The Alex Shanahan Series

by Lynne Heitman

  “Inside this bag are empty wallets, family photos, business cards, a few passports. Nothing of value but things that might mean something to the people who lost them, especially…are you listening to me?”

  “I’m listening.” And trying to refill the stapler. Those replacement strips of staples are hard to handle without breaking them apart.

  “Especially if they lost them in a hijacking.”

  “Uh-huh.” I stopped. What? Wait. “What are you saying? Are you saying—” I switched the receiver into my other hand. “You’re saying there’s a bag in a closet in Afghanistan filled with the personal belongings of the people on Salanna 809?”

  “A black Hefty bag.”

  “From four years ago? You cannot be serious.”

  “Serious as a fucking heart attack.”

  “How did it get there?”

  “Those shitheads who did the hijacking…what the fuck were they…” I heard papers shuffling on his end. “Jihads R Us or Jihad Express or—”

  “Armed Islamic Martyrs Brigade.”

  “Those guys, yeah. The ones who took over the aircraft, this was their safe house or headquarters or something like that.”

  “How did it get there? The hijackers were all killed.”

  “The ones on the plane. But I told you this thing was fucked up, didn’t I? It was a circus. People on, off, on, off. That’s how they got their guns, by the way. Those fucking Sudanese let someone onboard who was carrying Kalashnikovs. Stupid motherfuckers. Anyway, one of them must have gotten off somewhere along the way, brought the bag back with him, threw it into a closet, and forgot it was there. You do that, don’t you? Put shit away and forget about it?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m not an international terrorist.” I closed the drawer. Enough cleaning. “Why would they keep incriminating evidence around?”

  “I don’t think the Taliban gave a flying fuck what these guys had in their closet. Can you imagine the eBay potential for that stuff? Someone is going to make a lot of coin.”

  I got up and walked to the bookcase, which had been my next planned stop on the cleaning-and-straightening tour. “This has to be it.”

  “What has to be what?”

  “The reason all this is happening now. The whole thing with Fratello. Susan said the feds showed her Roger’s wallet.” I started to feel the tingle of a few things finally coming together. “It must have come out of the Hefty bag, and whatever else they found must have led them to that safety deposit box and the money.”

  “Shanahan?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

  “I know. Sony.” I couldn’t remember who knew what. The only thing I had told Dan was that Harvey had disappeared. “Roger Fratello is an embezzler. He stole a bunch of money and fled the country around the same time as Salanna 809. I think he was on that plane traveling as Gilbert Bernays.”

  “Wait, I’ve got a copy of the manifest. Hold on.”

  “You have a copy of the Salanna 809 passenger manifest? How did you get that?”

  “Majestic used to handle Salanna down at JFK. I know this flight attendant who used to be married to a ramp supervisor down there, and he knew a guy who knew a guy, and I don’t know. I just did it. Bernays, you said?”

  “Gilbert Bernays.”

  “Yeah, hold on.” I heard pages turning. Whereas Felix’s thinking music was a low, steady hum, Dan’s was more like a fast rattle, something like “tsetsetsetse,” as in tsetse fly. “He was in seat 4B. Boarded in Brussels, on his way to Johannesburg.”

  “Supposedly, he was one of the ones who survived.”

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Why? Do you know where he is?”

  “I know where he might be for the next few days. Believe it or not, these Salanna 809 people have reunions.”

  “The hostages have reunions?”

  “I shit you not, and they’re former hostages. Lucky for you, they’re having one this week.”

  “This week? That’s a pretty strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “No. It was scheduled for later in the year, but they moved it up because of a State Department request. State wants to meet with the survivors to give back their stuff. It’s happening because of Zormat.”

  Wasn’t everything? One way or another, everything was happening because of Zormat and what was found there. Nothing, I was finding, was coincidence. Coincidence, in fact, was to be regarded with deep suspicion.

  “Where is this reunion?”

  “Paris. Do you want to go? I can get you in.”

