiped his hands on a towel and reached for his phone. He recognized the number. “Hello?”
“Hello, Pierre,” Charles said.
“One moment,” Pierre said into the phone. Then he covered the phone with his hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He kissed Kat on the cheek and left the apartment. Went down two flights of stairs and into the courtyard.
“Sorry about that,” he said.
“No problem. Privacy is always a concern.”
“Of course. Do you have a job for me?”
Charles chuckled. “I might. First I need to know where your loyalties a
re, though.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Kill the girl.”
“Do what?” Pierre looked around the courtyard, paying close attention to corners and shrubs and other potential hiding spots. He scanned the rooftops of the buildings that made up the complex.
Charles laughed. “Just kidding. We don’t care about her.”
Pierre said nothing. He breathed quickly. He stayed on alert and kept an eye out for anyone suspicious. He wished he was armed.
“I do need to know that once you commit to me, to us, that you are one hundred percent on board. No flipping back to your old job. That Pierre is dead after you sign on. You got it?”
Pierre nodded and then felt stupid when he realized that Charles couldn’t see him. “Yes, I can live with that.”
“Good. Because if you violate my trust you won’t be alive no more.”
“I have worked in clandestine operations my entire adult life. I understand secrecy and the need for secrecy. I understand loyalty. Once I agree, you have my pledge that I am bound to your organization for the term of our agreement.”
“OK. I’m happy with that.”
Pierre didn’t say anything. He walked toward Kat’s building and stood just inside the landing.
“How much would it cost me to get you to take out a friend?”
“Kidding again?”
“No.”
“It would depend on how good of a friend. Who did you have in mind?”
“That’s classified.”
Pierre laughed. “If you want to work with me then you’ll have to—”
“What does two hundred thousand buy me?”
Pierre paused. “Euros or dollars?”
“Euros.”
Two hundred thousand Euros could set Pierre up for a while and he knew it. He could take Kat and leave the city and move close to the French Riviera.
“I’ll kill anyone you want.”
“Pack your bags and grab your passport, my friend. You are going to America. I’ll have someone meet you at de Gaulle at six this evening.”
Pierre hung up his phone and stuffed it in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette. Sat down on the stairs in front of the building. He thought about the people he knew in the U.S. Most were operators in various government agencies. He knew a few politicians as well, having worked security on their visits to France. He knew he wouldn’t be able to figure it out, so he turned his thoughts to Kat. Things were back on track and now he was leaving. But he was doing it for her. He had convinced himself of that. Could he make her believe it?