Green Eyed Burn

by David A. Lloyd

  “Operation Arctic Snow.”

  She nodded and told John about how she and Vladimir worked together with Gene Hatton and Catherine Wildman. “We were on the periphery of a breakthrough in our investigations when the home offices in both Moscow and Ottawa suddenly ended the operation. They did not tell us why, they simply recalled us.” She sipped at her tea. “As I prepared to leave I received a drop from one of my informant’s. The message told me that something was about to break in Fairbanks. I postponed my departure and followed the lead. When I arrived at the Alaska location used by the Ink Cartel, I discovered a party in progress. There were major players from Colombia, Bolivia, Miami, Toronto, and Montreal. It was there I first met Raymond Smyles.”

  “Smyles,” John said. The name was bile in his throat.

  “You have met him?” Nikita asked.

  John nodded, “I’ve had the misfortune. I sure St. James told you.”

  “Nyet. She was vague on some of the details.”

  John thought about that. “Go on.”

  “Smyles thought I was a prostitute brought in for the party. It seemed advantage at the time to let him.” With a bit of effort Nikita crossed her legs.

  “After a few drinks, Smyles became rather loose-lipped. He spoke about a 164

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  group he associated with and dropped a few names: Stein, DeTully. He also said something vulgar about one of the woman on the payroll.” She sat her tea down on a coaster. “Eventually I coaxed him into demonstrating the little toy he had flaunted.”

  “Little toy?”

  “Smyles had a power notebook that he always kept. He boasted about how he kept all the details of the Group stored on it. Names and information about several key people placed in the RCMP and the Federal Security Service. Smyles was extremely paranoid. He constantly referred to it as his insurance policy.”

  “That told you why the investigation was terminated,” John interjected.

  “Da. Yes it did. There are powerful people in the upper levels of both organizations under Group influence.” Nikita paused and shifted her weight on the couch. “After Smyles fell asleep I downloaded the notebook’s memory and slipped out. I called Vladimir and had him meet me at a prearranged point. Then I hide out. I spent almost a week in that forsaken town, barely staying ahead of Smyles and his people. I knew I could not leave. They had the airport watched.

  “I finally got the call from Vladimir. He was waiting for me at the safe house. On my way I accidently bumped into Jefferson Stein, who was still posing as Gene Hatton. It was just pure dumb luck. We both stopped at the same red light. That was when I assumed both he and Cathy Wildman were under the Group’s influence.”

  “What did you do?”

  “It was a race across the tundra, but I managed to meet up with Vladimir and give him the disk before Stein and his people caught me.” A slight tremble escaped her thin lips. “I do not know what happened to Vladimir after that point, or the disk.”

  *****

  “... or the disk,” she said.

  DeTully slid up the sound lever as the van door slid open. He placed his finger to his lips as Lydia entered.

  “That is why I came here to see you Mr. Riel,” the accented voice buzzed from the speaker over DeTully’s head.

  “I know that voice,” Lydia whispered. She placed a tray with two paper coffee cups on a small shelf. “It’s the Russian bitch. She’s dead.”

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  “I guess she got better,” DeTully said.

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Talking to Riel,” he opened a cup of coffee. “Incidentally, you forgot the doughnuts.”

  “Quiet. I’m trying to listen.”

  *****

  “After I returned home I started to ask questions, to find out what happened to Vladimir. Your government did not know. My government would only tell me that he died in the service of his country. I have been everywhere Mr. Riel, and have talked to everyone I could find. No one knew or would tell me,” Nikita paused, trying to reclaim her voice. “I am a national hero with several medals pinned to my chest, including the Order of Gorbachev and the Yeltsin Award of Honor, yet no one would tell me how my— how Vladimir died.” She swallowed hard. “I had a few favors owing, so I pulled them in and received a permit to return to Canada and investigate it myself. I met with St. James just the other day and she told me what happened to Officer Wildman.” Nikita looked at John knowingly. “I was wrong about Cathy. I suspected she was the leak, but now I do not think it so. St. James told me that Cathy found Vladimir dead and that she did know anything about a computer disk. St. James also told me that you were involved in the fallout afterwards.” Nikita stopped and gathered herself. She had come a long way for some unpleasant answers she needed to hear. “Did Cathy Wildman tell you how Vladimir died?”

  “He must have meant a lot to you to come all this way to learn his fate.”

  “He was my brother.”

  John felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Mr. Riel, do you know how my brother died?”

  “I’m sorry. No.”

  Nikita remained sitting rigid. “Then that is that,” she said and rubbed her tired eyes. Then suddenly her spine seemed to give under the weight of the burden she had been shouldering the last few months and Nikita sank into the couch. “Vladimir and Cathy Wildman are dead. I am crippled and the Group of Ten can still ship that death into my home.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “You do not have to apologize.”

  John was silent for a moment looking at the Russian woman. “May I ask 166

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  you a personal question?” When Nikita nodded, John continued, “What happened? Catherine didn’t believe you defected and talking with you now I understand why.”

  Nikita stared at John for a long time, attempting to determine his motives. John was about to apologize for infringing upon her candor when Nikita held up her hand. She accepted his question as sincere and placed her trust in his integrity.

