by Eddy Will
“Go get the bastard.”
The circle of guards opened up on the far side of the stone patio, clearing the path to maybe a hundred yards of lawn and the tree line of the forest beyond. Two of the female guards raised horns and blew the two-note call to the hunt. All eyes were on Anna.
She looked around, confused, unsure of what to do.
“Go,” Diana said. “Run.”
Anna walked from the circle of guards and fell into a slight run when she reached the lawn. Her legs were heavy, like rubber, she was barely able to command them to move. Her heart was pounding in her throat, her vision unable to focus, her mind blank with terror. She barely heard the cheers from the patio. She was vaguely aware of the line of trees growing in height as she drew closer. And then she was in the trees, tall pine trees with thick trunks, centuries of fallen pine needles making the ground soft to her step.
The physical exertion forced the paralyzing fear from her mind and muscles, one step at a time. Ten minutes later, she had settled into steady run and her mind had cleared, allowing for thought. She had four hours, according to Diana and she decided to spend that time creating distance between herself and Remington. She recalled the map she had seen in the control room and if she was right, she was currently heading north towards the mountains and to the Romanian border with Ukraine. The first part of her strategy was to create distance, breathing room. Being an accomplished long distance runner and tri-athlete she was familiar with her own running pace. Under racing conditions she was capable of running ten kilometers in thirty five minutes, but given the uneven terrain and the nature of this race, she would cover less ground. She had run the distance enough times that her body would let her know when the time had been reached and hopefully the distance covered. She fell into her racing pace, keeping her legs loose and allowing them to find their accustomed rhythm. When she reached a clearing in the tall trees, she picked a jagged, snow-tipped mountain in the far distance as her constant point of reference. She needed a marker in the distance to keep moving in a straight line and maximizing her effort as well as the distance covered. Remington had not struck her as particularly athletic, but she did not know what advantages he would be afforded, since it was his game. Her run took her on a slight uphill path eventually leading to the mountains in the far distance.
In addition to distance she wanted to get to higher ground, making it easier to see the enemy.
Anna began counting her steps in blocks of hundreds, figuring each step moved her three feet or one meter forward. So, one thousand steps roughly equaled one kilometer and ten thousand steps would put her approximately at six miles; six miles away from Remington. And so she counted her steps. She settled into the monotony of running, listening to the rhythm of her breath and the drumbeat of her feet.
Chapter 33
Hollywood, California, August 4, 2012, 12:51 AM
Screaming sirens tore Jack from his sleep. He jumped from the chair in panic, the papers in his lap spilling to the floor. He stumbled over stacks of documents placed around the chair and more papers flew. He pushed thick fog of sleep from his mind and realized where he was. He stopped moving and scratched the stubble on his face. He could not remember the nightmare that had caused him to panic, but the shriek of sirens had come from the Boulevard outside and not from the darkest recesses of his troubled mind. Jack was tired. The sheets of paper filled with incomprehensible blocks of numbers taunted him on the floor. He cleared the cluttered bed. He would rest for just a bit. He picked up the laptop and placed it on the small desk. That’s when he noticed the flashing new email in the inbox. It had been re-routed from the Contact Us page of his and Anna’s website. Jack squinted and moved closer to the screen. The email contained six words:
‘I might be able to help.’
Jack re-read the short message. His eyes moved to the top of the email. The sender’s name was PUNKGIRL999, the server HOTMAIL. None of it meant anything to him. But the fog of sleep had vanished. Jack pressed REPLY and typed:
‘How?’
He walked to the coffeemaker and poured the remainder of cold coffee. Sipping the bitter black brew he stared at the screen of his computer. Who was Punkgirl999?
A new message appeared.
‘Who is trying to kill you?’
Jack blinked hard and set down the mug. He leaned over the computer and carefully read the words. Indeed, who is trying to kill him, he wondered. Todd Ashley’s thugs had tried but failed and now it was the attorney who was dead. Was there something else?
