by L. T. Ryan
“If it was a national security issue, why is an American in the building instead of a Russian?”
“I can’t go into detail on that. It’s not safe for you here. You should leave.”
She took two steps forward. The woman had no fear of Jack or what he might do to her. She said, “You should leave.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Then I’ll make you.”
“How?”
A smile slowly formed on her lips, starting from the left. Old lips lifted, parting thin gray whiskers. She took two steps back, then turned, then disappeared into her apartment.
Was the old woman going to cause trouble for Jack? Should he take her out? The thought crossed his mind. It would be quick and easy and relatively painless. He shook his head and the thoughts from his mind. Turned toward the window and scanned the street.
A brown Bentley approached from the east. It rounded the corner and rolled past the theater. Stopped at the corner of the road and the parking lot.
Jack leaned into the window, pressing his forehead to the glass. He squinted to see inside the vehicle to no avail. Yellow lights flashed at the front and the back.
That’s got to be him. What’s he doing, though? Waiting for someone? More men?
A bright light flicked on and a door opened from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The old woman stood there, phone in her hand. She spoke quickly and loudly. He had no idea what she said, but felt certain it was about him.
“This is your last chance,” the old woman said. “Leave the building. Now.”
Jack ignored her. He had to confirm Ivanov’s presence.
Two cars pulled up behind the Bentley. The Bentley’s driver stepped out of the vehicle. Walked to the car behind him. Stopped at the driver’s door. The window rolled down and the man leaned forward. A few seconds later he straightened and walked to the next car. Spoke to that driver, then returned to his car.
The flashing hazard lights cut off. The car started forward, then turned right, then turned into the parking lot. The two cars followed.
The wail of sirens approached.
Jack kept his eyes on the Bentley. The driver stepped out again. He walked around the back of the vehicle. Opened the trunk and grabbed an object. Jack could not make out what it was. The driver moved to the rear passenger door and opened it.
Red and blue lights reflected off the buildings on the other side of the street. The sirens were loud. Close.
Two legs poked out of the back seat of the Bentley. The man did not emerge. The driver bent over. Looked like the two were having a conversation.
Jack looked to the left and right, where the other two cars had parked. Two men got out of each vehicle. Two of them looked vaguely familiar. From where, though? Ivanov’s headquarters? Black Dolphin? No, they were the men from Italy.
Three police cars pulled up to the building. Six cops stepped out. Two walked to the other side of the street. Drew their weapons. Aimed at the second story window. The four remaining cops walked toward the door below.
A hand reached out and grabbed a hold of the arm rest on the Bentley’s rear door. A head emerged, ducked at first, then full view. Ivanov.
The door below Jack opened. Four sets of footsteps entered. Two sets hit the stairs.
Jack turned and started up the stairs behind him. Grabbed the microphone hanging from his collar. Said, “Ivanov’s here with five attached. I recognize two. They are dangerous. I’m dark for a few.”
The cops raced up the stairs behind him. He reached the fourth floor. The stairs ended. He scanned the open area. One window in front. One in back. Two doors to his left. Two to his right. Six options. He had to choose one because the footsteps were gaining on him, fast.
17
Clarissa lifted her left wrist and placed it in front of her mouth. She spoke softly. “Jack? What’s going on?”
No response.
“Jack,” she said again. “Come in? Where’s Ivanov? Where are you?”
No response, again.
“Clarissa,” Jasmine said. “Jack can take care of himself. Let’s focus on what we have to do here.”
“OK.”
“I’m watching the door. I can see into the lobby.”
“Do you see him?”
There was a pause, then Jasmine said, “Yes, he’s here.”
Clarissa resisted the urge to turn and look. She remained seated. Eyes forward. All other senses on high alert. The air was still. The velvety red curtain hung over the stage. The low murmur of chatter filled the tall and wide room.
“He’s in the theater now,” Jasmine said. “He’s looking around.”
Clarissa wondered if anyone came in with him.
“He’s alone now, but there are a few guys in the lobby that look suspicious. That might be a problem.”
Clarissa stared at the crowd in front of her. What if someone in the crowd was a plant? How did she know that he hadn’t marked her should something happen to him? There was no room for thoughts like that. She pushed them to the side and focused. She had to be Anastasiya.
Amid the noise of the crowd she heard the hard soled shoes come to a stop next to her. The scene in front of her passed by in slow motion as she turned her head to the left. She saw the empty seat next to her. The man beyond the seat. She lifted her eyes, adjusted her gaze. Saw the man and instantly the desire to kill him burned hot inside her.
“Anastasiya?” Ivanov said.
“That’s him,” Jasmine said in her ear.
“Ivanov,” Clarissa said.
“General Ivanov,” he said.
Clarissa turned her head toward the stage. She refused to be intimidated by the man. A few seconds passed and he sat down next to her with a groan.
“Let’s get down to business,” he said.
“Not until the show starts,” she said.
“Now.”
“No.”
“I’ll have you killed when this is over.”
“You tried to have me killed before this began.” Clarissa turned her head slightly and made eye contact. “That didn’t work out too well, did it?”
