The Fixers (Infernum Book 4)

by Percival Constantine

  The kitchen doors opened and Vincente stepped into the room. His blade was still extended and he ran a cloth along the surface, wiping the blood from the steel. He jerked his head towards the kitchen and then returned through the doors.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” Quartermain finished the bourbon and set the glass on the counter. He followed Vincente through the doors, Julie by his side.

  When they entered the kitchen, they found Kandinsky still alive. He was whimpering, shallow cuts all over his body. A few of his fingers were bent in the wrong direction, too. He curled into the fetal position on the counter. Quartermain grabbed his hair and yanked his head so the two men could look each other in the eyes.

  “You got something for me yet? Or would you prefer to have another private chat with Vincente?”

  Kandinsky shook his head as best he could with his hair gripped tightly in Quartermain’s hand. “Brezhnev. Nikolai Brezhnev.”

  “Who’s that?” asked Quartermain.

  “My boss. I work at the prison, but also do things for him. Beat inmates he tells me to. Transport drugs inside. Arrange meetings.”

  “What interest does Brezhnev have in Angela and Samarin?” asked Julie.

  “Must be a facilitator, working on Infernum’s behalf,” said Quartermain. “What were your orders?”

  “He said help the American get the old man out.”

  “Where are they?” asked Quartermain.

  Kandinsky shook his head, sputtering. “I-I don’t know.”

  Quartermain grunted and released Kandinsky’s hair just as he drove his fist into the side of the guard’s face, slamming his head against the counter. Kandinsky screamed in protest.

  “I’m telling the truth!”

  “Right, of course you are.”

  “Quartermain, ease up,” said Julie. “He’s probably on the level.”

  Quartermain huffed and turned away. Julie stepped into his place and looked down at Kandinsky’s bruised, cut face. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”

  “No. After they escape tunnel, there was a car waiting for them. I do not know what car or who driver was. My job was just to get them into tunnel.”

  “And what were you to do after you got them out?” asked Julie.

  “Return to work like I knew nothing.”

  Julie nodded. “Thanks.” She turned to Quartermain and glanced at Vincente out of the corner of her eye. “We need a meeting.”

  Quartermain nodded. “Vincente, get Baxter and meet us in the restaurant.”

  Vincente acknowledged the order with a slight bow and walked towards the office area. Quartermain and Julie returned to the restaurant area and grabbed a seat at a table. A few moments later, Baxter entered and joined them at the table, setting a tablet down on its surface. Vincente leaned against the wall and folded his arms.

  “All we’ve got now is a name,” said Quartermain, his speech mostly for Baxter’s benefit. “Nikolai Brezhnev.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” said Baxter.

  “Who is he?” asked Julie.

  “Mob boss, well-connected. No one does anything in Moscow without him knowing about it,” said Baxter.

  “So the kind of man who could help facilitate a prison riot to cover up an escape,” said Julie.

  Baxter nodded. “Ohhh yeah.”

  “All we know is he helped Angela get Samarin out of Vanko. It still doesn’t give us much more to go on,” said Quartermain.

  Julie rapped her fingers on the table as she ran through theories in her head. She tried to remember what transpired two years ago between Angela and Christian. Then she paired that up with what Quartermain told her about Angela’s single-mindedness.

  “Angela tried to kill Dante. He survived, left a fake body in his place to throw us off his trail. And it worked, for a time,” said Julie.

  “Maybe the whole thing was a ruse,” said Baxter. “Angela pretends to kill Dante, but really they were working together the whole time. No one would believe she’d work with Infernum again after that.”

  Julie shook her head. “Doesn’t fly. Angela contacted me shortly after Christian’s death, told me she killed Dante. The guy we found in Dante’s place? He was shot in the head. Once I said that to Angela, she told me he wasn’t dead.”

  “That blows Bax’s theory out of the water,” said Quartermain.