‘Who IS trying to kill me?’ he typed, his confusion growing.
Minutes passed and the screen remained unchanged. Nothing happened. Where was Punkgirl999? Why was she or he not responding? Jack peered through the curtains. All was quiet. He paced from wall to wall, checking the screen at every turn. A new message popped up from Punkgirl999.
‘Maria Koshkova.’
Jack stared at the screen. His heart pounded in his chest. He could barely breathe. How could that be? Bright flashes exploded in his mind. It made no sense. Or did it? He had spoken to Maria Koshkova only an hour ago. It had been a brief exchange and the woman had hung up on him. She could not possible know who he was. He had given her a fake name. It was impossible that she identified him. How? And why would she plan his execution? It was absurd. And yet, Punkgirl999 had reached him and she knew or knew of Maria Koshkova. Jack’s mind was spinning out of control. For the first time in years he craved a cigarette. He was suddenly afraid. If Punkgirl999 had found him so could Maria Koshkova. They might be the same person or they might work together. It might be a trap. But how? Neither one of them could possible know where he was.
‘Explain,’ he typed, for he was curious about what she or he knew.
‘Todd Ashley,’ she replied instantly.
Jack held his head. He was afraid it would explode. The mystery person knew a great deal. Every short message felt like a jolt of electricity. It was as if Punkgirl999 was in his head, mentioning the same names and people that had been haunting his mind, which was seeking a connection, explanations and finding none. Punkgirl999 knew more than he did, or did she?
‘Ashley’s dead,’ he typed, testing Punkgirl999.
‘With a hole in his head, in a pool of his own blood,’ she typed.
“Christ,” Jack roared. It was as if Punkgirl999 had been there, had seen what he had seen. How could that be?
‘Who are you?’ he typed.
‘Maria Koshkova had him killed,’ she typed.
Jack grabbed the yellow pad and checked his diagram of characters. There was Tarpov, then Todd Ashley and somewhere there was Maria Koshkova.
‘Why?’ Jack typed. The answer to why Maria Koshkova wanted Ashley dead would explain a great deal and allow him to flush out his skinny diagram.
‘I don’t know,’ Punkgirl999 typed.
‘Great,’ Jack thought, ‘the sixty-four thousand dollar question and Punkgirl999 chokes.’
‘Who are you?’ Jack typed again.
‘I am not the enemy,’ Punkgirl999 wrote, cryptically.
‘Then who?’ he typed.
‘A concerned citizen,’ she wrote.
‘Cut the crap,’ he typed. He was growing frustrated, not so much at Punkgirl999, but at the fact that he did not understand, that he failed to connect the dots. He felt like an idiot.
‘It’s not crap. I am afraid,’ Punkgirl999 wrote.
‘Why?’ Jack typed.
‘I might be next on her list.’
Jack stared at the words he had not expected. Punkgirl999 had appeared like an oracle, an unfathomable and omniscient source of wisdom and now it was a mere mortal, a fellow human being, who was afraid. Was Punkgirl999 looking to help or looking for help?
‘I am sorry,’ he wrote.
And then nothing happened. Jack stared at the screen but no reply. Had Punkgirl999 gone?
‘Can we meet,’ popped on the screen. Jack stood back. He had not expected that. Punkgirl999 had found him. Sh
e knew he was Jack Storm, she knew about Maria Koshkova and Todd Ashley and his death in graphic detail. It had been her intent to warn him about Maria Koshkova and if Koshkova had in fact ordered the killing of Ashley and had been behind the lawyer’s attempted hit on him, then Koshkova had to be connected to Anna’s disappearance. More pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
And if all that was true, then Jack’s next stop should be Maria Koshkova and not Punkgirl999. On the other hand, Punkgirl999 was full of information and might be useful.
‘Where are you?’ he finally typed.
‘London.’
Punkgirl999 was in the same city as Maria Koshkova’s gallery. That was no coincidence. Punkgirl999 knew Maria Koshkova personally. Could he trust her? Was she setting a trap?
