by Mel LeBrun
Rick scribbled something on a piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket. He walked down the street to the back of a bar where there was a pay phone. With trembling hands, he dialed the number written on the picture of his daughter. Someone answered, but said nothing.
“Hello?” Rick asked but there was no response. “I have information.”
A few more seconds of silence passed and Rick was about to hang up the phone when Milovich finally answered. “Hello, Mr. Hamilton. I'm glad to see you accepted my offer.”
“You didn't really give me a choice.”
“What do you have for me?”
Rick took a deep breath and released it slowly. He didn't want to do what he was about to do but he didn't have another option.
“I think I know where they are.”
“They?” Milovich asked.
“Yeah.” Rick was slightly confused. “Michael Cailen and Jessica Nickoli.”
There was a long pause. Rick worried he misunderstood what Milovich wanted from him.
“Jessica Nickoli is alive?” Milovich asked finally.
“Well, yes. Her death was faked so no one would look for her. You didn't know?”
There was another long pause. Rick was sweating now and his hands shook badly. His anxiety level was at an all-time high.
“Where are they?”
“I think they're getting help from a man named Joshua Lavene.” Pulling out the paper in his pocket, he read off Josh's address to Milovich.
“Is there anything else?” Milovich asked.
“That's it for now. I'll call if I find anything.”
“I'll be waiting.” Milovich replied ominously just before hanging up.
Chapter 39
Michael and Brook had been driving silently for nearly three hours before Brook announced she had to use the restroom.
Michael sighed. “We can stop at the next rest stop, but we have to get a few things clear first.”
“What kind of things?” she asked.
“Those men in your house, they were after your brother and they would've done anything to get to him. The only reason you were still alive when I got there was because they hadn't gotten what they wanted from you - his location. Once they had that, you would've been dead, if you were lucky. Do you understand?”
Brook started to feel sick. She was reliving the terror of being tied up on the floor, helpless to stop the violent attack.
She nodded, but didn't look at him.
“The people behind this are very powerful and have their fingers in a lot of pies, including law enforcement. You will not have anywhere to go or any place to hide if you run away. You go to the police and you are as good as dead. Even if they believe you, they will not be able to protect you.”
“What did you mean 'if I was lucky'?”
“There are worse things than being dead.” He looked her up and down. “A pretty thing like you ... they would've had their fun for days or weeks, maybe even made some money selling you into slavery.”
He was trying to scare her. It worked, she was petrified. He needed her more afraid of them than him. She started trembling.
“Do you understand the danger you are in?”
She nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a rest stop. Michael parked the truck in front of the building and got out. Brook joined him on the sidewalk and they walked in together. He kept a close eye on her looking for signs she might try to run. He didn't see any, in fact quite the opposite. She walked close to him and didn't seem to want to leave his side.
They walked in the building and headed towards the restrooms. It was a typical rest stop. Large bathrooms, a small food court with a couple of fast food restaurants, a modest convenience store connected to the building and just beyond that were the gas pumps.
Michael stood outside the women's restroom while Brook went inside. A few stalls were occupied and a woman was washing her hands at the sink. Brook nervously walked in one of the stalls and shut the door. She emerged a few moments later and the lady at the sink had been replaced with another woman who looked extremely tired. Her blonde hair was disheveled. She was wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt with flip flops. She rifled through a small travel bag, desperately searching for something. Brook walked up to the sink next to her as the woman found what she was looking for. She pulled out a tube of face wash and started washing her face. Brook glanced down at the woman's cell phone on the sink next to her. The woman's face was buried in the sink and her eyes were closed as she tried to rinse off the soap. Brook entertained the thought of snatching her phone and making a desperate call to police. But Michael's warning kept ringing through her head. Even if they believe you, they won't be able to protect you. What if he was right?
She washed her hands and grabbed a paper towel. She looked back at the phone as she dried her hands. The woman had lifted her head from the sink and was looking at herself in the mirror as she tried to wipe the water off her face with her hands. She looked exhausted. Must have been on the road for a while, Brook thought. She threw the paper in the trash and walked out of the restroom. Michael was waiting for her just outside the entrance. He was carefully watching her for any signs of guilt or fear, such as she might be feeling if she had attempted to get help while out of his sight. He saw no evidence of that, and she looked him right in the eye as she approached. He gave her a reassuring smile.
AROUND FOUR o'clock in the afternoon, they rode into a small, dusty town in Pennsylvania. They stopped about halfway down a small dirt road. To the right, surrounded by tall grass and weeds was a tiny house at the bottom of a small hill just off the road. With half the shingles missing and one window boarded up, it looked more like a glorified outhouse than a home.
“I think this is it,” Michael said as he stared at the wretched building.
“It can't be. My brother wouldn't live here.”
Michael reached over Brook's legs and pulled an ammo clip from the glove box.
