The Ghost Syndicate

by K R Hill

  Nick jumped up from the sofa. “Is that a real German Lugar?” He walked over and held out his hand. “Can I see it?”

  The doctor set the pistol back and closed the drawer.

  Nick looked about the room and whispered: “Okay, it was probably a cheap knockoff.”

  “Listen here, young man,” said Dr. Morganstern. “There’s some things in this world that you’re just not supposed to touch, and that gun’s one of them. It’s full of death. It was used by an SS Captain in the Breitenau camp, and it’s got one more death in it.”

  Nick wiped his hand across his shirt. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t want to touch it anyway.”

  ***

  It took them two hours to test their phones, test fit their Kevlar vests, and sell the plan to Falsen. To make sure that Zakai would come for the bait, Connor had Falsen call Saunder’s office and say that he wanted to return the items he found in exchange for his freedom.

  If Zakai showed up to the meeting, Connor and the crew would be ready.

  Connor sat in the SUV and looked at the time again. To his left, Alamitos bay glistened in the sun across the street. Mothers sat on blankets in the sand and watched children play with plastic shovels. Teenagers shouted and splashed in the water. On his right, an elderly couple carried a stack of books down the library steps.

  “Okay, I’m in position on the bridge,” said Dalton. “Everyone chime in so we know you’re on the line.”

  “Nick here, It’s time to party.”

  “Bartholomew is here too.”

  Dalton said: “Are you parked, Connor? Everyone has their vests on, right?”

  “Yes, Mom,” said Nick.

  “Yeah, I’m parked in front of the library. A lot of people are about.” Connor clinched his hand into a fist and opened it. But the shaking did not stop. He thought back to his first year in the Rangers, when he had steady hands, before he needed to use the visualization trick. He wiped his face and scanned the street and beach. “Nick, are you in position?”

  He heard crackling, and pulled the device from his ear. He wiped it with a finger, blew on it, and shoved it back into place.

  “They have homing pigeons up here,” said Nick. “One just crapped on my arm. I’m lying in bird shit. I never signed up for this. I hate pigeons.”

  Connor said: “Your guy’s a real soldier, Dalton.”

  “I heard that,” said Nick. “Okay, I’m in position. I’m sighted in. If he comes, I’ll be ready. Hey, this thing has a silencer. Can I shoot some of these damn birds?”

  Conner held up a finger. “You’re going to take one shot. That’s all. You have to hit your mark. We can’t afford another shot with people walking around.”

  “Don’t worry about Nick,” said Dalton. “He can hit a quarter at two hundred yards. He’ll be good, even after three Monster drinks.”

  “Remember,” said Connor. “If anybody sees you fire a shot, leave the weapon and get out of there. You got it?”

  “Oh, count on that. I know how to run.”

  Connor repositioned himself and accidently clicked on the turn signals. He moaned and clicked them off, then swung the binoculars around and scanned the beach. At the far end stood a handball court. There he saw Bartholomew unlocking handcuffs from Falsen.

  “Connor,” said Falsen, through the headset. “I wanted to check one more time. I read your file. You’re a straight shooter. Do you give me your soldier’s word that if I help you get Zakai, you’ll turn me and Tasha loose?”

  Connor lowered the binoculars and nodded. “Absolutely. You two can disappear. You’re bait. Just walk up the beach and into the library. We’ll do the rest.”

  “What about the cash from the paintings?”

  “I told you: That money is a bargaining chip.”

  “I remember,” said Falsen. “I’m on my way.”

  “Everybody. Look sharp,” said Connor. “Zakai is probably on the street, so watch your six.”

  “I got eyes on Zakai,” said Bartholomew.

  “Where?” asked Connor, leaning against the dash board, slowly moving the binoculars. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m moving in.”

  Falsen crossed the street in front of Connor’s SUV, turned and walked up the concrete steps, and entered the library.

  “Our guy just entered the library. Bart,” said Connor. “Where’s Zakai? I don’t see him.”