‘I’ll contact you tomorrow,’ Jack wrote, keeping it vague and keeping his options open.
Punkgirl999 sent one more message:
‘K’.
Jack spun into action. He checked the time, it was almost one in the morning. Jack gathered up the strewn papers and stuffed them in the briefcase. He hastily packed his bag, then stared at the carry-on containing a quarter of million dollars. He could not take that much money on an airplane. He had to think of something. He punched Tarpov’s number into his phone.
“You don’t sleep,” the Russian said.
“Meet me at the airport in two hours,” Jack said.
“Where are we going?” Tarpov said, un-phased by Jack’s late night plans.
“London,” Jack said.
“Ok,” Tarpov said. “International fee is three hundred dollars,” he added.
“Fine,” Jack said and hung up. He had no time to argue and did not care. It was Ashley’s money.
Jack piled his bags in the car. The night had turned chilly. He steered his rental car along deserted streets back to Union Station and rolled the carry-on back into the building. He deposited the bag minus one hundred thousand dollars in locker number 113. It was as if nothing had changed since he first picked up the bag several hours ago, and yet everything had changed. He had a target, one Maria Koshkova. She was the link to finding Anna. And he would waste no time. An American Airlines flight to London left Los Angeles International Airport early in the morning and he would be on that flight.
Jack arrived at the airport just after five in the morning. He returned the car and when the shuttle dropped him off at the American Airlines terminal, Sergey Tarpov waited for him on the sidewalk. The Russian’s nose had swelled considerably, only adding to the man’s intimidating appearance.
“I don’t know if they will let you on a plane,” Jack said, as he stepped off the shuttle. “You look like shit.”
“I’ll tell them that you did it and then neither of us will get on a plane,” the Russian said.
“Let’s go to London,” Jack said and hurried into the deserted terminal, leaving the stocky Russian to scramble after him.
Chapter 34
London, England, August 3, 2012, 7:59 AM
“I am looking at a black Vauxhall parked across the street from my gallery which is occupied by three large men dressed in cheap dark suits. They were there when I arrived this morning and they were there yesterday. I want them gone,” Maria Koshkova said into the phone.
She had decided to confront the situation head-on. If Diana thought it necessary to put a tail on her, then Maria had to deal with it immediately.
“I am a little worried about you, Maria,” Diana said, her voice maternal and calm. But Maria knew better. It was precisely when Diana’s maternal instincts emerged, that it was time to take cover and get out of the way. Maria had seen her boss turn worried and motherly with one of her flock and then the wayward child was gone. The image of the unsatisfactory gallerist in Paris floating facedown in the Seine came to mind.
“Diana, there is nothing to worry about and there is certainly no reason for drastic measures,” Maria said, anger rising within her. “But if you feel that I need to be removed, than I’d prefer you just get it over with. But till then call off your clumsy babysitters,” Maria said, the words escaping her mouth before she could censor them.
”What news do you have for me, Maria, that might alleviate my worries,” Diana said.
Maria had expected the question.
“The Jack Storm situation has been cleaned up and to make certain there is no additional fallout I have also removed the party that was responsible for the glitch,” Maria said, the image of Todd Ashley’s body in a pool of his own blood giving her confidence.
“You have?” Diana said, the surprise in her voice palpable. “I am impressed. I did not know you possessed such resolve.”
“I take my job and the trust you have placed in me very seriously,” Maria said. She wanted to say: ‘You have no idea who I am and what I am capable of, so back off.’ But she didn’t, for she did not want to start a war with Diana. Not yet, anyway.
“I am pleased to hear that you have been working hard to calm my fears,” Diana said.
“So, you’ll pull the babysitters?” Maria said.
