Nervous eyes! Nogorev thought as Romano handed him a menu.
“Mr Balard?” The other man asked once they were alone.
Nogorev recognized the voice of the man who’d phoned Craig Balard from the communications intercept. He nodded
“You have the file?”
Nogorev nodded again.
“Well! Let me have it.”
Nogorev shook his head, holding out his hand and motioning to receive payment first.
“I have already given you proof, Mr Balard. You have the photograph. If you want more than that, you will have to give me something in return.”
Photograph? he wondered. Of what? He slipped his hand into his coat pocket below the table, feeling for the small caliber silenced pistol, then spoke in a low firm tone. “Who are you?”
Nervous Eyes froze. “You’re not Balard!”
“Who are you working for?” Nogorev demanded, glancing down at his concealed weapon, ensuring the man opposite understood the danger he was now in.
Nervous Eyes glanced toward Romano, hoping to catch his eye, but the restaurant owner was talking to customers.
“You wouldn’t shoot me, not in here.”
“Answer me!” Nogorev demanded firmly. “Who are you?”
“SK.”
SK? Nogorev hid his surprise. “Sledkom?”
The SK officer nodded. The Sledsteveynny Komitet were civilian investigators and criminal prosecutors, the nearest thing Russia had to the FBI.
“How did you find out about MLI?” Nogorev asked.
“I’m leaving.”
“Don’t move!” Nogorev ordered quietly. He didn’t want to shoot. He wanted information, and to wait for Balard to arrive, but he couldn’t let the SK officer leave.
The Sledkom officer avoided eye contact as he slid across the seat towards the edge of the booth. Nogorev coughed loudly as he pulled the trigger, disguising the soft whisper from the silenced gun. The SK officer shuddered as the hollow point bullet tore through his chest, then he slumped forward. Nogorev pushed the other man back into the cushioned seat, fastening his coat to conceal his blood stained shirt, then walked casually to the counter where Romano stood.
“I need to go to the bank. I’ll be back soon. We won’t order until I return.” Nogorev said, eliminating the need for Romano to talk to the dead man.
“Of course, sir. Take your time.”
Nogorev strode out of the cafe, walked a short distance, and pretended to look into a shop window. At the corner, the stop lights turned red and Craig crossed the road with a handful of other pedestrians. He hurried towards the café, passing close by Nogorev, who glimpsed his face as he entered the café. It was enough to allow the assassin to commit his face to memory.
Inside the café, Craig approached the proprietor. “I’m meeting someone here. The table is registered under the name of Balard.”
“Of course sir. One of your friends has just gone to the bank, he’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“One of my friends?” Craig said uncertainly.
“Yes sir. The other gentleman is in the booth, at the end. Follow me.”
Craig waved him off. “That’s OK,” he said, then hurried to the booth where he found a man sitting upright with his head slumped forward. “I’m Balard . . .” He began, then realized the man was staring blankly at the table.
Craig slid into the booth beside the dead SK officer. He felt for a pulse and discovered the welling red smear on the man’s shirt. Craig glanced around quickly, ensuring he wasn’t being watched, then searched the dead man’s pockets. He found a wallet and a cell phone, both of which he slipped into his own pocket without looking at them.
“Craig Balard, don’t leave by the front door,” Mariena said from behind him.
He spun around startled. She stood with her back to him, facing an empty table. Craig stood and took a step towards her, staring at the side of her face, more curious now than surprised that she couldn’t see him.
“Who are you?” he asked, but she showed no sign of hearing him.
“I know you were there when Yegor Demidoff was killed. If you can hear me, do not go out the front door, or you’ll be killed too. Go out the back and turn left. Remember what I said, turn left. It’s the only way I can help you!” She turned her head and stared straight through him – at someone else. “What was his time of death?” She listened for a moment, then spoke to the empty table again. “You’ll be killed in less than one minute! Get out of there now!”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Craig asked, then he looked to the front of the cafe and locked eyes with Nogorev, who was peering in through the window, staring straight at him.
Craig turned and ran towards the back of the restaurant. Nogorev charged in through the front door, pushing Giorgio Romano aside and knocking a waiter to the ground as he raced towards the rear of the restaurant. He saw a woman standing beside the booth, facing an empty table, and swept his arm at her, intending to knock her aside. Instead, his arm passed right through her as if she wasn’t there. He stumbled off balance, confused for a moment, then the woman vanished.
Only a few meters away, Craig burst out into the alley behind the restaurant. The sound of traffic drew his attention to the right, towards the main road, then he remembered Mariena’s instruction to go left. He hesitated then ran left, down the alley towards a narrow side street.
Behind him, a holographic wall appeared across the alley, too high to climb, perfect in every detail: graffiti, grime, shadows, chipped concrete and flaking paint. The wall created the illusion that the alley came to an end, and the only direction Craig could have gone was right. When Nogorev charged into the alley, he sprinted to the right without a second thought, towards the main street where he was certain he would find Craig.