  “Scan the beach,” shouted Dalton. “Check behind you. Wait, I got him on the beach. He’s coming toward you. Connor, you got him?”

  “There he is. I got him. He’s armed, holding his coat over his weapon.”

  Connor watched the thin, middle-aged man approach the sidewalk from the beach. Zakai put a hand on the wall and stepped over it. Dressed in slacks, dress shirt and tie, he looked like a businessman who just couldn’t help walking through the sand, except for the weapon hidden beneath his coat.

  Dalton’s voice came over the line: “Nick, he’s on the sand. He just stepped over the wall. Do you see him?”

  “Dude, relax, I’ve had my crosshairs on him for two minutes.”

  “Nick,” said Connor. “Sight the palm beside him. That’s the warning shot.”

  “I’m over the bridge,” said Dalton. “I’m coming up behind you. Don’t shoot me.”

  Connor stepped out of the vehicle and stood beside Dalton.

  “Your hands are shaking bad,” whispered Dalton.

  Zakai smiled and nodded when he recognized them. “You really want to do this in the open?”

  Connor signaled by raising a hand. The shot struck the palm tree beside Zakai. Particles of bark flew into the air and drifted to the pavement.

  “Oh, a sniper, I’m impressed,” said Zakai.

  “Easy,” said Connor. “Listen, Zakai, I’ve seen photos of your daughter. Help me and you can live with her and watch her grow up.”

  Zakai rocked up onto his toes. “I’m waiting. You’re not going to let me walk away for nothing. Throw it out there, man. What do I have to do?”

  “I need to get inside Teddy Ghrazenko’s building. I’m going to take him down. He’s a threat to you, too. Help me and you walk away and never have to worry about him sending people after you.”

  Zakai lowered his weapon, his head moving up and down. “I hope you have a nice little party planned for Teddy. I will get you in.”

  “Good, just come with us so we can go over the plan. No one is going to hurt you.” Connor walked toward him, placed his hand on the weapon, and took it.

  “I’ll drive,” said Connor.

  Dalton, Connor and Bartholomew, patted down Zakai and escorted him to the vehicle. They placed him on the back seat between Bartholomew and Nick, and drove off along the bay, past the handball court, and turned right onto Ocean Blvd. A sandy wind danced in the high palms. Out on the beach, people walked the bike path. The Pacific glimmered in the distance.

  As Connor accelerated from a stop sign, he glanced into the rearview mirror and shouted: “Watch out!”

  A silver Land Rover came up fast and smashed their rear bumper. People run out of Ripples bar and into the street. Many of the bystanders raised cell phones.

  Connor reached for his weapon. In the mirror he watched Zakai hit Bartholomew with a backhand chop to the windpipe. Then shots exploded. Something hit Connor hard in the back and knocked the breath from his lungs.

  Connor’s arm went numb. He reached and took his pistol in his left hand. Breathing with quick, shallow breaths to avoid pain, he unlatched his seatbelt and dropped out the door to the street. He cried out and dropped to his knees, pointed his weapon, and watched as Zakai, fifty feet away, climbed into the Land Rover.

  The vehicle spun its wheels, bounced over the center island between two palm trees, and raced out of sight.

  Connor moaned and dropped to his side in the street. A moment later he heard the passenger door open.

  “Oh, fuck that hurts,” said Dalton. “I called an ambulance. Nick’s bleeding bad.”

&
nbsp; “Is Bart alive?”

  “He can’t move. I think he fractured some ribs.”

  “Oh, damn, I’ll never say another bad thing about Kevlar.”

  “Amen.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Deutz closed the apartment door, dropped his key ring to the floor and stared across the room, moving his gaze from one piece of furniture to the next. “No,” he said. “This is all a lie.”

  He grabbed a dining chair, raised it overhead and hit it on the floor three times before it broke apart. He laughed as he threw the pieces into the fireplace and struck a match.

  "Ha!"

  He wrestled off his coat, slapped it to the ground, kicked it a few times and threw it into the fire.

  “The ax!” He ran through the apartment and out the back door to his work shed.

