by Eddy Will
Maria Koshkova waved at her body guard and then hailed a taxi.
Chapter 47
London, England, August 4, 2012, 1:22 PM
“I am impressed,” Jack said after Styx had hung up the phone.
Tarpov nodded in approval, the slightest hint of a smile on his gruff face.
“That was the easy part,” Styx said. But she had surprised herself. She had not planned on tears but once she was on the phone with Maria Koshkova, the storm of pent-up emotion and pain had broken through effortlessly.
“Alright,” Jack said, “we have maybe twenty minutes before phase two. Tarpov will head into the lobby and observe Koshkova’s arrival. We need to know if she shows up alone. I’ll be in the room next door. Now remember, Styx, I can see and hear everything that happens as long as you stay out of the bathroom, do you understand? I am right next door, and if there is a problem, we’ll be there in five seconds. Don’t lock the door, when you let Koshkova in.”
“I got it,” the punk girl said.
Jack and the Russian left the room. One entered the room next to Styx’s and the other hurried down the old wooden steps to the lobby.
Styx sat on the bed and breathed out heavily. Maria had been upset, but she had not been surprised, Styx concluded as she replayed the conversation in her head. Her questions had been too pointed, too direct. She had not been stunned as Styx would have expected. She had not asked if Styx had been alright, or hurt. She had not asked about the kidnappers, who they where, where it happened, or even why. Styx knew that Maria did not have to ask. She already knew. The punk girl’s heart broke a little more, but it was not only sadness that ran from the cracks, it was also rage. And it was the rage that ran from her heart like molten lava that she focused on, that she latched on for support to help her through the next phase of Jack’s operation.
Jack sat on the small chair in the room next door and studied the screen of the laptop which Tarpov had set up on the desk. A wireless receiver collected the signal from the alarm clock camera on Styx’s nightstand. A second receiver captured the audio from the room. Both streams of digitized data fed into special software that captured the information on the hard drive of the laptop as well as played the live feed back on the computer display. Styx looked into the camera and made a face. She sat on the bed, smoking a cigarette and clutching her phone. She climbed off the bed and retrieved a cup to use as an ashtray. The rustling of the bedspread and Styx’s footstep came through clearly on the laptop’s speakers.
Jack checked the time: ten more minutes. He rose from his post and made sure the door to his room was not locked. He might need to move quickly once Maria Koshkova arrived. The hallway was deserted. He listened for the telltale sounds of an approaching person and hearing none he closed the door gently, leaving a small crack.
Sergey Tarpov sat in one of two well-worn armchairs in the quiet lobby and nodded at the white-haired receptionist. The old man nodded back and returned his attention to a newspaper. Business was slow, the Russian thought. He pulled his own newspaper from the carry-on bag he had purchased to support his cover as a traveler. He opened the paper, his eyes constantly darting to the entrance some thirty feet from his armchair.
It was almost ten minutes before the first person came through the door. It was a tall and striking woman in her thirties with long jet black hair tied into a pony-tail and a beautiful face with a hint of Slavic in the cheeks and eyes. Tarpov should know. He figured her Ukrainian, or maybe Russian, but Ukrainian was his first guess. She wore a long expensive coat and high boots with spiked heels.
It was Maria Koshkova, Tarpov had no doubt. He had seen images of his target an hour earlier and this woman matched those.
Maria Koshkova carried a small purse, which, according to Styx, contained a handgun with an ivory white handle. She ignored the reception desk and the old man reading the paper and headed straight for the elevator.
The Russian raised the radio he had hidden under his jacket and announced the woman’s arrival to Jack. The woman waited by the elevator, allowing the doors to open and close again without entering. What was happening? Had she made him? The answer came in the shape of a tall and broad-shouldered man in a long black coat who entered the lobby. He too did not carry a travel bag and was not here to rent a run-down but cheap room. Koshkova and the man briefly locked eyes, the communication satisfactory for the woman who now entered the elevator.
‘Amateurs,’ the Russian thought. The woman’s guard should have scoped the lobby before she entered, making sure it was safe for her.
