Venice Black (Alex Polonia Thriller Book 1)

by Gregory C. Randall

  “It was all my fault. I left my handbag on a chair, and one minute later it was gone. So stupid of me. The consulate has been helpful.”

  “Especially at this hour of the night, I’m impressed,” Signor Portero added, still looking at Javier. “Let’s get you a new key. I will deal with any credit card issues that come up. We will start there. American Express can be helpful when they wish to be.” He led them into the lobby.

  “Thank you, Signor Portero.”

  Alex mixed Javier and herself a double vodka from the minibar in her room. The clock read 03:32.

  “Why did you follow me?” she asked.

  “There was no way, after what we just went through, that I was going to let you storm out of the apartment and cross half of Venice without looking out for you. And with Kozak’s men now really pissed off, I wanted to make sure you arrived safely.”

  “Really? I can take care of—”

  Javier stepped in close to Alex and, taking her face in his hand, slowly kissed her. It was a long, searching kiss—a kiss that she didn’t refuse. She gently pushed him away.

  “That was nice. Are you sure this is how you want the evening to end?”

  “It’s morning, and I can’t think of a better way to start the day.”

  She kissed him again. “Give me a few minutes . . .”

  “Only a few.”

  Alex kissed him again, then disappeared into the bathroom.

  Standing in front of the mirror, she was shocked by how she looked. The long afternoon and evening had not been kind, and a slight bruising was developing on her face from the slaps and blindfold. Her lip was a bit swollen, and her neck was sore from the injection needle’s pinprick. She thought of Javier. To sleep in the arms of a lover—there was nothing better.

  She slipped the robe over her bare shoulders and returned to the bedroom. Javier had stretched out on the bed, his shoes on the floor, his head on the pillow. He was sound asleep. She smiled and, cinching the robe up, climbed into bed and slipped her head into the crook of his arm.

  “Who the hell is this Alexandra Polonia?” Kozak demanded when he finished rifling through Alex’s handbag. He’d found her passport and driver’s license. “Cleveland, Ohio? The phone’s worthless; it’s locked with a code or something. The pictures in the wallet match Jurić. There are other cards, with Alexandra Cierzinski on them, an alias? How is this possible?” He held up the Glock. “This looks like Vladimir’s weapon. I should shoot him with it.”

  Maja took the handbag from Vuković and found a black wallet in the front pocket. She opened it and found a gold shield and credentials. “She’s a police officer, dammit. Attila, you see what we are up against. She’s obviously working with the United States to undermine us. Now, after this foolish adventure of yours, they will be doing everything to stop your candidacy. You are such an idiot.”

  Kozak wandered around the suite, smoking and looking for something to kick. He’d downed three shots of vodka.

  “Maja, you said these Americans have nothing. You said they don’t care. As it was during the war, the Americans are only concerned about themselves, not the people they whined about, the Serbian scum, or the Bosniaks. Then they ran away when the peace was made. Now they make trouble.”

  “Attila, don’t be such an ass. This is politics. This is what you wanted. This is the way to our fortune. After a few years, we disappear, new identities, money. All with our new friends, the Russians.”

  “I do not trust your friends. Those people know nothing of our culture, of our race, of our past. Besides, I think they like the Serbs more. They have meddled in our country for too long. Now, when we are being overrun by refugees, they decide to help, all because they cannot keep the peace in their own lands. This new vermin, these so-called migrants, are nothing more than opportunists from their broken countries. Croatia will be destroyed by these invaders, these new Turks.”

  “Attila, that war was fought hundreds of years ago,” Maja continued. “The war we fight is now. These people are fleeing because their own countries are disasters. Fighting between the mullahs and the Sunni and the Shia—it will never be over. Those fanatics want to overpower us with this mass of depraved humanity being pushed in front of the mullahs’ war machine. We are at the edge of this war. If it can be stopped, it can only be in Croatia. That is why you are leading our party. That is why you have the support of the people of Croatia. A few dollars won’t be missed, but your chance at history is here, now. And my friends from the north will help.”