  “Thank you,” she said. Nikita wrapped both hands around her mug of tea, as if gathering strength from its warmth. “After Vladimir escaped, Smyles and Stein had me taken to one of their safe houses.” Her words started to come in gasps, “There I was blindfolded, stripped and dropped into a cold cellar dungeon. Ea-each day I was t-tortured by a psycho who referred to me as his little Nazi p-plaything.”

  “Oh! I— uh,” John stammered. He touched the small scar Smyles left him with under his eye. “I thought I had it rough when they held me.”

  “You they needed alive. M-me, I was just a means of amusement for a group of sick men.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t have to continue.”

  Nikita was a very proud woman. She won the Silver in the Commonwealth of Independent States’ Games for long distant sprinting and the Bronze for fencing. She found it difficult describing her ordeal with the doctors in Moscow, but here with John Riel it was different. There was something about this man she trusted. She felt comfortable in his presence. I can bare my soul to this man and not be afraid.

  “The week before I escaped I w-was beaten every day, su-sexually abused, doused in fr-freezing water an-an-an—” her accent grew thick and her words came slower, sluggish, as if she were screaming underwater, “T-they wuwould torture me with li-li-live w-wires…h-held to m-my vulva,” Nikita blurted out, then closed her eyes.

  She seemed to shrivel before John’s eyes. This proud woman. Caged, beaten, humiliated. A shell of her former self.

  John was paralyzed by the sudden flood of emotion. He wished he never asked the question, but knew he couldn’t. It was in his nature. He wished he knew some magical words that would make every thing okay, but those words do not exist. He knew—he had looked for them before.

  “I am sorry,” Nikita said. She had regained what little of her dignity she could. “I should not have burdened you w
ith that.”

  Even though he noticed she did not cry John handed her a box of tissues. 167

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  “Don’t be sorry. I probably shouldn’t have asked.”

  Nikita accepted a tissue and dabbed at her dry eyes. “I did not have to answer your question if I did not want to, Mr. Riel.”

  John conceded. “Thank you, and please call me John.”

  “John,” Nikita smiled and some of the pain faded.

  “You don’t have to continue if you don’t want.”

  “Pozhalusta, but I must.” Nikita took a deep breath and blew it out slowly to calm her breathing. “When I escaped, I was lucky and picked up by some campers. I could scarcely walk and was bleeding heavily. I would not have survived out in the elements much longer. They thought I was a rape victim and took me to the closest hospital. Luckily on the Canadian side of the border.”

  John watched her closely. He admired her strength of purpose.

  “By that time, Smyles and his men had more pressing matters and did not look for me.” She sipped her tea. “When I was well enough to travel, I was sent back to Moscow. I spend months just learning how to walk again. I was shot in the legs and never treated,” she thought of her Silver and just as quickly pushed it aside.

  “They may be healed on the surface, but the wounds run deep,” John whispered as much to himself.

  Nikita understood. “When the assignment ended I planed to retire and raise a family.”

  “And now?” John asked before he realized what she was saying.

  “I can no longer conceive,” she said flatly.

  John’s heart sunk. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been much help. I seem to be dragging up bad memories.”

  Nikita placed her mug on the coaster, “Do not apologize. You may not have known the answer to my question, but you have been helpful in other ways,” she said softly.

  John snapped his fingers. Computer disk! “Wait! Smyles asked me about a disk. Could it be the same one?”

  Her eyes seemed to brighten a little. “It is possible. Do you know where it is?”

  “That’s the problem. Catherine said she didn’t get anything from Vladimir. He was already dead when she found him. I wonder what happened to it.”

  “I do not know. Destroyed perhaps.” She slouched slightly. “Whatever happened we may never know. Vladimir and Cathy took that information with them to the grave.”

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  *****

  “She lied!” Lydia exclaimed, “Wildman lied to St. James about the disk. Jesus Christ!”

  “What do you think she did with it?” DeTully asked.

  Lydia was getting excited at the prospect. “Do you know what that means?”

  she asked, her breath coming in gasps.

  DeTully scratched his head. “What?”

  Lydia’s nipples were erect. “She was turning,” she said. DeTully pursed his lips and watched her.

  “She kept the chip so she could hold it over our heads,” her words flowed faster. “That little bitch was going to play both sides of the field,” Lydia predicated. She began to caress her left nipple through the thin cotton blouse with the tip of her finger.

  “She was going to swing both ways?” DeTully asked.

  “Or blackmail us,” Lydia closed her eyes and shuddered. “Too bad. She might have been useful.” She opened her eyes and realized DeTully was drooling. Lydia stopped her fondling. “When is Smyles expected back?”

  DeTully cleared his throat. “Not for a while,” he said smiling.

  “Shit. Him and his little revenge fetish.” Lydia thought for a moment.

  “Here’s what you’re going to do. When the Russian leaves, I want you to follow her.”

  “Right.”

  “I want to see her obituary.”

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  BOOK THREE

  Revelations & Consequences

  28

  The Riel Residence

  North of Cobourg, Ontario, Canada

  10:47 hours 20 August, 2020

  Nikita noticed a photograph on the end table next to her. “She is beautiful. Is this Catherine?”

