The birthday girl

by Stephen Leather

  'Fuck,' Kiseleva repeated.

  Utsyev looked at him sideways. His eyes narrowed. 'Are you carrying?' he asked. Kiseleva nodded, shamefaced. Utsyev's face darkened and he glared at the man. 'Are you fucking stupid, or what?' he whispered.

  'I forgot, boss, what with the rush to the airport and all.'

  The family threaded through the metal detector without incident and the security officer beckoned Vincenti.

  'Go see if Nikko's still outside. Give it to him,' Utsyev said, handing him a ticket.

  'You can come through, sir,' the security officer said, waving to Vincenti.

  'Yeah, yeah,' Vincenti said.

  'You're not carrying as well, are you?' Utsyev asked. Vincenti didn't rise to the bait; he just smiled smugly. Utsyev put his face close to Kiseleva's. 'Is it traceable?' he hissed.

  'No, boss. Definitely not.'

  'So if Nikko's not there, dump it in the men's room. And if you fuck up again…' Utsyev left the threat unfinished.

  Vincenti went through the metal detector. It beeped furiously.

  Utsyev shook his head in amazement, but Vincenti pulled a metal keyring out of his overcoat pocket and showed it to the security officer. The officer made him put the keyring in a plastic tray and walk through again. This time he was clear. Utsyev went through without incident and the two men walked to the gate, where they boarded immediately. A stewardess with unnaturally black hair and an equally unnatural smile showed them to their seats and took their overcoats to hang up. Utsyev looked at his watch. The flight was due to leave within minutes.

  'He'll make it, boss,' Vincenti said.

  'Yeah? He'd better.'

  A second stewardess, blonde with a painted-on beauty mark on her right cheek, appeared at Utsyev's shoulder. 'Can I get you a drink, sir?' she asked.

  'Bourbon, on the rocks,' he said without looking at her.

  Vincenti shook his head.

  'This is a non-smoking flight, sir,' she said mechanically, pointing at his cigar.

  'I'm not smoking,' Vincenti said.

  'Smoking isn't permitted, sir,' she said, her smile tightening.

  'It isn't lit.'

  'I'm sorry, sir.' The smile had now become a tight line.

  Vincenti realised there was no point in arguing with her and he handed it over, wet end first. She took it between her thumb and first finger, holding it away from her body as she went back to the galley.

  'Stepford wives,' Vincenti said.

  'Huh?' Utsyev grunted.

  'Robots,' Vincenti explained. 'They're not real women.

  They're fucking robots. Have a nice day. Fasten your seat belt. Tea or coffee. Thank you for flying with us. Bullshit.'

  He picked up a copy of the in-flight magazine and flicked through it.

  The stewardess was just handing Utsyev his drink when Kiseleva rushed into the first-class cabin, his face flushed.

  'Sorry, boss,' he mouthed as he took his seat at the rear of the cabin. Utsyev looked away in disgust. Kiseleva was a good man in a fight, an enforcer second to none, but if they handed out frequent flyer miles for brains, Kiseleva would never leave the ground.

  'So, are you gentlemen flying to Denver on business, or for the skiing?' the blonde asked brightly.

  Utsyev bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile. 'We're going to a funeral,' he said.

  'Oh,' the stewardess said. 'I'm sorry.'

  'That's okay,' Utsyev said. 'I'm not.'

  Katherine kept her finger pressed against the doorbell until Maury Anderson opened the front door. She pushed him in the middle of the chest and sent him staggering back into his hall. 'Right, Maury, what the hell is happening? You've got ten seconds to tell me or I'm calling the police.'

  'Leave me alone,' he said, throwing his hands up to cover his face as if he feared being struck.

  'Someone's been in my house. They shot Buffy.'

  'It wasn't my fault,' Anderson said, shaking his head in denial.

  Katherine could see traces of white powder on his upper lip and his nose was running.

  'You're on coke, aren't you?'

  'So?' he said defiantly.

  She slammed the door behind her. 'What's going on?'

  'Stay out of it, Katherine.' He rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

  'Stay out of what? You said someone was a killer. Who were you talking about?'

  'Utsyev. Sabatino's brother.'

  'The guy that's been trying to take over the company?'

  'He's dead.'