“What are you doing?” Brook was suddenly fearful of his intentions.
Michael quietly changed the clip in his gun and cocked it. “In case your brother has company.”
Brook felt uneasy as they slowly drove down the dirt driveway to the house. Michael was expecting someone to look out wondering who was there. The fact that no one did and the condition of the house made him wonder if he was too late and Dominic had moved on.
They stepped out of the truck and walked to the front of the cabin. Michael kept Brook in front of him. If her brother was home, it would be better if he could easily see her. He knocked loudly with no response. He looked around and knocked again. This time they heard a thump from inside followed by the sound of empty beer cans banging together. A few seconds later, the front door flung open and a very hungover man stood in the doorway with a sleepy and bewildered look on his face. He rubbed his bloodshot brown eyes and brushed his brown, shaggy, unwashed hair away from his face.
“Nicky?” Brook seemed truly surprised to see him.
Dominic's eyes groggily turned to Brook. “Brook? What are you doing here?” he said, still half asleep and trying desperately to discern what was happening. Before he could figure it out, Michael shoved his gun in his face.
“What are you doing?” Brook shrieked as Michael pushed the pair inside the tiny cabin.
“Shut up and sit down,” Michael commanded and they obeyed.
Still confused but now much more awake, Dominic mustered the courage to ask, “What's going on?”
“Ronald Sanders.” Michael didn't want to waste time with small talk or explaining why he needed information.
“Wha.. what about about him?”
“What was he into?”
“He's dead.” Dominic seemed bewildered.
“I know that. What was he into?”
With the gun still in his face, he wasn't going to play games. “Drugs, he smuggled drugs.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean what else?”
Michael saw a change come over him. Pale and more nervous than before, he denied knowing anything about it. Michael could tell that was not the case. “I'm here for information, not your life. But if I don't get information, well... let's just say I'm not leaving empty-handed.”
“Jake, please.” Brook started crying.
“Brook, why don't you tell your brother what happens to people who don't answer my questions.” Michael's face showed no emotion and the look in his eyes sent shivers down her back.
“Nicky, please just tell him,” she pleaded.
“Okay, okay. Just please don't hurt us.”
“I'm only after information,” Michael assured him.
“He was an informant for the CIA. But he wasn't a good informant.”
“What do you mean?”
Dominic hesitated but seeing how terrified Brook was, he answered, “He gave them false information.”
“Why would he do that?”
The more questions Michael asked, the more reluctant Dominic was to talk.
“I want answers!” Michael shouted.
“Because he was getting paid to!” Dominic shouted back. “He got paid to steer them away from Milovich's operations.”
“Vlad Milovich?”
Dominic nodded. “Look man, I don't want any part of this. I had nothing to do with that, please just leave me out of it.”
“You're already in it, Nicky. Milovich's men paid your sister here a visit trying to find you. I didn't get the feeling they were looking to hire you.”
Dominic tensed and a look of terror filled his face. “They're after me?”
“Yes, and your sister isn't safe. Was there someone inside the CIA working for Milovich?”
“Yeah, Ronald mentioned him a few times. I don't remember his name.” Dominic's mind was racing and he was having trouble concentrating.
“Think!” Michael shouted.
Dominic closed his eyes trying desperately to remember the conversations he had with Ronald. “Uhhh... Morgan. I think his name was Morgan something. I don't remember.”
“Edward Morgan?” Michael remembered the name they found on the drive they got from Alex.
“Yeah, that's it. And he had an assistant or something, Rick. Rick Hamilton. I remember because I thought of the basketball player, Richard Hamilton, when I heard his name.” Dominic laughed nervously for a brief second before returning to a look of worry.
“How were they involved with Milovich? What did they do?”
“Rick just worked for Morgan. Did whatever he was told. I don't really know what Morgan did for Milovich. I just know he would tell Ronald what to say to the CIA, what information to give.”
“Are you leaving anything out?”
“That's all I know.”
Michael believed him. He tucked his gun in his back waistband. “It's not safe for you to stay here. You need to take your sister and find someplace to hide.”
“Why are they after me?”
“Milovich is nervous and is trying to tie up loose ends. You're a loose end.”
“But I haven't said anything to anyone.”
Michael grinned. “You just did.”
A bright flash in the corner of his eye caught Michael's attention. He looked out the window and saw it again coming from the tall grass at the top of the hill.
“Get down!” he yelled as he dove to the floor.
A bullet shattered the window burying itself in the wall behind where Michael's head used to be. Brook and Dominic quickly followed Michael to the floor.
“They followed us!” Brook cried in terror.
“No one followed us,” Michael countered. “They must have found you the same way I did.”