The man loitered in the lobby for a moment and unnerved by the presence of another man who had taken the only available seating in the reception area, stepped back outside and took up his post on the sidewalk. Tarpov was puzzled. Maria did not expect any danger from her girlfriend. But to leave her bodyguard behind, she either was very sure of herself or did not want witnesses, the Russian thought. Nobody could be that sure of themselves, he thought, as he rose from his chair and headed for the stairs. The Ukrainian woman’s plans did not include taking Styx from the hotel room. Tarpov raced up the stairs. He reached the second floor and stopped by the door to the hallway, listening. The sound of Maria Koshkova’s high heels moved along the hallway and stopped. Tarpov opened the door a crack. Koshkova stood at Styx’s door. His instincts told him not to let her enter the room, but he knew that Styx needed to get information from Maria without which they would never find Anna. It was a risk they had to take. He would only be steps from the punk girl, but it only took a second to pull the trigger and end a life. Tarpov waited in the hallway for a signal from Jack at which time Tarpov would charge into Styx’s room. He checked his own firearm, tucked into his waistband and supplied to him by a connection established a lifetime ago, when he had been a foot soldier in the Soviet Union’s KGB.
The short wrapping at the door startled the punk girl, even though she had been expecting it. Three short, sharp knocks created by the knuckles of her lover who had broken her heart. Styx slid off the bed and opened the door. Her heart was pounding hard and her hand shook as she reached for the knob.
“Come in,” Styx said, smiling briefly at Maria, who walked in and embraced the redheaded punk.
“I am here now,” she said, squeezing the slender woman to her body. Styx felt the warmth she had come to expect but none of the passion. She gently closed the door, making sure not to let the lock snap into place and followed Maria into the room. Catch her off guard, Jack had said, the element of surprise can be a powerful weapon.
“Why did you kill Todd Ashley?” Styx said without preamble, only waiting for Maria to reach the center of the small room and be in clear view of the camera.
Maria snapped her head around, the face frozen in shock. Styx had her answer. And Maria knew in that instant that she had been exposed. Her eyes narrowed as her brain struggled for a response.
“What are you talking about,” she said, her voice thin, unconvincing.
“Don’t lie to me Maria. You don’t know what I know. Why did you kill Todd Ashley,” Styx repeated, her face flushed with anger.
“You don’t know what you are asking, Styx, you don’t know what you are getting involved in,” Maria said, her surprise and shock giving way to anger.
“Maria, for crying out loud. Please don’t insult me any more than you already have. I am not an idiot,” Styx spat out. “I have seen the photograph on your phone. I heard your conversation with the killer. I know what you have done. I only want to know why?” she said.
Maria stared at her lover for some time and for a moment Styx was sure she had gone too far, overplayed her hand. “I loved you Maria. Why did you have to ruin it?” she suddenly said, going off the script she and Jack had carefully crafted. Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh, Christ, darling,” Maria said, her rage giving way to pain. “You don’t understand. I had no choice. That man was going to destroy me. I had to protect myself. I did it for you, don’t you see, I did it for y
ou and me,” she said, the lie coming easily and stunning Styx.
“You killed a man a half a world away for me?” Styx said, disbelief in her voice. “How?”
“He would have killed me and, who knows, maybe you too. I couldn’t take the chance,” Maria said, continuing the lie, sensing an opportunity.
“So, you killed him first, is that what you are saying? It was an act of self-defense?” said Styx, pushing for the answer she was looking for and Jack was looking for in the room next door.
“Yes, I did. I killed him in self-defense. That is exactly what it was. Self-defense,” Maria said, blurting out the words.
Styx stared at Maria. She had said it, she had confessed to murder. Styx was stunned. But she was not done yet, the script had one final act.
“Is that why you ordered Jack Storm killed, too,” she said, her eyes boring holes into Maria. “Is that why you kidnapped Anna Jaeger off a mountain in Peru? Was that self-defense, too?” she said, the words flying from her mouth like rapid machine-gun fire.
Maria’s blood drained from her face and her lower lip began to quiver.
“What do you know about that and who told you,” Maria said, her voice barely above a whisper. She was shaking and Styx wished Jack and the Russian put an end to the confrontation and charged into the room. But the door did not fly open.
“What have you done, Maria?” Styx said, her voice faltering. Whatever doubt had remained in her mind about Maria’s involvement and guilt had just been erased. “What did you do with Anna Jaeger? Where is she?” Styx said, her words falling out awkwardly, the script blurring in her mind.