  “Is it a private affair?”

  “It’s very private. They don’t let anybody in.”

  I would have asked how he could do that, but the answer was always the same. He knew a guy who knew a guy. “How long is this thing going on?”

  “Tomorrow and the next day until noon.”

  I went back behind the desk and sat down. It had been a rough day, and no matter how good the lead, a trip to Paris in the next twenty-four hours felt overwhelming. Besides, the more I thought about it, the less reason I could find to go there. Harvey was safe, I didn’t know what Rachel was up to, and as long as I could protect Harvey from her, I didn’t care. Roger Fratello was the FBI’s problem. I couldn’t afford a walk-up fare to Paris, anyway. That had to be at least a couple grand. But Dan had done a lot of good work for me, as he always did when I asked. I didn’t want to just dismiss the idea.

  “Let me call you back after I figure out what’s going on. Harvey has more to tell me, and I’m still waiting for Bo.” I started to end the call but had one more thought. “But if I have to go, you have to give me a break on the fare.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I would have said thanks and good job, but he’d hung up on me. It was so much fun to push his buttons. I was just about to dial Felix when Bo walked in. I took one look at his face and hung up. Felix would have to wait.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Bo lowered himself onto the furniture, it seemed to sigh. That’s what the couch did when he settled his bulk on it. “We have to talk.”

  “Let me just check on Harvey. I left him in the shower.”

  “It’s important.”

  “I can see that. I’ll be right back.” Harvey’s room was dark when I got there. He had already managed to get himself into his pajamas and then into his bed. The light that fell across his face illuminated the fact that he had combed his hair and shaved. It appeared that he had also taken his meds. The bottles were arranged next to his nightstand, the milk was gone, and he was sleeping soundly, unbothered by his own loud snoring. I closed the door, leaving it open just a crack in case he needed something.

  Bo started the meeting the second I walked into the office. “They were marked.”

  “Marked?” I sat in the wingback across from him. “Those guys at the house?”

  “Yes.”

  I thought about how he and Timon had checked the bodies with both curiosity and concern. “The tattoos?”

  “Yes.” He sat with both feet on the floor, one arm resting on his thigh and the other on the armrest. It was an oddly stiff pose. I could feel the tension coming off him in waves.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we never should have taken them.” I had never seen Bo regret anything. Things were what they were, and he simply dealt with them and moved on. Not this time. He shook his head. “Never.”

  “Why not?”

  “They belong to a man named Drazen Tishchenko.” He looked at me as if I should know the name. As if everyone should know. I didn’t know the name, but he sounded Russian, and Russians had already come up in this investigation. Given the lack of sleep and the high stress level, it took me a minute to connect the dots. Betelco. Russian investors. Russian mafiya. “This Tishchenko is a Russian?”

  “He is Ukrainian. From Kiev. People confuse them, but they are not the same.”


  “What’s the difference?”

  “Most people fear the Russians. The Russians fear the Ukrainians. The Ukrainians fear no one.”

  Worse than a Russian. Excellent news. “Borders notwithstanding, would this guy be considered a member of the Russian mafiya?”

  “Not a member. A leader. Tishchenko is a vor.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Vor v zakonye. It’s Russian. It means…” His large forehead showed the effort as he searched for the words in a language not his own. “I do not know how this is said in English, but it is a brotherhood.”

  “Of criminals?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like the Italian mafia?”

  “Worse.”

  “Is he like a mafia don?”

  “Much worse.”

  “Worse how?” I wished he would just give me the bullet on these guys so I wouldn’t have to keep pulling it out of him.

  “They come from worse. They come from murder and blood. From the gulags and the work camps. It makes them hard, the things that happen to them and the things that they do. It makes them strong. The strong kill the weak. That is where the power comes from. The last man standing is a vor, which makes him a very powerful man.”

  “And we just pissed one off.”

  “Yes.”