  “Like they helped the Ukrainians?” Kozak said and kicked back another shot of vodka.

  Vuković looked up from his computer, a smile on his face. “The newspapers in Cleveland suggest that this Polonia may be a criminal, or at least in league with her ex-husband, who made drugs. Both are members of the local police.”

  “What?” Kozak said. “Drugs, criminals, police?”

  Vuković tried to translate the articles he found when he did a search for “Alexandra Polonia Cierzinski Cleveland.” Dozens popped up.

  Intrigued, Maja and Kozak listened. Ideas began to spin in their heads, some good, most bad. All involved this imposter and American agent, Alexandra Polonia.

  CHAPTER 23

  Later on Wednesday morning, Ehsan Abdurrahman opened the door of his room at the Ai Reali to find his friends Asmir Fazlić and Cvijetin Radić standing outside. Both were dressed professionally, in dark suits, dark slacks, and open shirts. Each wore the light facial hair fashionable with young men. Ehsan looked up and down the hotel’s corridor, then with a nod let them in.

  “Asalaam alaykum, my brother,” Asmir said.

  “Wa alaykum asalaam, my brothers,” Ehsan responded. “Come in.”

  “Your mother, is she well?” Cvijetin asked.

  “These last few days have been hard on her. Yes, she is well. I told her you were arriving today, but I hope your past two days here have been worthwhile.” He told them about the kidnapping.

  “Allah smiled on her,” Cvijetin said.

  “And now the Americans are proving to be even more challenging. As you can expect, she is confused, and this CIA agent makes her even more so.”

  “Do you trust him?” Asmir asked.

  “I trust no American,” Ehsan said. “They only believe in themselves. This has been shown a thousand times. They are also naïve, as children. They come, they go, they rant, they blame. They take no responsibility. This Agent Castillo just believes what he is told or wants to believe. He is nothing. He will not stand in our way.”

  “Good,” Cvijetin said.

  The three friends sat around the small table. Ehsan offered them coffee, black and strong; they sipped from small cups.

  “Tell me about the conference venue,” Ehsan said. “Will our plans work?”

  “We were given a tour of the facility yesterday,” Asmir began. “Our ruse was the need for a future conference location for my company. The woman who gave us the tour was helpful. I left a business card. I’m sure she will not take the time to verify its authenticity. If she does, my assistant will only say that I am in Venice to prepare for a meeting. We walked through the various conference rooms. We were shown the electronics we could use. I told her they were all up-to-date and acceptable. She even showed us the room where tomorrow’s conference is to be held. A long table was set up, no guards, nothing for the moment. Some of the usual propaganda was draped on the table and hung from the ceiling. All is like we thought it would be. There were no surprises.”

  “Excellent. The campo?”

  “Everyone will come by boat. There is a landing area off to the side near the vaporetto stop. I asked the woman if this could be used for bringing our corporate leaders to the conference directly from the airport or the train station. She said yes and then described how it was set up for tomorrow’s conference. A blue carpet for the EU will be laid out on the paving stones leading from the landing to the building entrance. This is where many of the dignitaries will arrive; they wi
ll then be directed into the palazzo. Off to one side, there will be a lectern with a microphone and speakers set up to make announcements and for the press to ask questions.”

  “Good, and the distraction?” Ehsan asked.

  “Completed,” Asmir said. “I tried the duplicate we were given last week, in a small lake in the mountains. The explosion was acceptable, just enough to confuse people in the piazza. The cell phone set it off as expected. The canal in front of the conference hall cannot be more than a few meters deep. It will not block the mobile-phone signal, and the explosion will provide more than enough of a diversion.”

  “You are troubled, my brother?” Cvijetin asked. “You seem concerned.”

  “A woman who looks so much like my mother she could be her twin,” Ehsan said, “has mysteriously appeared, compliments of the CIA. Her presence, just as all this is coming together, is too much of a coincidence. She was abducted along with my mother. They were both unharmed, but my mother is not taking it well. We need to be vigilant. While I believe that our friends would not divulge our operation, we must be watchful.”

