Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

  “Look. Here’s the bottom line,” Rachel said. “Once a week, since he’s been here, a dominatrix has visited him. And he doesn’t seem to have found one to his liking as he’s asked for a different girl multiple times. The visits have been like clockwork and there’s one scheduled for this evening!”

  “Okay, this is interesting and all,” Lucas said. “But what does it do for us?”

  “Being a true dominatrix is very specialized,” she said. “There might be girls working that say they are, but for a submissive like Barinov, who knows what he wants, there’s a very small pool of specialists to choose from and apparently only one provider in Sydney.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked. “Only one, I mean.”

  “Because even though he’s changing girls regularly and never repeating, they’re all coming from the same agency. And, unlike the hookers, it doesn’t seem to be Russian.”

  She spun the laptop around and started scrolling through files, showing us what she was talking about.

  “How did Wellington miss this?” I asked Lucas.

  He shrugged.

  “Alright,” I said a minute later. “It looks like you’re right, but how does this help?”

  “Hold on,” Rachel said, pulling up another file. “They pulled this off the agency’s computer. Information on what their clients like. Here’s Barinov’s file, which is what the girls that visited him wrote down. He likes to be tied up, and… well… you can read.”

  “Holy shit,” I said when I finished the file.

  “No kidding,” Lucas said. “He’s one bloody twisted bastard.”

  “To say the least,” Rachel said, nodding in agreement. “But this is our in! How we get to him.”

  “How?” Lucas asked.

  “Me. I go in posing as a dominatrix. When I get him tied up and the… well, that thing,” she said, tapping a line on the screen with her fingernail. “When I have control, I make him call down and order the guards to send John up.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just not seeing how this helps. Even if we get to him, we can’t kill him. Remember what Jessica told us about the signal with the vital signs and brain waves?”

  “I do,” Rachel said. “And I’ve got an idea. I need to talk to Jessica, but I think I know why the EEG is part of the signal.”

  “It’s worth a call,” Lucas said after a long pause.

  I nodded and pulled out the phone. A moment later, Jessica answered. Rachel held her hand out and I gave her the device. She spoke rapidly, asking for the neurologists who had already evaluated the signal to join them on the call. Lucas and I traded a look, then stepped away so we could speak without disturbing her.

  “Sorry about earlier, mate.”

  “Forget it,” I said. “Just be glad you didn’t try anything. I’d feel bad if I had to hurt you.”

  I grinned at him as he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “So, what do you think? Is she on to something, or maybe a little off the deep end?”

  “She’s smarter than both of us put together,” I said, shrugging.

  “Can she pull it off and actually get Barinov alone?”

  “I wouldn’t bet against her,” I said. “She hasn’t survived this long and made it this far just because of me.”

  “Yeah, but is this a good idea? Sending her into the lion’s den? Hell, we’ve both known trained intelligence officers that couldn’t pull this off.”

  I nodded, acknowledging he was right.

  “That doesn’t bother me so much as how did Wellington miss this? Unless it was on purpose. But, if it wasn’t…”

  “It’s not Wellington,” Lucas said firmly. “I don’t know his guys, but it wasn’t him. Maybe they’re not as good as he thought.”

  I walked over and picked up the laptop, glancing at Rachel. She was deep in conversation, her free arm waving around as she spoke. Focusing on the screen, I scrolled through all the data as Lucas peered over my shoulder. Rachel was correct. This was a regular, once a week event for Barinov.

  “Right there,” Lucas said, pointing. “And that makes sense.”

  He was pointing at a file that described the communications method between the Russians and the agency that was providing the dominatrix. It was strictly over a secure cell phone and the same individual, identified as Barinov’s chief of staff, was the only person with whom they ever communicated.

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Russians are even more hung up on the strong, masculine persona than we are. He’s not going to want just anyone to know about this. Maybe Wellington’s people couldn’t pick up the calls.”

  “Let’s hope that’s all it is,” Lucas said.

  I nodded and looked up as Rachel approached. She handed me the phone and smiled.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “He has a neurostimulation device implanted in his head,” she said, beaming. “The neurologists weren’t looking for the signature, but it’s there.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked.

  “Means he’s an epileptic! The device is designed to interrupt the signals in his brain that cause seizures.”

  We stared at her in surprise for a moment.

  “What?” she asked, unable to stop smiling at being right. “You think I didn’t pay attention in medical school?”

  “Fine,” I said, shaking my head. “But how does this help? And why would they put his EEG into the signal for the deadman switch?”

  Rachel smiled even broader.

  “Because seizures have the potential to interfere with the autonomic systems. Heart rate and BP can go up, or the heart can stop. This is a failsafe that, frankly, I’m surprised is there.”

  “In English, please,” I said.

  “Okay. The device implanted to control the seizures isn’t perfect. It can fail to stop them. If that happens and his heart were to stop, having a record of both vital signs and brain waves, at the moment of death, would definitively show his passing was of natural causes. In that case, the deadman switch would not be triggered.

  “On the other hand, if he were to die from sudden trauma, such as a bullet to the head or a knife to the heart, it would be a very different signature and what the system is watching for. Got it?”