“They will be gone,” Diana said. “And you must come see us next time. I understand that the timing on this project was extremely tight. That is usually not the case.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Maria lied. She had no interest to travel to a remote cabin in Romania and celebrate the killing of a human being at the hands of another. She had little problems with facilitating the event and providing the necessary prey. It was a cruel world and if she did not do it, then someone else would. And so she might as well make a lot of money of the inevitable brutalities in the world. But she did not care to rub shoulders with egomaniacal psychopaths whose fantasy is to hunt a woman and then watch her die at his hand. She would be just as happy to find these sick men and dispatch them in a slow and painful way, but, alas, there was no market for such a service, there was no money in it.
Diana terminated the conversation and within five minutes, Maria watched the black Vauxhall pull from the curb and disappear.
Maria was determined to not get caught off-guard again. Diana had pulled the surveillance but she knew they were only a phone call away and the next time she might not realize their presence until it was too late. She believed to have calmed Diana, but that could change at a moment’s notice. Maria would not end floating face down in the Thames.
The sky opened up and unloaded a barrage of rain, prattling against the gallery windows. Maria walked to the front of the store and watched the deluge. Umbrellas flew open in defense of the sudden downpour and pedestrians scurried to reach their destinations, faces pointed to the ground in a vain attempt to avoid the rain. Maria felt a chill and she crossed her arms for comfort. It was warm inside the gallery, but still, Maria suddenly felt cold. There was an odd discomfort. The last twenty-four hours had been filled with a battery of consequential choices. She had been responsible for the deaths of two human beings, Jack Storm and Todd Ashley. It was the first time that acquisition of talent for Diana’s sick game had necessitated such measures. It had not been a good mission and it had been a disastrous last few days. Maria had not been in charge of selecting the target. The client had predetermined his prey without any thought or consideration for the ease of the take-down. And getting Anna Jaeger without raising a bucket-full of questions had been more difficult than Maria had imagined. The subject enjoyed a full life, sometimes in the eye of the public and worst of all, she had a doting husband who would not stop asking questions. His reaction came as no surprise really. It was Diana’s greed that was to blame, for Maria was convinced that the additional charge for the client’s special request was substantial. Diana had doubled Maria’s fee without prompting. It all boiled down to money and greed. And if the project blew up in their faces, there would be no one to blame. Maria could have declined, but it had been the doubled fee that had silenced her concerns. And as it turned out she had been spending a substantial amount on cleaning up the botched kidnapping. Murder was not cheap.
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br /> Maria shivered again. She suddenly had a bad feeling. She wanted to call Styx, but what could she say? They had their first fight this morning, collateral damage of Maria’s frantic struggle to clean up the mess. It was her own fault. Styx was not to blame, though Maria had found the punk girl’s reaction heavy-handed. So, what had happened? Maria had come out of the shower and Styx started firing broadside after broadside. What was troubling Maria? It was something else. It wasn’t the fight. Then she remembered. She had stood in the doorway watching the redhead straighten the bed sheets but it was the open purse on the floor next to the bed that had drawn her attention. Why? Because her phone was in the purse.
Maria turned and ran to the office in the back of the gallery. She snapped up the cell phone and scrolled through the most recent messages and calls. She had spoken to the man who killed Todd Ashley, Styx could not have heard, she was in the kitchen. Then she had spoken to Sam Silverman, a very short conversation, and again, Styx could not have heard for she was in the kitchen, but what if she did hear? And then her eyes fell on the lone text message of the day: the graphic photograph of a dead Todd Ashley.
Maria cursed out loud. Why had she not erased the image immediately? Because Sam Silverman called and she was distracted and then Styx brought coffee into the bedroom, that’s why.
If Styx had discovered the photo, she would have good reason to be upset. But Styx did not mention the photo. Was Maria’s guilt casting suspicion on the most innocent actions and words? Was she projecting her own deceit on Styx?
Maria could not be sure and not being sure meant she could not take a chance. Maybe her lover had not found the damning image of Todd Ashley. But what if she had? If she did see the photograph, then her tirade was fabricated and that would be troubling. For it meant that Styx had disconnected, had ceased to trust and was looking elsewhere for help or understanding. And that Maria could never allow.