  Katherine was confused. 'Who's dead? Sabatino or Utsyev?'

  'Sabatino.' Anderson put his hands over his face and slid slowly down the wall until he was crouching on the floor.

  'Mersiha killed him,' he whispered.

  'What!' Katherine was stunned.

  'Mersiha shot Sabatino.'

  'That's ridiculous. She's a child.'

  'Thursday night. She shot him with one of Tony's guns.'

  'Thursday night? No, she was…' Katherine remembered that Mersiha had been out of the house all night, staying with Allison Dooley. But even so, she didn't believe for one minute that her daughter would pick up a gun, never mind shoot a man.

  'Why were they around at my house?'

  'They wanted Tony. They saw Mersiha's photographs. It was her, Katherine. They recognised her. She went to The Firehouse, she got into Sabatino's office, and she killed him.'

  'You don't know what you're saying. The drugs have affected your mind, Maury. You're sick.'

  Anderson wrapped his arms around his knees as if he were cold. 'Keep out of it, Katherine. Utsyev is a killer. If you get in his way, he'll blow you away without a second thought.'

  Katherine's blood suddenly went cold. 'They've gone to Colorado, haven't they?'

  'They know Tony rented a cabin. They've got the brochure.'

  'You bastard. They've gone there to kill my husband and daughter. And you told them where they are.' Anderson shook his head. Katherine glared down at him. 'I'm going to the police.'

  'To tell them what? To tell them that Mersiha killed Sabatino?

  You can't. They found the gun. They saw her going into Sabatino's office.'

  Katherine paced up and down the hallway. 'If I call the police, they'll be able to protect Tony and Mersiha.'

  'You think the police will believe you? Besides, they'll be more interested in Sabatino's murder. You want Mersiha to go to prison?'

  'That's the choice, Maury?' Katherine screamed at him.

  'That's my fucking choice?' She kicked him in the side and he yelped. She kicked him again, hard. Anderson began to cry like a small boy. She felt nothing but disgust.

  She went back to her car and sat for a few seconds, gripping the wheel tightly and rocking backwards and forwards. She half expected Anderson to come after her, but the front door stayed closed. Katherine remembered the reaction of the 911 operator and realised that they'd be unlikely to take her seriously if she told them what she knew. She had no proof. She couldn't identify the men who were after Tony and Mersiha and she doubted that Anderson would help. Besides, what if Anderson had been telling the truth about Mersiha? Katherine suddenly realised that there was a way she could check out Anderson's ludicrous assertion. She drove back to her house as quickly as possible, her mind in turmoil.

  She parked next to Tony's car and ran to the study. The combination of the lock on the gun cabinet was written down on a scrap of paper in an envelope he kept in a desk drawer. She knelt down by the cabinet and with trembling hands turned the dial: fifteen to the left, eight to the right, nineteen to the left. She swung the door open and scanned the contents. She sighed with relief as she saw that nothing was missing. All the shotguns were there, and so were the cases containing the handguns. 'You lying little shit, Maury,' she hissed. She opened the case containing the pearl-handled Smith amp; Wesson, then put it on the carpet beside her. The Colt Python was in its case. It went on top of the Smith amp; Wesson. She pulled out the black case that contained the Heckler amp; Koch HK-4
and flicked its catches open. 'Oh no,' she sighed as she lifted the lid and saw that the gun was missing.

  'Please God, no.' She touched the spare barrels and clips that had been left behind, but all she could see were the empty precut holes in the foam rubber. If Mersiha had indeed taken the gun, and had shot Sabatino, then there was no way Katherine could go to the police. But she couldn't just stand by and let Utsyev hunt them down. There was only one thing she could do. She'd have to go to Colorado herself to warn Tony.

  Mersiha cooked corned beef hash while Freeman carried more wood in for the fire. They ate together sitting by the fireplace.

  'I'm going out to call Katherine later,' Freeman said. 'Do you want to come?' They'd visited the rental agent's office after going to the supermarket, but Mr Hellings hadn't been able to come up with a portable telephone. He'd promised to keep trying.

  'I'm bushed,' she said. 'I'm going straight to bed. Can I talk to her tomorrow?'

  'Of course you can. You'll be all right here alone?'

  Mersiha raised her eyebrows. 'I'll be safer here than in Baltimore. I don't expect there are many drive-by killings in Estes Park.'