  “That’s it? So, he can die of natural causes and the nerve gas doesn’t release, but if I shoot the fucker in the head, it will? What good does that do us unless we’re ready to sit around until old age catches up with him?”

  “There’s a way to induce a seizure with the neurotransmitter that’s in his head and make it appear to be a natural event!”

  We stared at her in shock, our mouths hanging open. Did we really have a way out of this?

  “That will kill him?” Lucas asked.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Rachel said. “But if his heart stops while he’s having a seizure, the switch shouldn’t trigger. That’s where he comes in.”

  She pointed at me and I nodded, already anticipating the feel of my knife piercing Barinov’s flesh.

  “So how do we do this?” I asked after a long pause.

  “One of the neurologists knew of two research hospitals here in Sydney that have the equipment needed to control the implant. Jessica already texted the info to the phone.”

  I looked down at the handset, then handed it to Lucas.

  “Know where these are?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Then let’s get going. This ends tonight!”

  55

  We had a busy day ahead of us. The first order of business was to get our hands on what I learned was called an NRIP, or neurotransmitter response inductive programmer. It was simply a wand that, when placed near the implant, allowed the manipulation of the device’s function. Not something we could run down to the closest Best Buy or Radio Shack and pick up.

  Instead, after cleaning up, we went to the closest research hospital on the list. Lucas, posing as an Australian military vet with a debilitating brain injury, simply walked in with R
achel and begged for a consultation with a doctor. I didn’t think it had a chance in hell of working, but somehow, he convinced the staff to squeeze him into the schedule.

  Rachel, posing as his wife, accompanied him into the doctor’s private office. Between the two of them and some creative imagination, they convinced him that Lucas suffered from frequent seizures as a result of a battlefield injury and persuaded him to perform a quick EEG to establish a baseline. This got them into an exam room.

  While the staff went about setting up the equipment, Rachel wandered around until she spotted a wand. It was in a treatment room that was in use, but the patient was either asleep or sedated, so she slipped in and pocketed it. Signaling to Lucas, she didn’t wait for him, rather got the hell out of there before someone realized an incredibly expensive piece of equipment was missing. Half an hour later, Lucas joined us in the Rover.

  “What the hell did you stick around for?” I asked when he climbed in. “Was it proctological Thursday and you didn’t want to miss out?”

  He told me to do something that was anatomically impossible, started the engine and we were off. The next stop was a specialty store that catered to women who enjoyed dressing certain ways for their partners. I was worried about paying for what Rachel needed, but Lucas assured us that credit cards issued by Australian banks were still being honored.

  That was one of the first things the PM had done as the world began to collapse, ensuring that the citizens would still be able to pay for merchandise however they wished. It hadn’t been popular at first, but was one reason there was still a great degree of normality in the country.

  Lucas, Dog and I sat in the Rover while Rachel shopped with Lucas’s Virgin Australia Visa. We didn’t talk about anything in particular, just chatted to pass the time. Actually, we ran out of things to discuss by the time she returned, over an hour later.

  “Don’t say a word,” she said, tossing an armload of heavy bags and a large box into the back.

  I looked over my shoulder and wisely held my tongue. Lucas grinned and we set off for the far side of town where the home of the dominatrix selected for Barinov was located. We knew there was a standing order and thanks to the Athena data files, and a hack into the agency’s computer by Jessica, we knew who was going tonight and when they were scheduled to present themselves.

  The woman was an independent contractor for the agency, who did nothing more than book her appointments and collect her fee. Not being an employee, she didn’t depart from or check in with them. They would simply receive payment from the client and transfer the balance, less their commission, to her account the following day.

  Currently, Jessica was monitoring both the woman’s and agency’s phones and data lines in case there was a change to the schedule. If that happened, we’d have to figure something else out.

  “Think Masorin is okay?” Rachel asked as we drove.

  We’d left the Russian restrained by handcuffs in the cramped bathroom at the safe house. I’d had a moment of compassion and decided not to kill him, so he’d been fed and had plenty of water. He might not be comfortable, but he would survive.

  “He’s fine,” I said.

  “What are you going to do with him?” she asked.

  “If this works, cut him loose,” I said. “If it doesn’t, I’ll still cut him loose as we’re getting the hell out of Sydney.”

  “Good,” she said, sitting back and rubbing Dog’s head.

  I started to ask why she was so interested, then remembered that she’d treated his wounds. She seemed to become immediately attached to anyone to whom she provided care. I didn’t get it, but it was one of her endearing qualities.

  We pulled to a stop outside a subdued, yet elegant apartment building. It wasn’t high end enough to have a doorman or security, but it was close.

  “She’s probably asleep,” Rachel said.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “She works nights,” Rachel answered, shrugging.

  I’d had a lot to think about and this wasn’t one of the nuances I had considered. Nodding, I rethought my plan. I’d originally intended to simply knock on her door and shove a pistol in her face when she opened it. Push her inside and restrain her. No, nothing fancy and it came with a degree of risk if one of her neighbors happened to see anything. Now, as I considered our options, I glanced over at Lucas.