  I had one of those how-did-I-ever-get-here flashes. I didn’t get them much anymore, and when I did, I was able to trample them down. I was here because I chose to be here. But I hadn’t signed up for Ukrainian mobsters. I got up and started to pace.

  “Those men we killed, the ones who came in here and took Harvey, were they his men, this…what’s his name?”

  “Tishchenko. I’m sure they were. Former KGB…Spetznas…Russian police…Soviet Army. He has all of them. It could have been any of them.”

  “This guy isn’t here, is he? He’s not in Boston.”

  “He is here now. He came to talk to Harvey Baltimore, which is why we found him unharmed. Tishchenko hadn’t spoken to him yet.”

  “Why…” I was having a little trouble breathing. “Why would someone like that want to talk to Harvey?”

  “I couldn’t find that out.”

  “Okay.” I made myself sit down and tried to channel all the energy to the exercise of my brain instead of my feet. “Let’s think about what we know. Harvey’s ex-wife, Rachel, came here yesterday out of the blue and sent me on a wild goose chase, which got me out of the house and left her alone with Harvey. That’s when they took him.”

  “Do you believe she set him up?”

  “It looks that way, but I don’t know why she would have. He would have gone anywhere with her if she just asked.” A new thought was occurring. “Maybe they took her, too. Maybe they only took Harvey to get to Rachel, or because he happened to be here in the way.”

  “Why would they take her?”

  “It all comes back to this company Betelco. I told you about Fratello, right? This embezzler who disappeared? Fratello’s wife told me Rachel brought Russian partners into Betelco.”

  “There are no such things as Russian partners,” he said. “Only victims waiting to be.”

  “That’s pretty much what she said. This Tishchenko must be one of those partners. Maybe he’s really looking for Rachel.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that Tishchenko is looking for something or someone. He tore Susan’s house apart and threatened to kill her children. And now Rachel is missing, at least to me. Harvey claims not to know where she is.”

  Bo sat there nodding while I rattled off the facts as I knew them. I wasn’t sure whether he derived as much benefit from hearing them as I did from saying them out loud. It helped me organize the bits and pieces into a coherent story. Well, a story. I sat back in the chair. “Somewhere in all this might be a private military firm called Blackthorne, but we hope not. And Fratello might have been hijacked. That’s all I know.”

  Bo tapped his big fingers on the couch’s wide armrest. The thumping seemed loud in the quiet room. He pushed forward on the seat and assumed the tilt of confidentiality. He didn’t speak until I did the same. Other than Harvey asleep in his bed and Radik patrolling outside, we were completely alone, yet he still insisted on the cone of silence.

  “There is a way,” he said. “But it is dangerous, and we must move carefully. You must think about whether you want to be involved with this man.”

  “With Tishchenko?”

  “Yes.”

  We were very nearly touching noses at this point, close enough that I could see his pores. “Do you know him?”

  “We have a professional relationship.”

  “Then can’t you talk to him? He’s the one who started this. He took Harvey. He should recognize our right to come and take him back, shouldn’t he?”

  “It does not work that way.”

  I hesitated to ask the next question. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. “Are you afraid of him?”

  There was no hesitation from him. “I would be a fool not to fear him. So would you.”

  “What would—” My tongue wouldn’t work right. My body, generally smarter than my brain, had already chosen its course. “What would I have to do?”

  “We must go and see him. He knows where we are. It is best to go to him before he comes again.”

  My chest, already tight, was getting to the point of shutdown. “What would happen if I said no?”

  “He will come again, but this time he will come for us all.”

  “Then what choice do I have?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bo had other business to attend to. So he took off and left me pacing around the big house. I checked on Harvey several times. He never moved.

  Timon had joined Radik for guard duty, so I didn’t have to worry about the house being safe. That left me free to devote all my energy to worrying about my meeting with Tishchenko. Before he’d left, Bo said he would set something up for the next day. The sooner the better, he said. Easy for him to say.