  “Right, and it brings us back to where we started—why would Angela Lockhart do another job for Infernum? She’s more likely to shoot any operatives who come to her than work with them.” Julie cast a look in Quartermain’s direction. “It’s like you said, she’s single-minded. She’s only after one thing.”

  “Which is what?” asked Baxter.

  “Her husband was killed a few years ago,” said Julie. “The Agency said the investigation led nowhere and the promise of finding the guy responsible is how Dante was able to lure her over to Infernum.”

  “Right, but then Pierce got mixed up in it, ended up dead, and she disappeared,” said Quartermain. “Dante must have a lead on the guy. It’s the only reason she’d sign up with him.”

  “Yeah, but he lied to her once about that,” said Julie. “Why would she trust him again?”

  “Hold up, you said she’s been gone two years?” asked Baxter.

  “Yeah, why?” asked Quartermain.

  Baxter’s bent elbow rested on the table and he held open his hand. “Well, there you have it. Two years following cold leads, it’s enough to make a person desperate. Especially if this job is the only thing keeping you going.”

  Julie and Quartermain exchanged looks. “He’s got a point,” she said.

  “There’s more,” said Baxter. “Once we got back, I began looking into Angela’s background, running facial recognition to see if I could get any hits. Turns out she hasn’t been completely off the grid.”

  He picked up the tablet and brought up the image of a passport. When he showed the screen to the others, they saw a United States passport. The name read ANNA PIERCE, but the photograph was definitely Angela.

  “Two years ago, Angela used this identity when she came to Moscow,” said Baxter.

  “Yeah, but why? There are other places—better places—she could lie low,” said Julie.

  “Because she was looking for Beam’s killer,” said Quartermain. “On his last mission for the Agency, he and Pierce were investigating an arms dealer out of Russia named Carter Brennen.”

  “Right. So Lockhart comes here, seeking out Brennen,” said Baxter. “Except she can’t find any trace of him. One year goes by, then two, and finally she’s at the end of her rope. Then bam! Dante turns up like a fairy godmother, shows Angela he’s got a lead on Brennen. It’d have to be real, she’d need to verify it after last time. So she does, everything’s legit, and all she has to do is break an old man out of prison.”

  “So the real question is how do we get her out of hiding,” said Quartermain. “Brezhnev might be our best lead.”

  “I’ll go you one better,” said Baxter. He took the tablet back and brought up a browser window, searching for an article he’d read and saved. “You talked about Brezhnev, well turns out something interesting happened with him recently.”

  Baxter passed the tablet to Julie, who quickly skimmed the article. “‘Witnesses say the shooter was a blond woman, around mid-thirties in age. She attacked the entourage of Nikolai Brezhnev, long-rumored to be a major player in organized crime.’”

  “So she went after Brezhnev,” said Quartermain.

  “He’s the person I’d go to if I were looking for an arms dealer in Moscow,” said Baxter.

  “Yeah, me too,” said Quartermain.

  “So she tries to kill Brezhnev and in return, he helps her pull a job for Dante? Doesn’t make sense,” said Julie.

  “Unless Dante’s forcing him to play nice,” said Quartermain. “Could mean he’s willing to settle the score with her.”

  “And that’s where my idea comes into play,” s
aid Baxter with a wide grin.

  CHAPTER 10

  Before going to Vanko, Angela made sure to make arrangements for a second safehouse. Her and Samarin would need a place to lie low after the escape and Angela didn’t trust Tauna in the least. So she used what little money she had left to rent out a place on the other side of town.

  She had the driver drop them off in the center of the city, then they called a cab and took it to the safehouse. The studio apartment was even smaller than Angela’s own home, as impossible as it may seem, and she definitely didn’t have time to furnish it at all. When they entered the apartment, Samarin saw a large, open space, with two rolled-up sleeping bags on the floor. There were also some folded clothes and towels sitting beside the bedrolls and a small suitcase.