  “It’s time for some divorce therapy,” he said, holding the ax and looking about the apartment. For the next hour he bashed apart furniture, tore shelves from the walls, shouted and laughed as he shoved long pieces of wood, fabric and metal brackets clinging to them, into the flames.

  When he finally sat down, firelight danced around him. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. The fire leaped and crackled, and every so often a smoking piece of wood fell beside his feet, rousing him from introspection.

  When the furniture was but glowing coals, he scratched his whiskers, brushed aside the hair that stuck to his brow, rested the ax on his lap, and looked about the apartment. The room seemed to grow and shrink with the changing light, and he smiled because it looked so empty.

  "A Modern History of East Africa.” He picked up another of Alona's books from the stack at his feet. “More therapy,” he whispered, tore the book in half, and fed it to the flames.

  Some papers fell from a volume, and he opened them and saw a short story he had written while in University, a wild fantasy tale about magic turtles.

  Across the front she had written: "My wonderful, crazy dreamer. Don't ever change. I love you. Alona."

  "Another choice I made," he whispered, and dropped the papers to the floor. Scraps of tubular steel, which had connected furniture components, lay strewn about the apartment. Braces hung helter-skelter from the walls, and light areas of wallpaper revealed where shelves and books had once been.

  Destroying the furniture had been the first spontaneous thing he had done for ages. He laughed and stomped his feet like a man deprived of humor and feeling and emotion for far too long.

  He remembered thinking at the beginning of his marriage that nice furniture and cars and such would add stability to his relationship. But the truth was, he now realized, that to acquire those things he had turned into a calculating, cold individual, who drove his wife away. He tingled all over.

  At some point he looked away from the flames and noticed a brown envelope at the front door. He opened it and read an invitation from Dr. Leo Morganstern, to meet him, Connor and Bartholomew, on a freighter named the Current Mistress, at 2300, that night.

  Chapter 31

  The sofa was stiff. Connor looked at the shiny travertine floor, the bright commercial prints of boats and flowers that hung on the walls, and the brass railing around the waiting area where he sat. Hospital waiting rooms had to be the worst place to be in the world, he thought.

  He glanced at Dalton sitting across from him. After being examined by the ambulance crew, answering police questions for an hour, and surrendering their firearms to be tested by ballistics, neither of them wanted to talk.

  At some point Dalton got up, moaned and said something about the welt on his back, found his iPad and contacted Jax.

  “I met Ashley and Tia Alma at the airport. They’re really nice. It feels good to have them around the house. When are you and Nick coming home?”

  Dalton looked at the floor.

  “I don’t like that long pause,” said Jax. “Oh my God, what happened, Jason?”

  “Nick’s been shot.”

  Jax gasped. “Oh no. Is he—”

  “He lost a lot of blood. I’m waiting to hear what the doctor says.”

  “I told you both to wear a vest. Are you wearing a vest?”

  “Yes, but he took a shot at the edge of his vest. Oh, here comes the doctor, babe. I’ll get back as quick as I can.”

  The Asian doctor, a blood smear across his scrubs, looked young enough to be in high school. He hurried across the lobby and stopped in front of Connor.

  “You guys had a hell of a night. Your African-American friend is going to be fine. He has three broken ribs. One nearly punctured his lung. We had to isolate his arm. Now he’s stable. He took some heavy painkillers and is flirting with my nurses.”

  “What about the skinny kid?” asked Dalton.

  The doctor nodded and blew out a breath in a way that made his cheeks puff out. “I’m afraid he’s a different story. He took a bullet through his armpit. He’s extremely lucky it didn’t take out his shoulder socket. However, it did cause some tendon damage. I think with the right amount of physical therapy, he should recover about 90% use of that arm. He also lost a lot of blood. You can see him now, but he’s doped up and talking crazy.”

  Dalton smiled. “He always talks crazy.”

  Connor turned and rushed across the lobby.

  “Hey,” called Dalton. “Why do I have the feeling you’re going to do something stupid?”