  “Yes.” A few memories returned to haunt John, but just the good ones. The photograph of Catherine in her full dress red tunic showed up in the apartment at Special Operations as he was preparing to leave. John suspected Kurt Burton left it for him.

  “We never did meet.” Nikita looked at John. “Director St. James said the two of you had a relationship.”

  “Director St. James should watch where she sticks her nose,” John replied.

  “Yeah, we had a relationship. We were in love.”

  “Of all the things to be in, love is the best.”

  John smiled. “Yes it is.”

  Hiding the fact that it took some effort, Nikita stood up. “I guess this is goodbye,” she said and held out her hand.

  John stood and accepted her offering with a gentle squeeze. “I’m truly sorry that I could not tell you more.”

  “Nyet. Do not be. You have told me more this morning than a dozen allegedly informed people have during the past few weeks.”

  Silently they both gravitated toward the door, each lost in their own thoughts. Reaching the threshold first, Nikita turned and faced John. Their 173

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  eyes connected as they searched for words that never come. They had survived through similar ordeals and they were scarred, but alive. The urge for human comfort suddenly overwhelmed them and they embraced each other warmly. John released Nikita and stepped back, ashamed that he may have taken advantage. “I’m sorry, I—”

  Nikita placed a long slender finger on his lips. “Nyet. I think we both needed that.”

  That eased his creeping guilt. “What are your plans now?” John asked.

  “I still have a week before my permit expires. I am sure I will think of something,” her smile was wide, but lacked conviction.

  John held open the door for her. “You take care of yourself, Nikita Triska.”

  She kissed him on the cheek. “You too, John Riel.”

  *****

  As Nikita backed the Embassy Volvo out of the driveway she started to reflect on the man she just met. How he had learned the hard way what she already knew—that in this business having a lover was dangerous. Although she did not learn what she wanted, Nikita realized visiting John was not a mistake. He was a good man who deserved a better hand that what fate dealt him. She then pushed another thought from her mind and continued to plan her revenge.

  Nikita shifted gears and pressed the gas pedal. The wind through her shortly cropped hair felt refreshing. She failed to notice the dark sedan following her.

  *****

  John massaged his temples. He could not stop thinking about what Nikita told him. The cover-ups and double dealing. Wheels within wheels. He thought about what she had endured. What he endured. What Catherine endured.

  What she’s enduring now?

  Just as that inkling struck him it was gone, when the sound of frantic pounding on the door shattered his thoughts.

  John leapt to his feet and pulled open the door. “Amber?” He noticed the dark bruising below her left eye, “What happened?”

  She rushed into his arms. “Oh God John! He’s crazy. He’s gone crazy!”

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  John held her. “Who?”

  “Hank. Hank is-was my boyfriend. He saw us dancing last night and waited for me at my house.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  She sobbed, “Yes.”

  John lead her into the living room. “I better call the police,” he said and helped her to the couch.

  “No!” she cried and pulled him down next to her. “No, please don’t go. Just hold me, please….”

  John gently placed his arm across her shoulders. “Sh… it’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay,” he whispered gently.

  “Thank you John,” she so
bbed, “thank you.”

  Lydia snuggled into his embrace and smiled.

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  29

  The By-Pass Inn

  Highway 401 and Country Road 45

  North of Cobourg, Ontario, Canada

  12:43 hours 20 August, 2020

  Nikita parked her Volvo in the parking lot and, with some difficulty, slid out. Her cane snug in her palm, Nikita slowly climbed the cast-iron stairs that lead to her second story room. She requested a ground floor room but was told there was a fishin’ terny all week and that was the only room left. She had not seen a soul since she arrived.

  Nikita already had her key in her hand as she reached the door. She hooked her cane on her arm and looked closely at the door. Old habits die hard. Nikita was satisfied nobody had entered her room while she was absent and unlocked her door.

  *****

  DeTully slowed his car to a stop on the far side of the lot. He stroked his crotch as he watched Nikita enter her room. When the door shut behind her, DeTully cheerfully strolled across the parking lot, casually screwing a silencer to his Smith & Wesson.

  *****

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  Nikita dropped her key on the night table and slumped back against the door. She blew out a sigh of relief.

  What are you doing? You should not be here. If Major Lizachevsky discovered what you were doing you would be in deep. He believes I am still in Toronto. Well, tomorrow my business here will be done and I will be back at the Embassy. The good Major will not be the wiser. Nikita unbuttoned her blouse as she crossed to the rear of the room and entered the washroom. She turned on the shower and stripped out of her clothing. Hanging on the back of the door was a robe. Nikita pulled it across her shoulders and crossed back toward the bed. She sat on the corner, picked up the phone and pressed “7" for room service.

  Movement outside.

  Nikita dropped the receiver and rolled off the bed to the floor. He had a gun. Lizachevsky?

  She crawled to the window and peered out.

  No one was there.

  Am I starting to get so paranoid that I am seeing conspiracies everywhere?

  A shadow moved by the side window. Nikita rolled toward it and peered out.