  “Not exactly the Hilton,” said Angela, taking off her suit jacket. She cringed a bit as she moved, and Samarin came closer to help her. Angela flinched, pulling away. Samarin held up his hands in a show of good faith.

  “You helped me,” he said. “Now let me help you.”

  She hesitated but relaxed her shoulders and allowed Samarin to help her out. There were a few tears in the shirt and beneath them, wounds with dried blood. Samarin inspected the wounds.

  “These aren’t too deep, but we should clean them up. Do you have any supplies?”

  Angela nodded. “First aid kit in the bathroom, under the sink.”

  Samarin went to retrieve the kit. Angela dropped her jacket on the floor and began to unbutton her shirt. When Samarin returned with the kit, he froze in mid-stride and immediately turned his back to her.

  “I’m sorry!”

  Angela couldn’t help a brief snicker. “Relax, I’m sure you’ve seen a woman in a bra before.” She took off her shirt and dropped it on her jacket. “Besides, you’re going to need to see the wounds if you plan to bandage them.”

  She sat on the ground in a cross-legged position. Samarin sat behind her, resting on his knees. He took the cloth he’d run the tap water over and cleaned the dried blood off the wounds. From there, he applied some antiseptic to the wound and Angela’s body tightened from the sting.

  “You still haven’t told me why you rescued me,” said Samarin.

  “Ever hear of a group called Infernum?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have.”

  “Well, they’ve heard of you,” she said. “Pretty interested in making sure that you get out alive.”

  “And the others?”

  “They’re with an outfit called the Agency,” said Angela. “Supposedly work for the US government, but turns out that’s actually a ruse. They’re at the beck and call of a group of very influential criminals.”

  Samarin hesitated before he asked his next question. “This is about LD-68, isn’t it?” His voice wavered as he spoke.

  “Yeah, it is,” she said. “The people the Agency work for, they want Fury. For what, who knows?”

  She heard Samarin’s sigh. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  “Then why’d you create it?”

  “I was working for the Ministry of Defense. My work at first was in countering the effects of chemical weapons. But over time…”

  “You created Fury…” Angela began.

  “Once I realized what it could do, I knew it was too dangerous to be in anyone’s hands,” said Samarin. “I destroyed all my data and stole the only sample of the weapon. But in my attempt to escape, I was caught. The government locked me up in Vanko and Fury…I don’t know what happened to it after that.”

  “Somehow it got into the Agency’s hands,” said Angela. “A thief working for Infernum stole it from a black market auction and destroyed it.”

  “I see…” muttered Samarin, applying a bandage to one of her wounds. “This means the only means of replicating the weapon is locked inside my head.”

  Angela nodded. “That’s why you’ve suddenly become so popular.”

  “But your organization—”

  “Not my organization,” she snapped, casting an annoyed glance over her shoulder. “I don’t work for Infernum, this is just a temporary arrangement in exchange for something I need.”

  “Very well, my apologies,” said Samarin, beginning to clean another wound. “Infernum destroyed Fury, now they rescue me from the Agency. Why?”

  “I don’t really know.”

  “They destroyed Fury, so are they the good guys?”

  She scoffed. “Wouldn’t go that far. Infernum lives in a very murky corner of the world. Nothing is black and white, just lots and lots of gray.”

  Samarin sighed. “How I long for simplicity.”

  “You and me both.”

  He finished bandaging the wound and moved on to the last, cleaning the dried blood with the damp cloth. “What are they offering you?”

  “A location.”

  “Location of what?” When he applied the antiseptic, Angela flinched again, but not as much as the previous times.

  “A man I’m going to kill.”

  Samarin paused. He hesitated before he applied the bandage. “Why do you want this man dead?”

  “Because he killed someone important to me.” Angela looked over her shoulder. “Are you finished yet?”

  Samarin nodded.