Ivanov’s face hardened. He narrowed his eyes. Straightened his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that exact moment, the lights in the theater dimmed and the crowd fell to a hush.
Jasmine’s voice filled her ear again, “I’m going to the hall now. Gonna get a closer look at these other guys.” A few moments later she spoke again. Her voice rose and fell, like she was moving quickly. “Only one of them is out here. The others must have slipped into the theater.”
Clarissa waited for the entrancing music to begin playing and the actors with their flaming batons and sticks to appear. She leaned in close to Ivanov and said, “Men’s bathroom off the main hall. Last stall. Under and behind the toilet. Taped there, you’ll find the documents.”
Ivanov leaned forward to stand.
Clarissa grabbed his hand. “This isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
Ivanov lifted his hand into the air. A moment later a man stood next to him. Ivanov got up. The man took his seat. Ivanov disappeared. The man grabbed Clarissa’s wrist. He held it tightly and said, “Not a word.”
18
Jasmine stood near the building’s entrance and exit doors. She saw Ivanov emerge from the theater. He nodded at his man in the lobby, then he walked down the curved hall that led to the restrooms.
The man in the lobby waited until Ivanov disappeared past the bend in the hall, and then he followed.
Jasmine followed him. She reached into her purse. Wrapped her hand around a handle. She knew that she’d have to kill two men tonight. At least two. She rounded the curve in the hallway. Didn’t see Ivanov. Did see the man from the lobby. He stood in front of the men’s bathroom. Blocked the door. They knew that Ivanov wouldn’t come alone. Anticipated that he’d have someone either in or outside of the restroom. Outside worked better, as long as there were no witnesses.
She withdrew her hand from
her purse. The man turned his head in her direction. He stared at her with cold, dead eyes. The guy was a pro, that much was obvious. Probably had no aversions to killing. That was lost after his second or third year.
She smiled at him.
He stared blankly at her.
She slowed as she neared the restroom.
He turned his head forward, kept his eyes on her.
She stopped in front of him. Turned slightly. Said, “Excuse me, is this the ladies room?”
He shrugged. Feigned disinterest by turning his head away from her. Big mistake.
Jasmine let the handle of the weapon spin in her hand. The razor sharp edge faced toward the door. Her thumb on the back of the blade. She swung her arm upward, in an arc. He noticed far too late. By the time he placed a hand on her, she had plunged the knife into his neck, severing his carotid artery. She pulled the blade out. With her free hand she covered the gash to prevent blood spray. She pulled the knife back and then plunged it into his chest, penetrating his heart.
His gurgled attempts at yelling stopped.
She held him up against the door. Used her foot to push the door open and set his body down inside. She tried to be quiet, but it was of no use.
“What are you doing out there?” Ivanov said from behind the stall door.
Jasmine said nothing. She dragged the dead man into the bathroom and let the door close behind her. Reached behind her back. She brought the pistol forward. Secured the suppressor.
“I haven’t found anything in here, Kostya. She set us up. Go tell Dimitri and escort Anastasiya outside.”
She walked across the bathroom. Stopped in front of his stall.
“Kostya?”
The stall door opened slightly. She saw his eye peering through, then the door closed and it sounded like the latch slid across to a locked position.
She fired three shots into the center of the door. Heard a groan. She stepped forward and kicked the door open. Aimed the gun at the man who pressed back against the wall. His legs straddled the toilet. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall. His other hand covered his abdomen where a bullet had hit. Blood soaked through his shirt and spread down.
“Just a flesh wound,” she said.
“I know,” he said. “I’ll live.”
“No, you won’t.”
Jasmine lifted the gun, squeezed off three more shots, the first of which hit Ivanov in the forehead. His body slid down the wall. Came to a resting position on top of the toilet. She closed the door. Tucked the gun behind her back. Stepped over the lifeless body of the man Ivanov called Kostya. Left the bathroom.
Jasmine walked into the theater. Fire was spinning and flying and rising and falling on the stage. She looked across the second to the last row. Her heart sank. Clarissa was gone. She ran out of the theater and through the lobby and past the parking lot. She stopped a block away. Yelled into the microphone, “Jack? Clarissa? Where are you two?”
19
The second door Jack tried had been unlocked. He moved through the apartment, into the back bedroom. He opened the window. Forty plus feet to the ground. Nothing around the window to grab a hold of. No fire escape. No solid drain pipes. If the cops entered the apartment his only option would be to shoot his way out. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
The radio had been silent for a while. Then two things happened.
First, Jasmine came on, sounding frantic, asking where everyone was.
Second, Clarissa came on. Only, she didn’t speak to them. She spoke to someone else. And she asked that someone where he was taking her.
Being trapped in the room left Jack beyond frustrated. He couldn’t see who had her or what car they were leaving in.
He lifted the microphone and said, “Jasmine, did you take out Ivanov?”
“Yeah, he’s dead, Jack. And another man, Kostya I think he said. Where are you?”
