Fractured: V Plague Book 15

by Dirk Patton

I pulled to the curb a half a mile short of the first security perimeter that protected Barinov’s residence. We were in Natalie’s Mercedes, Rachel in the back seat as I played the role of her driver and body guard. Natalie had assured us this was completely normal and wouldn’t alert the guards. She always hired a car service that catered to women in her line of work, as did every other working girl she knew.

  “You ready?” I asked, turning to look at Rachel.

  “Yes,” she said, sounding steadier than I expected.

  “Need a minute?”

  She took a deep breath and glanced at the car’s clock.

  “No. It’s time.”

  I could tell she was working hard to stay in the right frame of mind and didn’t want to distract her with any more conversation. Starting to turn to the front, I paused when she touched my arm and looked back.

  “If this doesn’t work…”

  “It will!” I said with much more confidence than I felt.

  She squeezed my arm, nodded and dropped her hand into her lap. Driving slowly, I brought us to a gentle stop at the first checkpoint. Two large Toyota SUVs, parked nose to nose, blocked the street. Four men holding AKMS rifles stood behind them.

  We were expected and one of them slung his weapon and picked up a device that looked like an oversized iPad. He walked around the rear of the SUV on the left, a second guard following, and up to the side of the car as I lowered the window.

  “We’re expected,” I said, using my Australian accent.

  He leaned down and peered into the back seat as the second one slowly circled to the far side of the Mercedes.

  “Her name?” he asked in heavily accented English.

  “Pandora Simone,” Rachel called out.

  He glanced at the tablet in his hand and grunted.

  “Out of the vehicle for inspection,” he said, stepping clear.

  We’d expected this and complied without complaint. The man led us a few yards away while the second guard opened all the doors, the trunk and hood, and began searching the car.

  “Your name?” he asked me.

  I gave the fictitious name that matched the records Jessica had created and inserted into numerous Australian data systems. He grunted and held the tablet out.

  “Put hand there,” he said.

  There was the outline of a human hand on the screen and I placed mine on the glass surface. It took the device nearly a minute to read my palm and finger prints, then it beeped. The guard pulled it away and turned to Rachel.

  “Name?”

  “Pandora Simone,” she said, raising her hand in preparation of being scanned.

  “Real name,” he said, frowning.

  “Natalie Smith,” she said without hesitating.

  He grunted again and held the screen out. It took as long for the tablet to read her hand as mine, then he lowered it and pointed at a spot near the front of our car.

  “We wait. Stay here.”

  Now came the worst part. Waiting while the Russian security system performed a search of all the databases they were connected to. I trusted Jessica, much more than the German IT specialist that worked for Wellington, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about something popping up that would raise a red flag.

  To her credit, Rachel appeared to be completely calm and composed. She was aware that all the guards were gawking at her, but projected an air of aloofness that I didn’t realize she was capable of. I should have. There’s not a woman that can’t do that when she wants. I’d just never seen it from her before.

  We didn’t speak as the time crawled by. We’d already discussed this, agreeing there were many reasons to simply keep our mouths shut. So, while Rachel looked around at the trees and checked her makeup in a small mirror, I watched the guards searching the car.

  They were professional and thorough and I was glad I hadn’t tried to secret a weapon anywhere in the vehicle. It would have been found. Perhaps I could have passed it off to them as a tool of the trade when it came to driving working girls around the city, but we didn’t need the extra scrutiny.

  A large leather satchel was in the trunk and at the moment was the object of their attention. It held several items Natalie had insisted should be part of the kit any dominatrix would bring. There were also two different outfits, ostensibly for Rachel to change into as the evening’s activities progressed, and a pair of flat shoes. Any man who’s ever spent time with a woman wearing heels will understand why they were there. Finally, the inductive wand we’d stolen from the hospital was in the bottom, safe inside a velvet bag.

  If you didn’t know what the device was for, it could easily pass for a tool to be used on or with a client. In fact, it kind of looked like a large vibrator with a loop on the end. There was nothing about it that should draw attention and when the guard opened the end of the bag and peered inside, he snorted a laugh, pulled the draw string tight and returned it to the satchel.

  The man with the tablet was standing to the side, waiting for the search to complete. The other was through with the Mercedes and came over to where we were standing, looking at me and gesturing with his hands. I raised mine over my head and was completely and thoroughly frisked. No crack, crevice or bulge was left unchecked.

  Reaching behind his back, he produced a metal detecting wand and scanned me. Buttons that tripped the device were examined, my belt was removed so the buckle could be closely inspected, but he didn’t find anything. Signaling me to step away, he turned to Rachel and looked her up and down. She glared at him and put her hands on her hips.

  “Well, get on with it if you must,” she said, annoyance obvious in her tone and body language.

  This was something else we’d discussed and received some input from Natalie. Many of her clients had some form of personal security and she was accustomed to screenings. Her advice was to not complain or resist, but to display contempt for the whole idea that she could possibly pose a threat.