  “Still good with locks?”

  “Been a while, but I was always better than you,” he said with a grin.

  I brought out the phone and called Jessica. It took her all of five seconds to verify the woman was in her apartment. Well, not the woman, but her phone. And since no one leaves home without their phone, I was comfortable with the odds that she was home.

  Leaving Dog in the Rover, the three of us entered the building and rode the elevator to the fifth floor. It opened into a subtly appointed, carpeted hallway that smelled of lavender. I had no idea what rents were in Sydney, but this place couldn’t be cheap. I guess tying up and abusing old men pays well.

  The walls were a soft cream color, the doors flat white with gold accents and unobtrusive unit numbers. Stopping in front of number 58, I glanced around, feeling better about our chances of pulling this off without being observed.

  The doors on either side of the wide hall were offset from each other. That way, when you stepped out of your apartment, you wouldn’t come face to face with your neighbor. The advantage was that someone couldn’t watch us through a spyhole. There were no cameras, at least none I could spot, and there was a hushed quiet.

  Positioning Rachel so she would be the only one visible through the peephole in the center of the door, I tapped lightly. If the woman was in bed asleep, I didn’t want to make enough noise to wake her. If she wasn’t, and answered the door, I’d fall back on my plan to scare her into cooperating by showing her a gun. After thirty seconds with no response, I tapped again. A full thirty seconds later, I nodded at Lucas and he dropped to his knee in front of the deadbolt and inserted two thin pieces of spring steel he carried in his wallet.

  The lock succumbed to his efforts in a very short time, then he moved to the knob. It went even faster and he stood, stepping to the side. I slid in front of Rachel, grasping the knob and gently turning. The door opened an inch and I stopped, letting out a breath. No alarm. But there was a gleaming brass security chain visible through the gap.

  Lucas saw the problem and snapped the two pieces of the lock picks together in an L shape and handed it to me. Reaching through the opening with one end, I gently teased the chain until it fell free from the track mounted to the inside of the door.

  Glancing up and down the hall, I drew my pistol and stepped through into the apartment. It was as hushed as the hall and I moved ten feet in and waited for Lucas and Rachel. Tasteful furniture and décor gave the room a light and airy feeling. To my right was a large kitchen, boasting sleek, modern appliances. To the left, a hallway leading to a closed door. Everything was spotlessly clean and nothing was out of place.

  The door closed with barely a sound, then Rachel put her hand on my shoulder to signal they were ready. She and I stayed put, my weapon covering the hall while Lucas checked the kitchen and pantry. Signing it was clear, he stepped to a wide, sliding glass door with a filmy white sheer that filtered the light. He peered out onto a small balcony, then turned back and nodded.

  Leading the way down the hall, I cleared a bathroom on one side and an empty bedroom to the right. Both were as clean and neat as I expected. All that was left was the closed door to our front, which had to be the master bedroom. I wasn’t happy about going through that entrance and possibly surprising the woman.

  Sure, Australia has supposedly confiscated all the civilian firearms in the country. And maybe if this was a normal, suburban housewife, I wouldn’t be hesitant. But a woman who worked in the sex trade understood that the only thing that could level the playing field with a man was to have a weapon. I didn’t like the idea that she could be aware of our presence and e
ven now be sitting on the other side, waiting to fire the moment the door began to move.

  Signaling Rachel and Lucas to stay back, I stepped forward and listened closely. And heard nothing. This wasn’t a cheap place and the door was solid. Taking another breath, I pressed my back against the wall, hopefully out of the line of fire, and tentatively took the knob in my hand. Turning it slowly, I expected bullets to begin punching through the wood, almost surprised when they didn’t.

  The door cracked open silently, but I couldn’t see anything. The room was dark compared to the rest of the apartment. Remaining to the side, I pushed it open with my foot and took a quick peek around the jamb.

  Heavy curtains blocked the sunlight, but enough illumination spilled through from the hall for me to see a form beneath the covers on a king-sized bed. Feeling more confident, I took a longer look, checking for any traps and seeing nothing other than a normal bedroom. Giving a clear sign to Rachel and Lucas, I rolled around the jamb and moved to the bed.

  She was turned away from me, dark hair spilling across a crisp, linen pillowcase. As I was reaching for her, she must have been disturbed by the light or felt a change in the air from the open door. Her eyes flew open and there was sudden intake of air an instant before I clamped my hand over her mouth. There was the beginning of a struggle, but I held the pistol in front of her face and she immediately went still.

  “I’m not here to harm you,” I said slowly. “Blink if you understand.”

  After a pause, she did.

  “I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth,” I said, in the same slow, calm cadence. “Do not cry out. Understand?”

  She blinked immediately and, an inch at a time, I lifted my hand away from her face. As I was straightening to step away from the bed, she made her move. Covers were thrown, billowing in my face as she surged up. Jumping back, I narrowly avoided the slash of a straight razor that would have sliced open my throat.

  “Don’t,” Rachel said, surprising both of us.

  She had stepped into the room and was near the foot of the bed with a pistol leveled at the woman’s head.