“You little sneaky Punk bitch,” Maria said and Styx knew she had pushed too far.
“Where is Anna Jaeger?” she screamed, the script forgotten, only the single fragment of a question remaining in her memory.
“That is none of your business, little girl, and you are going to wish you had not stuck your Anarchist nose where it doesn’t belong,” Maria said and reached into her purse.
Styx’s blood ran cold. She knew the purse held a handgun with an ivory handle and Maria was about to produce that gun.
Jack had risen from his chair, the tension in the room on the other side of the wall propelling him. Maria’s last words had been his signal. The woman had been pushed into a corner; she was finished with words and was about to take the confrontation to a deadly level.
“Go,” he barked into the radio and raced for the door. He entered the hallway just as Tarpov kicked open the door to Styx’s room.
“Freeze,” the Russian said. Jack was in the room two seconds later. Maria Koshkova stood in the center of the room, her hand frozen in place just above the opening of the purse, the small firearm pointing at the floor. Styx stood still by the bed, her face pale and eyes wide in terror.
“If you so much as think about raising your weapon, you will be dead before you can make use of it,” Jack said. His eyes locked with Maria Koshkova’s, holding her gaze, demanding her attention, searching for the flash of resolve that would end her life and slam the door on his search for Anna. Jack stepped into the room, making sure he did not cross Tarpov’s line of fire.
“I am going to take the gun from you, nice and easy. It’s over Maria,” he said calmly. “Don’t make it worse now.” His eyes never left hers. He witnessed a world explode, a battle raging between fast dwindling options. But most of all he saw confusion, her mind racing in a hurricane of questions, the walls of defense against insanity torn from their foundations and Jack knew that once those walls succumbed, her mind would become unhinged and unpredictable, her decisions erratic and she would use the gun in her hand, no matter the outcome.
Jack took one more step toward the woman on the verge of snapping and placed his hand on hers, taking control of her gun hand.
“Give me the gun, Maria, and nobody gets hurt,” he said softly, his eyes still on hers. He felt the muscles in Maria’s hand relax. Jack took the gun from her and stepped back. The Russian kept his weapon trained on the woman.
“Who are you?” she said, her voice trembling.
“Let me explain the situation to you, Ms. Koshkova,” Jack said, as he handed the gun to Tarpov. “We have your confession to the murder of Todd Ashley on tape. That alone will put you away in a federal prison for life. You have also seriously incriminated yourself in the kidnapping of Anna Jaeger,” he said, studying her face carefully.
“Who are you?” she said again. “You are not police, you are American.”
“I am Jack Storm.”
Maria stared at the tall American and recognition flashed across her face. Her mouth fell open, then snapped shut tightly, her lips thin.
“You son of a bitch,” she said in a whispered rage. “You are supposed to be dead.”
“Well, I am not,” Jack said. “And my partner here, Mr. Tarpov has the distinction of having been on the team that snatched my wife off the mountain in Huarez, Peru, as per your instructions via Todd Ashley,” Jack continued, struggling to remain calm. The rage he felt threatened to boil to the surface, but he knew that if he were to learn anything from this woman, it was imperative that he stay in control.
Maria’s eyes darted to the Russian and back to Jack Storm. The tidal wave of new information crashed over her, as did the realization that she was dealing with potentially volatile opponents and she almost wished that it had been the police who had barged into the hotel room. The thought that she might not leave the room alive entered her mind.
“We can work something out, I am sure,” she said, her mind now focused on survival. “What do you want?”
“Where is my wife?”
“I know where she is, but what is in it for me?” Maria Koshkova said.
“You get to stay alive,” Jack said, “and you get to walk out of here. And once I get my wife back, I’ll destroy the tape,” Jack said. It was a lie, but he needed Maria Koshkova on board and to that end he would promise her anything. He figured that in her predicament she would want to believe him. “If you lie to me, I’ll not only hand over the tape to the police, but I’ll find you just like I found you now, and I will kill you,” Jack said, his eyes boring into hers.
“I walk out of here and you will let me go?” Maria said.
“Yes,” Jack said.
Maria stood motionless, searching for the trap in the bargain.
“How do I know that you are not lying to me?” Maria said.