  I’d immediately agreed with her that this was how Rachel should behave. These guards were used to prostitutes coming through security on a daily basis. There were probably some who tried to joke with and charm them, but these would be the younger, more inexperienced girls. Those who had been in the life for a while and worked hard to present the image of a sophisticated woman would resent the treatment, even if they did endure it.

  I was surprised that the man didn’t physically search Rachel. Not that there was anywhere in that dress that anything could have been concealed, but protocol is protocol. Unless they were under orders to not muss up the President’s guest. He settled for thoroughly wanding every square inch of Rachel, taking extra time to hold the device close to her pelvis, first in front then in back.

  “No metal there, genius,” Rachel snapped when he slid the device over the curve of her ass.

  “You prefer cavity search?” he asked without pausing or looking up.

  Rachel sighed dramatically and stood still, making a production of rolling her eyes. I thought she might be overdoing it, but apparently not. The guard ignored her and finally straightened, pointing at her feet.

  “Remove shoes,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Shoes. Off!”

  Rachel sighed again, then bent her knees to reach down and unbuckle the stilettos. Stepping clear, she held them up, dangling from an extended middle finger. The guard ignored her disdain and examined each one, probing at different areas to make sure there wasn’t a weapon, or anything else, concealed within.

  They were just shoes. We weren’t trying anything cute. But standing there watching him, I wondered if he had ever considered that a six-inch spike on the bottom of a lady’s shoe could be a formidable weapon in trained hands. Maybe he saw so many fuck-me pumps on all the hookers that came through that they were now just part of the landscape.

  Inspection complete, he handed them back. Rachel reached out and grasped my arm, steadying herself as she slipped them back on. The guard with the tablet started in our direction and
I forced myself to not visibly tense. This was the moment of truth. What would they do at the outer perimeter if our ruse was discovered? Deny us entry and let us go on our merry way? Somehow, I doubted it would be that simple.

  Watching him approach, I glanced around to confirm the guards were still where they had been. In the time I’d been standing there, I’d planned how I would respond if there was a problem. Where I’d strike first. Which one would go down and leave his weapon in my hands. What my first target would be, all while covering Rachel and getting to the car.

  “You are cleared,” the guard said.

  Coolness of relief flooded through me and I nodded. The hardest part was not sharing a victory look with Rachel.

  “Proceed straight ahead. There will be security to show you the way.”

  He turned and motioned to one of the guards who’d hung back behind the Toyotas. As we got back into the Mercedes, he started the right-side SUV and backed up enough to give us room to pass. I accelerated gently through the gap, seeing the next checkpoint in the distance.

  “That was…”

  “Yes, ma’am. That was a thorough inspection!” I said loudly, cutting Rachel off before she could finish her thought.

  Meeting her eyes in the mirror, I tapped my ear. A few seconds later I could see realization dawn on her face. Even though I doubted it, we had no way of knowing if the guard that had searched the car had planted a listening device. It would be a great way to find out what your guests were discussing when they thought they were in private, so I wasn’t going to rule out the possibility.

  I was mildly surprised when we were waved through the remaining security cordons. Based on the briefing at Wellington’s, I’d expected to endure at least one more check before we were allowed to approach the building. Perhaps there were different rules for Barinov’s invited guests.

  Turning into a sweeping, circular drive where indicated, I drove sedately to a point in front of a pair of gilded doors. They were at the top of a set of broad, stone steps on which four uniformed Russian soldiers stood at attention. A tall, thin man wearing an immaculate Italian suit waited on the lowest step, coming forward smoothly when the Mercedes came to a stop.

  I turned off the engine and got out, but he had already opened Rachel’s door and extended a hand to help her to her feet. He looked across the roof of the car at me as she straightened.

  “You may wait here,” he said.

  He didn’t wait for an answer, apparently unconcerned if I was happy with the instructions or not. Stepping to the trunk, he raised the lid and retrieved the satchel, then turned and extended his arm to Rachel. She slipped her hand through the bend and allowed him to escort her up the steps. As they approached the doors, an automatic opener was activated and they swung open smoothly. Rachel and the thin man swept through into Barinov’s building without breaking stride.

  59

  I leaned on the car’s fender and looked around at the lush landscaping. It was dark and artfully placed lighting provided illumination that enhanced the feeling of luxury and power. Exactly what one would expect, considering who lived here.

  It had been less than five minutes since Rachel had disappeared inside, but I was already worried. Only through a concerted effort of will was I not looking at my watch every thirty seconds. Reaching through the open car window, I plucked a pack of cigarettes out of a cup holder and straightened. Taking one out, I put it between my lips then paused before striking the lighter. I didn’t need to antagonize the Russians.

  Turning, I caught the eye of one of the soldiers and held the pack up with raised eyebrows. He nodded and I waved a thanks before lighting up. Holding the cigarette in my left hand, I was able to get a surreptitious look at my watch every time I raised it to my mouth. That didn’t help. Five minutes passed as slowly as at any point in my life.

  An hour passed, every second of it with agonizing slowness. What was happening? Was Rachel okay? The only thing that was keeping me from going absolutely nuts was the fact that I still stood with my ass resting on the car’s fender. If something had gone drastically wrong, I’d have been taken into custody, or shot. But that didn’t mean something horrible wasn’t happening to Rachel. I did my best to not dwell on that possibility, but failed miserably.