  'Yeah, I guess so,' Freeman said, putting down his plate. 'But make sure the door's locked. I'll take a key with me.'

  'Dad, I'm sixteen now. You can leave me on my own, you know.'

  'You might be sixteen, but you're still my little girl.'

  Mersiha rolled her eyes. 'Puh-leeze,' she groaned.

  Freeman stood up and picked up his jacket. 'Okay, I'll go now.

  I shouldn't be more than half an hour.' He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. 'Sleep well.'

  She went to the door with him and made sure that it was locked. It was ironic, she thought, that he was so concerned about her safety while they were in Colorado. The real danger was waiting for her back in Baltimore.

  The bleached blonde tapped away on her computer keyboard as Katherine looked on anxiously. The airport was almost deserted and it had taken Katherine almost five minutes to find someone at the United Airlines desk who'd help her. The UA flight to Denver had left hours earlier and now the blonde was checking other possible routings. 'I don't have any baggage,' Katherine said, hoping that would help.

  The blonde sighed. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Freeman. There's no way you'll get there tonight.'

  'No red-eyes?'

  'No nothing, I'm afraid.'

  'But I have to get to Denver,' Katherine protested. 'It's a matter of life and death.' She instantly regretted the cliche, but couldn't think of any other way of describing her predicament.

  'There's an early-morning flight to St Louis that'll connect to a Denver flight. You'll arrive in Denver before ten o'clock, local time.'

  'That's no good,' she said. 'Look, can you tell me if a man called Utsyev was on your Denver flight?'

  The blonde shook her head. 'We're not allowed to disclose passenger lists.'

  'Please.' Katherine reached for her purse and started pulling out bills.

  'I can't, I'm sorry,' the woman said before Katherine could even offer her the money. 'I'd lose my job.'

  Katherine slammed her hand down on the counter in exasperation.

  'What about New York? Surely there's something out of JFK?'

  'I can get you to New York tonight, but the first flight out from there to Denver will be tomorrow morning. You'll have to spend the night in New York and you still won't get there any earlier.' Katherine felt tears of frustration well up in her eyes. 'You could charter a plane,' the blonde suggested.

  'What, charter a jet, you mean? That would cost a fortune, wouldn't it?'

  'Not a jet. A small plane. It'd mean flying through the night, but you'd probably get there before the scheduled flights.'

  Katherine clenched her fists in front of her chest. 'How? How do I do that?'

  The blonde looked at a slim gold wristwatch. 'It's late, but you could try the general aviation terminal down the road. You'll see it signposted on the way out, past the short-term car parks.

  There are two there that I know of: Hinson Airways and Bluebird Aviation.'

  Katherine beamed. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you.' She ran off, leaving the bewildered blonde shaking her head.

  There were no lights on at Hinson Airways but as Katherine arrived at the Bluebird Aviation building a tall man in his early twenties was walking out, a flight bag over his shoulder. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket and carrying a headset. She wound down her window. 'Are you a pilot?' she called.

  'Sure am,' he said. 'If you want to arrange lessons, you'll have to come back tomorrow. We're just closing up.'

  Katherine got out of her car. 'I want to go to Denver.'

  'Denver? Tonight?'

  'It's important.'

  The pilot frowned and looked at his watch. 'Have you tried the airlines? It's a long flight in a twin. You'd be far better off taking a scheduled flight.'

  'I tried that. Look, I'll pay whatever it takes.'

  The pilot scratched his head. His hair was cut military style, close-cropped and shaved around his ears. As Katherine got closer she realised he was older than she'd first thought. In his early thirties maybe. 'It'd be uncomfortable. There's no in-flight movie and the lavatory's a plastic bag.'

  'What's your name?' she asked.

  'Give. Clive Edwards.'

  'Look, Clive. This is an emergency. I can't tell you how important it is, but I'm not worried about comfort or cost or anything. Just get me to Denver.'

  'I'm just trying to make it clear that it won't be a pleasant flight.

  The twin-engined plane we'll be using is noisy and cramped. And you'll have to pay for the return journey.'

  'I don't care.'

  Clive looked at her and nodded slowly. 'Let me see if I can get hold of a co-pilot,' he said. 'It's way too far to fly single-handed.