“You don’t,” Jack said. “But considering your options you don’t really have a choice, do you?”
“Anna Jaeger is in Romania,” Maria said and began to tell the unbelievable tale of Okhota Lodge in the Carpathian Mountains. She told about Diana and the annual hunt at the lodge, and how Anna had been chosen for this event.
Jack, Styx and Tarpov listened in stunned silence as Maria Koshkova told her story. It was hard to believe, Jack thought, and he fought to understand why Maria would make up an outrageous story such as that, but he found no plausible explanation.
Ten minutes later Maria fell silent. Jack had a lot of questions, and he fired them off one after another, but in the end he was left with the sickening knowledge that his wife had been abducted for human prey in a demented hunting game produced and executed by psychopaths.
According to Maria, the hunt had begun the previous day and generally lasted several days, depending on weather and the skills of the hunter and hunted.
“Call someone at the lodge and stop the sick event,” Jack snapped, his patience exhausted. A sense of panic and doom rose in his heart, a sense that he might be too late, that he had run out of time.
“I can’t call anyone. There is no way for me stop it. They are out in the wilderness,” Maria said. “Even if I did reach someone at the lodge, it would more likely cause them to cover their tracks and I doubt that would include sparing your wife,” she said.
“Dial someone now, I’ll talk to them,” Jack said.
“You said you would let me go,” she said.
“I lied, alright,” Jack shot back. “I want to find my wife and I want to find her alive, and believe me, your life depends on that.” Jack was grasping at straws. The image of Anna being hunted by psychopaths was driving him insane. And he was helpless to stop it.
“I’ll give it a try,” Maria said, “let me try and talk to someone first.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse and scrolled for a number. Jack stared at the woman, the hate unmistakable.
“Who am I speaking with?” she said, and listened, quickly glancing at Jack, her eyes confirming a connection.
“Alright Steve. This is Maria Koshkova calling, and I have a situation right here, and I need to talk to someone in charge immediately,” she said, her voice strong and filled with authority. “No, I can’t wait, this is of utmost urgency, and I need someone to help me right away.” She nodded at Jack as she was listening. “No, don’t call me back, connect right away, I’ll hold, she said.
“Get them to stop it right now. Tell them their sick game is over, or I swear, all hell will break loose, if Anna is hurt in the slightest,” Jack said, speaking quickly and quietly. His words were a product of his helplessness and panic, but he hoped to buy Anna some time, anything. He was throwing dull darts in the dark.
The door to the hotel room slammed open. Jack spun around and in an instant understood his amateurish mistake. He had given a desperate woman a lifeline by allowing her to use the phone and instead of calling Romania she had called her bodyguard. Jack twisted as the man pointed a weapon and pulled the trigger. The deafening sound of the gunshot exploded in the room. Tarpov spun and fired his own weapon at the man in the door. He missed. And as Jack dove to the ground and rolled on the floor a battery of gunshots exploded in quick succession. Maria covered her face with her hands and screamed. The killer turned to Tarpov, searching for the gun firing at him. Jack rose behind the small desk just as a second man pushed through the shattered doorframe, his gun searching for a target. Jack picked up the desk and charged the door. They were trapped with the only exit blocked by two killers and maybe more in the hallway. Jack slammed the table top into the first killer pushing the man’s considerable bulk into the second shooter. More shots exploded and bullets crisscrossed the small room without aim. The ceiling light shattered and sent shards of glass raining on the battle below. Tarpov tackled the slender body of the punk girl and tossed her across the bed. Styx slammed onto the floor on the other side of bed, out of the line of fire. The Russian flipped on his back, holding his weapon with both hands and fired at the two killers crushed into a tangle of limbs by Jack’s desk. The man in the black coat roared in pain, his finger pulling the trigger of his gun in a reflex, firing stray bullets into the crowded room. The tall killer fell forward, twisted by several rounds to his broad chest, exposing the man behind. Tarpov fired two more shots at the stocky man. The killer arched backwards, the momentum of the bullet that had pierced his skull above his right eye, throwing him into the hallway, his dying legs unable to catch the fall. Tarpov jumped from the bed with an agility attributed to a more slender man and threw his weight into the door, slamming it shut with a thunderous crash. He instantly moved away from the door, his gun scanning the inside of the room.