  Connor opened one of the wide hospital doors and waited. When Dalton joined him, he said: “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m just going to kill that fucking Zakai. He tried to kill my brother. I got a welt on my back that hurts every time I move and reminds me how much I hate him. He’s probably hiding in the Ghrazenko building? That ain’t happening. I’m going to grab some grenades and kill his ass about three times. Then I’m gunna stomp on his head and kick it around like a soccer ball.”

  Connor walked past the receptionist and the guard, and stepped into the fresh air. For a moment he stood on the wide slate porch and looked up toward Signal Hill, with its fields of dead brown grass, and motionless oil pumps.

  “Well,” said Dalton. “That’s a good plan. I’m glad you’re not running off half-cocked.”

  Connor pulled out his car keys and trotted down the steps. He crossed the sidewalk and was about to step off the curb when he stopped and turned. “I remember the bodies that day. I was the first one on the scene after the cartel slaughtered the Sanchez family.”

  Dalton patted him on the shoulder. “I know. I saw the photos. I used to play with that kid.”

  “That’s what we’re doing here, right? This is for Sanchez and Daly.”

  “And for the fricking welt on my back.”

  “It would have bounced off your hard head.”

  They tried to laugh, but stopped quickly and moaned, and that made them laugh more.

  “Joking aside, we need those names. How do we get into Ghrazenko’s building?”

  Connor smiled and walked across the parking lot. “You have to use your imagination, Lieutenant.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How we get into the building: I’m going to steal a big ass truck and drive it right through the fucking front door.”

  They climbed into the car and Connor turned the key and backed out of the parking space.

  “The police have my weapon,” said Dalton.

  “I know how to take care of that. We’ll stop at the doctor’s place. I got a crate of Ted’s hardware back there. Let’s go stock up and pay Teddy a visit.”

  ***

  At the doctor’s warehouse, they opened the alley door and hurried inside.

  Connor stepped around the tools on the floor, sidestepped around a car, and hurried to the crate. He lifted the lid and reached inside and took out a grenade.

  “Breaking out grenades, that can’t be a good sign.” The doctor walked over and pulled a pipe from the pocket of his greasy overalls. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Our plan to get
Zakai backfired. He shot Nick and Bartholomew and slipped away.”

  “Are they alive?”

  Dalton shook his head. “Bartholomew has some broken ribs. He was wearing a vest. But Nick took a bullet through the arm pit. It tore up his shoulder, but he’s going to be fine.”

  “Okay,” said the doctor. He unzipped his coveralls, pulled them down to his waist, and took the old Lugar from a pocket. “It’s time for me to go to work.”

  Dalton raised his hand. “Whoa, you’re not going.”

  “But you’re going to get Teddy Ghrazenko, right? That’s where I’ll find Zakai.”

  Connor handed Dalton an automatic.

  Dalton looked at the pistol. “Hey, let’s slow down. This is out of control. I didn’t think you were serious. This isn’t combat.”

  “Okay,” said Connor. “What are we going to do? How do we get in?”

  “Well Mr. Dalton, I hope you’re saying that we should use a little finesse to get inside that building.” The doctor set the Lugar on the fender of an old car, stepped out of his coveralls and kicked them atop a rusty exhaust pipe.

  “I can get us in without a problem,” said the doctor. “However, the Ghrazenko offices are on the eighth floor. It’s getting in there that is going to be tricky. But I have a crazy plan. Ha, this is so exciting.”

  ***

  They sat in the parking lot across the street and watched the building. More than an hour passed before a man hurried out the front door carrying a briefcase. The businessman stopped at one of the waist-high planters by the entrance, pulled off his jacket and made a phone call.

  Through the binoculars Connor saw the security pass clipped to businessman’s belt. “Okay, that’s our guy. I’ll get his pass. Dalton, use the pass you took from the other guy. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

  “And I’m supposed to just sit here while you two have all the fun?”

  Connor opened the door, swung his feet out of the car, turned and patted the doctor on the shoulder. “We need you here to make sure that nobody takes the getaway car. If you need to leave the vehicle, put the keys on the floorboard, okay?”