  I went back to Harvey’s office and turned on his computer. It would take a while to get fired up. I checked my watch. I felt as if I’d lived three days in the past twelve hours, and yet it was just after midnight. I thought about calling Dan again but then remembered that Felix had left me two messages. It never bothered Felix to get a phone call in the middle of the night, so I dialed him up.

  “Hey, Miss Shanahan. You’re up late.”

  “We found Harvey. He’s home, and he’s fine, thanks to you. He was exactly where you said he would be.”

  “That’s awesome news. Tell him I said hi when you get a chance.”

  “I will. I hope you called because you found Rachel.”

  “No, but I’m working on that. The medicine she’s taking is Thyroxine.”

  “Great.” Apparently, the Walgreens firewalls were as porous as expected, at least for Felix. “What does that do?”

  “Well, the thyroid hormones, thyroxine and triiodothyronine, are tyrosine-based hormones produced by the thyroid gland. They act on the body to increase the basal metabolic rate, affect protein synthesis, and increase the body’s sensitivity to catecholamines, which is, like, adrenaline. An important—”

  “Felix.”

  “It gives her thyroid a boost. Nothing serious.”

  “Have you tried her husband yet?”

  “I didn’t get this until a few hours ago. I think it’s probably too late for a real pharmacist to call, but I didn’t know what time zone he’s in because if he’s out west, then I could totally call him, or I could have two hours ago. I could call him in Hawaii if he’s there. But now it’s kind of too late to get him anywhere.”

  “Sorry, but I couldn’t have helped you anyway. I don’t know where he is.”

  “That’s cool. I’ll just call him tomorrow first thing.”

  I watched Harvey’s desktop laboring to snap to. It reminded me that Felix had a T3 connection. “Are you at home?”

&nb
sp; “Yes.”

  “Can you do a quick search for me?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Look up something called the vors.”

  “Like V-O-R-E-S? V-O-A-R-S?”

  “I don’t know.” I used the heel of my hand to rub my left eye and then my right. “Throw some options into Google with Russia and Ukraine, and see what comes up.”

  He started doing the Felix Thinking Song as he moved through his searches and scanned his screen. It was like being on Jeopardy. I got up and started to wander so I wouldn’t fall asleep. Felix didn’t seem ever to sleep. Before he went wireless, I used to find him by following the cables through his apartment. He didn’t own a desk, and he liked moving around to work, on the theory that some spots in his living space were luckier than others. The luckiest spot of all was the balcony. He was probably there, slumped in a chair so that all you could see from the back were the tips of his spiky hairdo peeking out. Dan had made him cut off the bleached tips he had sported in Miami. No employee of his was going to look like “some fucking birthday cake.” Even without the outward manifestation, Felix was still the accidental anarchist, the kid whose irrepressible enthusiasm and daffy hyperintelligence led him inevitably to places he shouldn’t be to do things no one was supposed to be able to do.

  “This is really interesting shit, Miss Shanahan.”

  Felix had never used to cuss until he started working for Dan. Since I had introduced them, I felt vaguely responsible for his corruption. On the other hand, the reason I had met him in the first place was that he was a gifted hacker.

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Vors v zakonye. It’s Russian for ‘thieves in law,’ and they’re the real power inside the red mafiya. Did you know that in Russia they spell mafiya with a y?”

  “Thieves in law?” No wonder Bo hadn’t been able to translate. I didn’t even know what it meant in English.

  “From what I can tell, they’re like, um, the Justice League of criminals in Russia.”

  “The Justice League?”

  “Oh, yeah.” His tone changed entirely as he gave his full attention to filling the void in my education. “To be in the Justice League, you have to be Superman or Batman. The best of the best. Not just a hero but a superhero. Green Lantern or the Martian Manhunter. You have to be smarter and stronger and more powerful than the bad guys. Except in this case, they’re, you know, the bad guys. The worst of the worst, I guess. Not the Justice League but—”