A block away, Craig ran through back streets, thinking the assassin was close behind him. Soon he reached a road, waved down a cab and climbed in. When the cab drove off, his heart sank as he remembered the table had been reserved in his name, linking him to the murder.
“Where to, buddy?” the driver asked.
“Just drive around Central Park for a while.”
“What?” The driver gave him a confused look.
“Central Park,” Craig said sharply.
The driver shrugged. “OK, it’s your money.”
The cab pulled into traffic and began doing the long circuit around Central Park as Craig examined the dead man’s wallet. It contained a few hundred dollars and a small identity card with a picture of the dead SK officer wearing a light grey business suit. The writing on the identify card was in an unintelligible foreign script. He turned his attention to the cell phone. It was a cheap prepaid device with only two numbers in its call history, one of which was his work number. He was tempted to call the other number, but the taxi driver would have heard every word.
He gave the driver his office address and pocketed the cell phone until he could call in private.
* * * *
Nogorev used a burner cell phone to call the offices of Goldstein, McCormack & Powell. He was furious with himself for losing contact with Craig Balard, unable to understand how his quarry had disappeared so fast.
When the receptionist answered, Nogorev said, “Hello. I have a letter to send to Mr Balard, but I don’t know his full name. Could you tell me what it is, please?”
“Yes of course, sir. It’s Craig J. Balard. He’s not in right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll have him return your call.”
Nogorev hung up, then dialed a number in the Russian Embassy. He read out a recognition code, then said, “I want the address of Craig J Balard, New York City.
“I have a C. J. Balard sir,” The operator said, then read out Craig’s number and home address.
“Put a trace on that phone. I want to know every call made from that number.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * *
Captain Ridley had a ruddy complexion and a nose for politi
cs. When Harriman and Woods entered his office, he introduced them to a well dressed man in his early forties. “This is Bill Corman. He’ll be working with us on the Goldstein McCormack case as a civilian advisor.”
Corman acknowledged the two detectives with a short, businesslike nod as he shook hands.
Ridley motioned them to seats in front of his desk, then turned to Harriman. “When will your report be ready, Rick?”
“I can give you an update this afternoon.”
“I’d like to tell the press we have a solid lead, and are expecting to make an arrest shortly.”
Harriman shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that, Captain. We don’t have much to go on, and we’re not planning arrests anytime soon.”
“I’m getting heat from the Commissioner. Those murdered lawyers had powerful friends who want answers. We need to wrap this up.”
“I can’t promise anything yet,” Harriman replied carefully.
“What about the warehouse you raided this morning?” Corman asked. “Did that produce any results?”
Harriman raised his eyebrows curiously, wondering how this civilian knew about the warehouse. “Not yet, but we’re working on it.”
Ridley looked puzzled. “What’s this about a warehouse?”
“We’re following a lead. It might be a dead end.” Harriman turned to Corman. “So, what’s your interest in this case?”
“There are a number of agencies involved,” Corman replied carefully, “with overlapping interests, and I represent them all.”
“Agencies? Which ones?”
“Take your pick,” Corman said evasively. “The important thing is to find those MLI documents.”
Harriman hid his surprise that Corman knew about MLI. “Don’t you mean, catch the murderer.”
Corman smiled. “Finding both is not incompatible.”
Ridley sensed the tension rising in the room. “I’ve been requested by the Commissioner to ensure Mr Corman is rendered every possible assistance by our department,” Ridley said, ensuring Harriman understood there was a political dimension to Corman’s arrival.
“I understand your Dr Chaing has a microchip he wants analyzed?” Corman said. “Possibly a foreign sourced device?”
This time Harriman couldn’t hide his surprise. “That’s right.”
“He doesn’t need to use back doors or personal connections. I’ll make sure his request for assistance is given the highest priority.”
Harriman realized Corman was not just helping, he was making sure Harriman understood he wielded a power that could open any door they needed. “Thanks, I’ll let him know.”
“I’m here to help,” Corman said. “Also, if you recover the MLI files, you’re to hand them all to me.”
Harriman frowned. “This is a murder investigation, and those files are evidence. I can’t just hand them over to you.”
Corman glanced at Ridley, “Tell him Captain, what he can do.”
Ridley swallowed. “Rick, Mr Corman has full authority. If he wants a box of files, that’s what he gets.”
Harriman’s surprise now turned to open irritation. “The hell it is!”
Ridley raised his hand, silencing Harriman’s protest. “There’s nothing I can do about it. This comes from . . . very high up.”
“OK, let’s talk to the commissioner–
“He has no more power over this than I do.”
“Am I still in charge of the case?” Harriman demanded.
“You’re in charge of the murder investigation,” Ridley said carefully. “However, if your interests and Mr Corman’s conflict, his interests prevail.”
“What the Captain is trying to say,” Corman said, “Is that your investigation is of interest to the Federal Government. I’m here to make sure you get every possible assistance, and we get . . . the outcome we’re looking for.”
“What outcome are you looking for?” Woods asked.
“All I can say is this case has national security implications, and that is not something you can discuss outside this office.”
“I see,” Harriman glanced at Ridley. “Is that all, Captain?”