It was the men from Italy that he had seen. Kostya and Dimitri, two of the men who apprehended him and brought him to Russia.
“Jack?”
“I’m in the building across the street. Some old lady called the cops. They’re inside. I’m trapped.”
“Dammit, this whole thing is falling apart.”
“Did you see who took Clarissa?”
“I saw them when they entered, but I didn’t see them take her. I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Don’t be. She can take care of herself. She’s already transmitting. These radios are long range. As long as she’s conscious she’ll lead us there.”
Jasmine said nothing.
The front door of the apartment opened.
“Gotta go,” Jack said. “Stay out of sight.”
He grabbed the sheets off the bed and dropped to his knees in the corner of the room. Covered himself. Used his knife to create a slit he could see through.
The men called to each other from the main room of the apartment. He heard them enter the bedroom next to him. They didn’t stay in there long. The door opened to the room he was in. One of the men called out in English, “Come on out, mister. We won’t hurt you.”
Two distinct sets of footsteps moved through the room. Jack held his breath. He held the submachine gun in both hands. His palms were sweaty. His heartbeat rapid. He slowed his breath. Slowed his mind.
One of the men whistled, like Jack was a friggin’ dog and would come out. The men stopped.
Jack waited.
Another cop called out from the main room. “Obisla, obisla.”
Jack knew very little Russian. Only a few words. And that was one. Murder.
The men in the room repeated the phrase and spoke in Russian. They left the room. Closed the door. Jack heard the main door of the apartment open and close.
They must have heard about the murder across the street. A Russian General had been executed at point blank range, and that was more troubling than a possible prowler called in by an old woman. At least until a smarter cop arrived on the scene and heard about the man in the building and put two and two together.
“Jasmine,” Jack said into the microphone. “Cops are leaving. I’m coming out. There’s a back door to this building. Meet me there.”
* * *
“You OK?” Jack said as he pushed through the door.
Jasmine had her gun out and up and ready to fire. Blood stained her shirt and pants. She said, “I’m OK. I spoke to Frank. He’s putting us in touch with his guy here, Marco.”
“OK.”
“Any idea who those extra guys were?”
“Yeah. Private contractors. Same ones that caught me in Italy six months ago.”
Jasmine nodded. Her eyes scanned the building and the dark area between where they stood and the street.
“We should get to the car,” Jack said.
They walked two blocks. The streets were dark and empty. The temperature had dropped nearly twenty degrees since they had arrived. The sidewalk had iced over and they found it tricky to secure their footing. They moved from the sidewalk to the grassy area and trudged through the day old snow.
They stopped a hundred feet from the car. Stood silent. Scanned the area like an owl scans the ground for his dinner in the middle of the night.
In the background sirens wailed and blue and red lights lit up the night sky. Everyone in the area focused on the scene of the murder.
“Looks clear,” Jasmine said.
Jack nodded. “You go first. If anyone pops out, I’ll take care of them.”
Jasmine set off without hesitation. The woman would walk into a lion’s den. She reached the car. Got in.
Jack waited a minute, his eyes constantly on the move. He saw no one. Heard no one. Sensed no one. He jogged to the car and got in on the passenger’s side.
Jasmine pulled away. They turned right, away from the theater. Jack looked back through his window and saw a scene of pure madness. A crowd of people in the street. Locals dressed in their lounge wear. The people who had attended the theater, dressed a bit nicer. A few cops s
tood between them and the theater.
They drove and Jack lost track of time as he thought about Clarissa and what he would do to her abductors.
“Jack?” The voice came from the ear piece.
He lifted the microphone and said, “Clarissa? You OK?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Not sure where I’m at, though.”
“We’re working on that. Going to meet a guy now who can help.”
“OK.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Do you remember anything about the ride?”
“Initially, yeah. But then he stopped and blindfolded me. I think we drove for another fifteen minutes after that.”
Jack looked at Jasmine. He tried to keep his fading hope from showing on his face. “Can you see where you are now?”
“In a room. It’s like a cell within a room.”
“Window?”
“Yeah. No. It’s covered.”
“Anything distinguishable?”
“Um, not really. There is another cell in the room and a man sleeping on a cot in that cell.”
“Wake him.”
“OK.” She said nothing for a few minutes.
Jack drummed the armrest on the door with his fingers. He looked between Jasmine and the road. “How much longer till we’re there?”
“About fifteen minutes. We’re leaving the city.”
“This guy in the SIS?”
She shook her head.
Jack didn’t push for more information.
“OK, Jack. He’s up. Says his name is Alik.”
Jack smiled. “You tell him Jack Noble says hello. Going silent for a bit.”
“OK.”
They reached a point where the streetlights ended. The road was dark and empty and covered with packed snow and ice.
“You drive well in the snow for having grown up in Atlanta,” Jack said.
Jasmine shrugged. “They gave me training.”
She turned into a residential neighborhood. Turned right twice and left once. Stopped in front of a one story brick house.
They got out, crossed the snow covered lawn. Went to the door. Jack knocked.
A man answered.
“Marco?” Jasmine said.