  And I'll have to check out the charts. We're going to have to refuel several times.'

  'Whatever it takes,' Katherine urged, locking her car door.

  She followed him inside.

  The runway at Denver International Airport had a light dusting of powdery snow when the Boeing 757 touched down. With no luggage to collect, Utsyev and his two bodyguards walked straight out of the arrivals terminal into the cold evening air. Kiseleva shivered and wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck. Utsyev stamped his feet impatiently. 'Where's the fucking car, Kiseleva?' he spat.

  'It'll be here, boss. Maybe you should wait inside while I go look for it?'

  'Maybe I should get me a new assistant,' Utsyev said, acidly.

  'Maybe it's time you thought about retirement.'

  A short, stocky man in a black suit rushed up, sweating despite the freezing temperature. 'Mr Utsyev?' he said. Utsyev nodded. 'I'm Ben Sagalle. Mr Carelli sends his compliments, sir. If there's anything he can do to make your stay in Denver more pleasant, you only have to ask. I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you off the plane, sir. Your car's this way. Do you have any baggage?'

  Utsyev shook his head. 'We're travelling light this trip.'

  'I understand, sir. We have the goods your people requested.

  Please follow me.'

  Utsyev nodded approvingly. 'Now this is more like it,' he said to Kiseleva. The car was a black stretch limo, and Utsyev noticed that the bar was stocked with his favourite brand of bourbon. He pointed at the bottle. 'See that, Vincenti? Now that's class.'

  Vincenti took out a cigar from his inside pocket and put it in his mouth, unlit. Sagalle closed the door and spoke to the driver.

  The car pulled smoothly away from the kerb, the windscreen wipers swishing the snowflakes away with crisp, efficient strokes.

  The partition that separated the driver from the passengers closed with a whisper. Sagalle picked up a metal suitcase and placed it on his knees. He clicked the combination locks open, lifted the lid, and presented the contents to Utsyev. 'With Mr Carelli's compliments.'

  Utsyev raised his eyebrows. Sitting in foam rubber were three submach
ine-guns and several clips. 'Ingram Model 10s, .45-calibre, twelve hundred rounds per minute,' Sagalle said, like a waiter detailing the daily special. 'You can select them to fire on semi-automatic or full automatic, thirty-four rounds in the clip. We prefer them to the Uzi. It's a few inches shorter so easier to conceal. I've included Sionics noise suppressors. I think you'll find them more than up to the job.' Sagalle took one out and handed it to Utsyev. 'We obtained them through a contact in Mexico three months ago. The serial numbers have been removed and they haven't been used in this country,' he continued. Utsyev gave the weapon back and Sagalle replaced it in its foam cut-out. He snapped the lid shut and handed the case to Vincenti. 'My understanding is that more of your people are flying in from New York,' he said.

  Utsyev grunted and reached for the bottle of bourbon.

  Kiseleva beat him to it and poured a large measure into a crystal tumbler. 'They're arriving just after eleven,' he said.

  'We've taken the liberty of booking you into the Stouffer Hotel, sir. You can wait for them there. I'll have them met and brought to you. Will you be requiring further manpower?'

  'What do you mean?' Utsyev asked.

  'Mr Carelli says that we are to help you in any way we can, sir.

  If you need more men, we'll be more than happy to supply you.'

  Utsyev shook his head. 'No. We can handle this.'

  Sagalle nodded. 'And transport. We weren't sure where you'd be going so I didn't know if you'd be requiring the use of a limo or whether four-wheel-drives would be more appropriate.' He waited expectantly.

  Utsyev looked at Vincenti and then back to Sagalle. 'Close to the Rocky Mountain National Park. A place called Estes Park.

  What is it, some sort of resort area?'

  'Yeah, though it's not really a park. It's a small town catering for tourists – hiking, fishing, skiing, that sort of thing. It's pretty quiet this time of the year. The season doesn't really start until May.' He looked at the flecks of snow which were sticking to the windows for only a few seconds before melting. 'There's no real snow forecast to the north, and this'll be over in a few hours.

  The forecast for tomorrow is sunny. But if I were you, I'd go in four-wheel-drives, just to be on the safe side. If that suits your plans, I'll arrange it.'

  'Can't we fly?'