  “This woman, she is American?” Cvijetin asked.

  “Yes, and her appearance, as I told you, is disquieting. Their similarities are too close to be a coincidence.”

  “And they did nothing about Kozak? File a police report?”

  “No, it is all strange,” Ehsan added. “If I did not know my mother, I would question whether it even happened. It could be something to confuse us. Therefore, we need to be extremely careful. I also believe that Kozak and that pig Vuković will now be even more suspicious and on guard.”

  “We are prepared,” Asmir said. “Our diversion will be more than adequate.”

  “Excellent, my brothers, excellent. In the chaos, I will have more than enough time to kill the man who murdered our families.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Javier’s phone rang four times and went to voice mail. Soon afterward it started to ring again. Waking, he reached into his pocket, fumbled with the buttons, and said, “Hello?”

  Alex’s head popped up over Javier’s arm. She had a quizzical look on her face. The clock read 9:01.

  “Hello? That’s all I get? What are you doing?” the voice said loud enough to be heard throughout the room.

  “Mom? Is that you?” He looked at the clock. “Why are you up, it’s two o’clock in the morning there.”

  “I know you are a very special government agent, and I shouldn’t be calling, but you didn’t call last night like you said you would. I was worried.”

  “My mother,” Javier said softly to Alex. “I completely forgot to call her.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Javier’s mother asked.

  Alex smiled at Javier’s exasperation. “You were busy. Should I talk to her, explain?”

  Javier slowly shook his head. “I’m having breakfast with an associate.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “No, Mom, you do not. And why are you up so late?”

  “You didn’t call.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. They have me very busy here. I’m just fine. It’s early here, and I’m in the middle of an important meeting. Can I call you later?”

  “Of course, it’s just that I was worried. Have you been to church yet? It’s Ash Wednesday.”

  “No, but I will.”

  “Make sure. Call me this evening, your time.”

  “Love you, Mom.” He clicked off.

  “That was cute,” Alex said, climbing out of bed. She cinched the sash tighter around her waist. “My mother can get like that.”

  “All mothers can get like that,” he said.

  Alex padded across the room and adjusted the blinds so sunlight streamed in through the slats.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Sorry I fell asleep.”

  “There will be a time when we are both awake, I hope.”

  Before Javier could answer, his phone rang again and lit up. “Good morning, Sergeant.”

  She waited.

  “Be right there.” He clicked off.

  He swung his legs out of bed and adjusted his jeans and jacket. “I hate falling asleep in my clothes.”

  Alex smiled. “I was going to do something about that, but there are rules.”

  “Sometimes rules are made to be broken. I need to get back to Nox. Stuff happening. Will you be all right?”

  “Quit asking me that. I’m a cop, though I’m beginning to wonder after being caught off guard like that yesterday. That won’t happen again.”

  “You will be fine.”

  Alex slipped into the massive bathtub, parting the thick layer of bubbles. She sipped from a tall flute of champagne and sighed. “Finally.”

  Through the bathroom doorway she could see the room-service cart. What remained of the breakfast she had ordered after Javier left was scattered across its white tablecloth. She was still hungry.

  No matter how she tried, she could not push any of the last two days out of her head. Even in her troubled sleep, the dreams kept waking her. The utter sense of hopelessness, the inability to move, the restraints, the gag—mostly the gag. What dark hole had she fallen into? Her cop sense tried to sort through everything. Attila Kozak and his thugs, and the woman—who was she? Marika’s violent attack on Kozak as they had escaped; the masculine body odors and tobacco that had permeated the men’s clothing; the woman’s voice, shrill and demanding; the stench of a perfume Alex could not identify; the rough hands; the pinprick to her neck. She rubbed the raw spot below her right ear. Bastards.

  And the idiots Turner and Damico—what was their game? All this for the money? Millions of dollars will make you do stupid stuff.