Evan gave Brook's hard drive to Morgan and it didn't take the CIA's tech team long to find Nicky the same way Jessica did. Evan learned from Colt that the Russians were looking for Brook's brother. He took an educated guess that Michael was as well, and after getting an address he set out on the road. Hoping to get there before Michael left, he was pleased to see his truck still in the driveway. Grabbing an assault rifle and scope from the trunk of his car he crawled through the tall grass until he could see the house. He soon had Michael in his sights. Unfortunately for Evan, Michael dove to the ground just as he pulled the trigger.
“I'm getting too old for this,” Evan muttered to himself.
He kept his sights trained on the house, but couldn't see anything. Knowing how dangerous Michael was kept him from approaching the house. He had almost declined the mission, but he just couldn't pass up the money.
“Is there anything at the bottom of the hill behind your house?” Michael asked Dominic.
“Umm ... there's a river and past that there's some farmland.”
“Let's move to the back door.”
Crawling, Dominic led the way to the kitchen with Michael and Brook behind him. Michael peeked out the backdoor window, scoping the tall grass and trees. It was clear.
He opened the door and turned to Dominic. “You and Brook need to leave. Stay low and get as far away from here as possible. Don't come back.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don't know yet. But I don't need you hanging around.”
With Dominic and Brook out of the way, Michael pulled the gun from his waistband and tried to formulate a plan. Right now there was only one shooter, but he didn't know if more were on their way. He needed to neutralize this guy and get out quickly. He glanced around the kitchen looking for anything useful. A T-shirt was draped over one of the kitchen chairs. He looked up at the ceiling fan. He didn't know if it would work but he threw the shirt over one of the blades of the fan and turned the fan on low. He needed to distract the shooter and was hoping the moving shadow cast by the shirt on the fan would draw his attention. He fired a few blind shots out of the front window and then bolted out the backdoor, down the hill.
EVAN WAS straining himself looking for any sign of movement. He worried that maybe they had escaped. He panned around the house looking for any sign of life in the tall grass until suddenly shots shattered the front window. He quickly moved his scope back to the house. The shots were harmless and didn't even come close to him. He wondered if perhaps Michael wasn't as good as everyone thought he was.
Some movement in the house caught his eye. A shadow was moving in the kitchen. A wall blocked his view of what was causing it. There was something odd about it. It had a strange repetition. He stared at it trying to figure out what it was.
“You looking for me?” A voice behind him spoke.
Evan's head whipped around and he was confronted by Michael aiming a gun at him.
Michael went down the hill and used cover to sneak back up the side so he could get behind him. If Evan had been more alert, he might have seen Michael darting between trees off to his right but he was too distracted by the strange shadow to notice.
“Don't make any sudden moves,” Michael warned.
Evan swallowed.
“I guess you are as good as everyone says.”
Michael relieved him of his rifle, tossing it away from them into the grass. “On your knees, hands on your head, cross your ankles.”
Evan did as requested while Michael kept the gun directed at his head.
“Wouldn't it have been easier to just blow up my car?” Michael asked.
“I was fresh out of car bombs,” he retorted.
“So you are here for me.”
“Actually, I got lost. I thought this was the SWAT training facility.”
Michael smiled. “You have quite a sense of humor for someone in your position.”
“Well you have to admit, I do look a little silly like this. What will the neighbors think?”
Michael chuckled. “Who are you working for?” His smile vanished and his mood turned serious.
Evan frowned and shrugged his shoulders. “I think you already know I'm not going to tell you that.”
“Hmm ... I'm unarmed?”
“Right,” Michael smirked. “Well you're no amateur, so I'm going to take a wild guess you weren't hired by the Russian Mafia. You were hired by someone a little more connected. Edward Morgan, perhaps?”
Evan looked at something behind Michael. “Looks like my back-up has arrived.” He looked back at Michael and grinned.
Michael thought it might be a trick, but was compelled to check. He glanced back quickly, scanning the immediate vicinity. As soon as Michael turned his head, Evan reached for a handgun hidden in an ankle holster. Michael turned back around just as Evan managed to aim it at him. On reflex, Michael put a bullet in his head and he fell backwards.
He cursed under his breath. He would have preferred to only have wounded him so he could question him.
Not surprisingly, Evan's pockets were empty. Cautiously walking to the road, he spotted a black BMW parked in the street. Figuring it for Evan's he opened the driver door and sat down. He found Evan's ID and cell phone in the glove box. Knowing it would be fake, he didn't bother with the ID. A brief search of the rest of his vehicle turned up nothing of interest. He pocketed the phone and headed back to the truck. After a thorough check to make sure there weren't any explosives attached, he started on his way back.
While waiting at the light in the center of town he scrolled through the recent calls on Evan's phone. He pressed redial on the last call and listened to see who answered.
“Yeah,” a man's voice came over the phone.
Michael was hoping whoever answered would say more than that.
“Hello?” the man said.
“Edward Morgan?” Michael asked.
“Who is this?” the man responded.
“I need to speak with Edward Morgan.”
“Speaking, who is this?”