  “Good.” She rose from the floor and went over to the bedrolls. She picked up one pile of clothes and a towel and passed them to Samarin. “You’ll probably want to wash the stench of that prison off you. Take a shower, I’ll see about ordering some food.”

  “Thank you.” Samarin took the garments and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The sound of the shower followed shortly.

  Angela opened the suitcase and dug around inside, taking out a simple t-shirt to cover herself up. She took out a menu for a take-out restaurant and reached into her pocket for her phone. Just as she was about to call to place an order, the phone started to ring. Angela’s brow furrowed at the UNKNOWN CALLER label that appeared on the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Ms. Lockhart.”

  The deep voice spoke English with just the barest tinge of a Russian accent. A voice Angela heard before.

  “Brezhnev,” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I am calling about our arrangement,” said Brezhnev.

  “Our arrangement is done. If you’re looking for payment, then take it up with Tauna.”

  “No, no, not that arrangement. The one you and I made,” said Brezhnev. “About a Mr. Carter Brennen.”

  Angela froze at the name.

  “You are still interested in his location, yes?” asked Brezhnev after a few moments of silence passed.

  “What do you think?”

  Brezhnev gave a chuckle. “Excellent. Then perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

  “Maybe, provided I can deliver whatever it is you want.”

  “Brennen has become too expensive to keep around,” said Brezhnev. “Yourself, Infernum, and now the Agency. Drawing too many outsiders into my city. All I ask is you kill him and then leave Russia tonight. Never return.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” said Angela. “Where is he?”

  She turned the menu over and scribbled down the address on the back.

  “Remember, you leave tonight. And I never see your face again,” said Brezhnev. “Oh, and you may want to wear something nice. It’s something of a fancy party.”

  The line went dead. Angela sighed and looked up at the bathroom door. The shower was still running. She wasn’t surprised, Samarin likely hadn’t had the opportunity for a long, relaxing shower since before he was imprisoned. But then she thought about Brezhnev’s offer.

  Infernum promised her Brennen. Yet now she had the chance to take him out. All she had to do was go to this party, kill him, and then everything would be settled. She could turn Samarin over to Infernum and then get away.

  It could also be a trap, though. Angela didn’t think Brezhnev was the most trustworthy of sources. She dialed the contact number Taun
a gave her, but no answer.

  A burst of steam escaped as the bathroom door opened. Samarin stood in the doorway, wearing the slacks and the button-down shirt Angela had gotten for him. “A little too big,” he said, holding his arms to the sides and waving them to show how baggy the sleeves were.

  “Didn’t know your size, sorry,” said Angela.

  “So, what happens now?” he asked.

  Angela held up the menu. “There’s a burner phone and some cash in my bag. You can use it to order some food. Meanwhile, I have to run an errand.”

  Samarin raised an eyebrow. “What errand?”

  “I might have the chance to end this tonight,” she said. “Got word from a contact that the guy I’m looking for will be at some party.”

  “You trust it?”

  She shook her head. “No. But I also don’t trust Infernum to come through on their side of the bargain. I have to consider every possible lead. Besides, even if it is a trap, not the first time the odds have been stacked against me.”

  Samarin scoffed and mumbled something under his breath in Russian. Angela stared hard at him. “What was that?”

  He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

  “What?” she asked, a bit more firm as she moved closer to him.

  Samarin sighed and pointed at her. “You have a death wish, girl.”

  She shoved the menu into his hand. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 11

  After leaving the safehouse, Angela made a quick stop at her apartment. She changed into something more fitting for the party and called a cab to the Radisson Royal Ukraina Hotel.

  She made a few more attempts to reach Tauna, but received no answer. She wore a long, black dress with a slit up one side. Just above the slit, she had a silenced pistol holstered to her thigh. Her purse held a few extra magazines and also a combat knife.

  With any luck, Angela would be able to get into the banquet, pull Brennen out of sight, kill him and then get back to the safehouse. In practice, though, she worried it would be a little more difficult to pull this job off.