“For now. Send your report through as soon as it’s ready.”
“I will.” Harriman walked out, closely followed by Woods.
Once out of earshot of Ridley’s office, Woods whispered, “Weird how Corman knows everything we’re doing.”
“Not so weird. That son of a bitch has got us bugged. Our office, forensics, probably Ridley’s office.”
“No way,” Woods said, looking around uncomfortably. “Really? Is he allowed to do that?”
“You heard him, it’s national security. That means he can do anything he damn well wants.”
“Are we going to help him?”
“We have no choice,” Harriman said, cooling off. “Who knows, he might actually be doing something important. But, if you’ve ever got anything confidential to tell me, ask me if I want coffee and doughnuts, and we’ll go for a walk. Then we’ll decide what to tell him.”
Woods grinned. “I like doughnuts!”
* * * *
Craig locked his office door, pulled the dead SK officer’s cell phone from his pocket and called the unknown number.
“Hello, Yegor?” A woman answered anxiously. “I was getting worried.”
Craig waited, unsure what to say.
“Yegor, are you there?” she asked.
“Yegor is dead.”
There was a stunned silence, then the woman said, “Who is this?”
“Craig Balard.”
“You killed him?”
“No, he was dead when I got there, but I saw the man who did it. He was a big guy, well built, really short hair. Kind of tough looking.”
“I’m surprised you escaped.”
“I can still make the trade.”
“It will have to be tomorrow.”
“I just need to know one thing,” Craig said, “did you murder Goldstein and McCormack?”
“No!” she snapped. “We are not killers.”
“Who did?”
“Probably the same man who killed Yegor. And now that he knows about you, you’re in danger. You need to disappear for a while.”
“That’s a little inconvenient right now.”
“I will contact you with an address where we can meet.”
“OK. What’s your name?”
“Valentina.”
“Valentina Petrovna?” he asked, surprised.
“How do you know my name?” she demanded suspiciously.
Craig sighed, shaking his head in confusion. “It’s a long story. All I can say is, I think I’m supposed to give you this file, but only if you tell me what happened to my father.”
“I’ll tell you what I know,” she said, and hung up.
* * * *
August 10, 2276
“You found another death certificate?” Wilkins asked.
“Sort of,” Mariena said. “It’s the same day, just a different time and location.”
“So you failed?”
“Not quite. I delayed his murder. This is a new event, in a different timeline. That’s why I have to try again.”
“But if you go to these new temporal coordinates, you’ll only be giving him a few minutes.”
“We have no choice,” Zikky said. “It’s the only location we can identify, where we know he’ll be. We have to time it close, or we’ll miss him.”
“Suppose he ignores what you tell him?” Wilkins asked.
“Then he’ll be dead,” Mariena said.
“He’s clearly listening to her,” Zikky said emphatically. “The last reset proves it. We know he wasn’t killed in the restaurant.”
“Let’s hope he keeps on listening to you,” Captain Wilkins said, “For our sake, as much as his.”
* * * *
Present Day
Craig took the elevator up to his apartment from the underground carpark. When he stepped off the elevator, he froze. His front door
was ajar. He listened a moment, but no sound came from inside. Cautiously, he pushed the door open to discover a tornado had hit his apartment. The sofa cushions were slashed, chairs were overturned, his computer was missing and his personal possessions littered the floor. He entered the apartment warily, finding nothing had been stolen from the lounge room.
In the bedroom, the drawers and all his clothes were on the floor, the lining of his jackets had been slashed and the mattress had been cut open and pushed off its base. Thirty dollars in cash from the bedside table lay on the floor.
He went back into the lounge room and dialed Nikki. “My apartment’s been broken into.”
“Oh no!”
“Do you mind if I come over tonight?”
“Of course not. I’ll be waiting.”
He hung up as he realized one item had been stolen – his father’s gun! He searched the bedroom floor, in case it have been buried under the items thrown haphazardly onto the carpet, but it was definitely gone. His sneakers had been partially buried, but still contained the flash drive. He pulled it free of the tape in the shoe and slipped it into his pocket.
When he entered the kitchen, he discovered every cupboard door was open, its contents thrown onto the floor, and Pete lay in a pool of blood in the corner having taken a single bullet to his tiny skull. Craig resisted the urge to wrap the cat’s body, certain its execution wasn’t simply a mindless act of brutality, but a message. He snatched up his brief case, with the counterfeit MLI master list still inside, and hurried out to the elevator.
Standing to the right was the female apparition he’d seen in his office and at the restaurant. Mariena had been speaking to no one, unaware he was in the apartment.
“I hope you’re listening. Use the fire stair, not the elevator!” Mariena said.
Craig stepped toward her, watching her curiously, no longer bothering to test if she could see him.
Mariena looked to her left. “Has his time of death changed?” She asked someone Craig couldn’t see, then turned back towards the landing. “We’re still showing your time of death at 9.08 PM. This was based on reports from a neighbor who discovered your body. Get out of there now!”
The Kremlin Phoenix Page 5