  The hot water eased the tension in her shoulders and back. She submerged herself beneath the bubbles, and for a moment—a brief moment—everything went away. Her eyes tightly closed, and her mind went blank; she relaxed, slowly rising up through the foam. She softly blew away the bubbles on her lips and took in a deep breath.

  The room’s portable phone rang next to the tub.

  “Hello?”

  “Signora Polonia, this is Sonia at the front desk. Signor Portero has contacted American Express, and they understand. Your credit is valid, but you will need to contact them. There is also an envelope for you at the desk. A tall, and if I may say so, very handsome man left it. He did not leave his name. Do you want me to bring it to your room?”

  “Thank you, Sonia. That isn’t necessary. I will be down in a little while. Are there any other messages?”

  “Someone called twice. A man’s voice. I told him you were unavailable. He did not leave his name but did leave a number. Shall I give it to you?”

  It had to be Javier. Who else knew she was here?

  “No, that isn’t necessary, but would you be kind enough to return the call and forward it to my room? I am not in a position to take down the number.”

  “I understand, one minute.”

  She set the phone on the edge of the tub, refilled her glass, and drifted into reverie—Javier the focus.

  The phone rang again. “Hello?” Alex said in a soft voice. “Good morning again.”

  “Alex? Bob Simmons here. Are you okay?”

  Stunned, Alex carefully set the glass back on the tub’s edge. Why is my partner calling, especially at this time of the morning—this morning?

  “Yeah, I’m fine but—it’s the middle of the night!”

  “Good, I tried your cell phone but got some guttural answer in a language I didn’t understand. Then they hung up.”

  She hesitated and thought for a moment. “My handbag with my phone and passport was stolen last night. My Cleveland creds and badge were in it as well. The captain will be pissed, but not as pissed as I am. Can you tell him?”

  “Jesus, sure. I’m up early, the captain wants me in. But that’s not all of it. The captain got some strange calls from the FBI Cleveland field office yesterday. They had a thousand questions. I thought you
were on vacation.”

  “I am, or at least trying. What were they about?”

  “About what your involvement was with Ralph. All very roundabout—you know how the Feds can be. They also wanted to know why you were in Venice. Hell, the captain didn’t even know you were in Venice.”

  “Some things are going on here. Did they ask anything else?”

  “Only about your husband. His escape from prison has thrown all that shit back up in the air.”

  Dumbfounded, she paused. “Escaped? I don’t know anything about his escape. What the hell are you talking about?” She was now standing, suds sliding down her body.

  “I thought you knew.”

  “How was I supposed to know, Bob? What the hell?”

  “He was knifed in the prison exercise yard late Sunday afternoon. They took him to the local hospital. The initial report came back that it was not as bad as it appeared. Sometime Monday night, when the guard went to take a piss, Ralph escaped. The CCTVs show him in an orderly’s uniform. He went out the front, hailed a cab, and disappeared. There’s a manhunt all over central Ohio for the son of a bitch.”

  “Goddammit, Ralph’s escaped from prison?”

  “Yeah, and with you out of the country, some of the people in Internal Affairs think you had something to do with it. Some think you set it up and are waiting for him.”

  “Me? I’m four thousand miles away. How could I be involved? You are the only one who knows where I am. I didn’t tell anyone other than you; all I told the captain was that I would be traveling out of the country. My parents know—that’s it, no one else.”

  “I haven’t said a thing to anyone, but it will just be a matter of time. Alex, I’m not going to lose my pension over that husband of yours. If Internal Affairs asks, I’ll have to tell them.”

  “I understand. You do what you need to do. Besides, the Feds know exactly where I am and what I’ve been doing. So, don’t worry. Where are you?”

  “In my car. I’m calling on a burner phone. But how the hell does the FBI know where you are?”

  For the next fifteen minutes, Alex told him everything that had happened since she landed in Venice. While she talked, she ran a towel over her body and slipped on a robe.