  Another hour and I was ready to crawl out of my skin. But there was nothing I could do. I was as completely helpless as I’d ever been. It was a terrible feeling, but nothing compared to the near frantic worry for Rachel that was threatening to consume me.

  I had just lit another cigarette when the doors burst open. I snapped my head around to see a uniformed officer rush out onto the steps and bark orders at the four sentries. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but didn’t need to as he was pointing directly at me.

  Two of the soldiers rushed down the steps, taking positions at either end of the Mercedes with their rifles aimed at me. I looked back and forth between them, then over my shoulder, expecting to see the officer striding forward to arrest me. But he had vanished back into the building.

  From all around the area, activity suddenly began. Engines were started. People hurried across the broad, green lawn. Commands shouted. What the hell? Had she succeeded without me? Was Barinov dead?

  This went on for several minutes, the level of activity intensifying. I looked up when a flight of helicopters suddenly popped over the roof of the building. A Hind transport broke away from the group and descended quickly to land on the lawn. From behind, something was barked in Russian and I looked as the doors swung open again.

  Two senior officers, each carrying briefcases, charged through, down the steps and past where I was standing under guard. They were headed for the waiting helicopter. Two more men, wearing suits, stepped out and paused, looking around. They took note of me and one of them spoke to the two soldiers who were still guarding the steps.

  Both rushed forward to take up station so that I was now encircled by four men with rifles pointed at me. The men in suits took another look around, then made a gesture toward the interior of the building. My breath caught in my throat when Barinov emerged with two more suited guards bringing up the rear.

  He was immaculately turned out in an expensive Armani suit, wearing it like a uniform. Without a glance in my direction, he swept down the steps and past, his security detail matching his pace. I stared and began to take a step in his direction but one of the soldiers barked at me, gesturing with his weapon. The meaning was clear.

  More motion at the door and the thin man stepped out, his hand firmly gripping Rachel’s arm. She was still wearing the dress, but was barefoot with the stiletto heels grasped in her free hand. Other than terrified, she seemed to be okay.

  She looked at me, fear plain on her face, then the man hurried past with her in tow, two more guards following to ensure she remained cooperative. They were moving fast and arrived at the idling Hind just as Barinov and his detail climbed aboard. Without slowing, they boarded. A moment later, the door was closed and the helicopter rose quickly into the night sky.

  For fifteen minutes, I stood there in shock, simultaneously seething with anger. My guards didn’t waver, maintaining their aim. During this time, a steady parade of Russian helicopters landed and picked up the people who were flowing out of the building.

  At first, it had been senior officers, progressing down through the ranks and a whole series of old men dressed in expensive suits. Barinov’s political cronies, I assumed. Soon, the guards from the perimeter security rings loaded up and the noise level abated until there was only a single helo remaining.

  It landed on the lawn and took on two soldiers who came running from the far side of the building. An NCO rushed out of the doors and snapped an order at the men guarding me. They backed away, then turned and ran, following him to the last helo. It was lifting off before they even had the door closed, racing away to the southwest, the same direction the others had gone.

  It was quiet again and I stood there, not knowing what to do. Why had he
taken Rachel and where had they gone? For that matter, what the hell was going on in general? This had been an emergency evacuation… Oh, fuck me!

  Racing up the steps, I entered the building and paused to look around. I was in a large lobby area with marble floors and walls. Luxurious furnishings were grouped around the space, creating a comfortable gathering area. I didn’t care about this. I was only interested in the flickering blue light of a television from the far side of the room.

  Running across the open area, I slid to a stop in front of a massive flat panel screen mounted to the wall. Some local show was playing and I looked around frantically for the remote, finally finding it on a low, end table. Stabbing at a button, I started to change channels but froze when the displayed image was replaced with a stylized exclamation point surrounded with red circles. A logo warned me to Stop and Listen as a shrill warning tone sounded.

  Fuck me. The bastard had released the gas!

  Epilogue

  Titus Bull woke with a snort. For several minutes, he remained reclined in his chair. Probably would have stayed there longer if biology hadn’t forced him to get off his ass. Standing stiffly, he looked down in surprise when several empty beer cans tumbled from his lap to clatter hollowly onto the floor. With a sigh, he kicked them aside and moved slowly to the bathroom.

  Needs addressed, he returned and paused. Looked into the kitchen. He was hungry. Opening the refrigerator, he bent to peer inside. Looking at a plate of plastic wrapped food, he reached in, hesitated, then shoved it aside and plucked a can of beer off the plastic ring of a full six pack. Popping it open, he drank without stopping until it was empty, then let it drop to the floor. He started to close the door, but reached in and grabbed the remaining five at the last second.

  Heading for his chair, he paused when a steady beeping began coming from the surveillance room. Staring at the half open door, he frowned. It had been months since there’d been anyone in the small town of Mountain Home, Idaho. The crazy Army Major had blown up half the city battling the Russians, then had disappeared.