by JB Turner
He went to the filthy toilet, emptied his bladder, washed his hands and splashed some cold water on his face. When he returned to his seat, the barman had opened a fresh bottle of beer. "You looked like you needed another, man."
Reznick nodded and gulped some of the beer. The jukebox was now playing some blues song. Maybe Muddy Waters. He handed the barman a twenty dollar bill. "You got a phone I could use. Lost my goddamn cell this evening."
The barman took the money and handed him his cellphone. "Go right ahead."
Reznick took the phone and punched in Bobby Haines's number. He was kept waiting for nearly a minute until it answered.
"Jon, sorry, just got back in."
"Any luck?"
"Second time lucky. It's in L.A., alright. Hollywood Hills West. Not far from the number you're calling from. 8519 Hedges Place."
Reznick made a mental note.
"Swanky three million dollar homes and upwards. Nice part of town."
"Anything I should worry about?"
"Cops crawling all over the locale. Be careful."
"Anything else?"
"The property is owned by a Jerry Morlach. Aged seventy-eight. Phone registered to one of his companies, Entertainment Finance L.A. Big shot."
Reznick said, "How far on foot?"
"Three miles give or take. Best bet would be head east by cab on Sunset Boulevard for two and half miles or so, and then up a bit into the Hills. Don't do it on foot. Like I said, cops prowling about everywhere round there."
"How do you know?"
"How do I know what?"
"That cops are prowling everywhere?"
"Police radio scanner. Been listening in to everything coming out of L.A. since you called. They even mentioned your name."
Reznick said nothing.
"Stay safe."
Reznick hung up. He finished the rest of his beer and headed out the rear exit, past a beaten up patio with smokers. He climbed over a rear wall and no one said a thing.
Then he headed down a deserted side street and hard wired a parked tow truck. An oily Lakers hat was on the floor. He put it on and pulled it down low.
Reznick drove back down a parallel street, neon lit bars, cars crawling. He got back onto Sunset and headed east. He stopped off at a corner shop and bought a cheap pay-as you go cellphone.
He got back in the truck and punched Morlach's address into the coordinates and the GPS system kicked in. Reznick turned onto the Sunset strip again. Through West Hollywood. Past nail bars. Sky bars. Restaurants. Clubs. Shops.
The Satnav voice told Reznick to head left and he drove up Queens Road, snaking up through the Hollywood Hills. Higher through the winding road. Past million dollar homes. The houses got bigger and swankier the higher up he drove.
The views of Sunset peeking through the gaps between the houses. The vast sulphurous orange glow of the city spreading out below.
Reznick negotiated the streets as the GPS led him on to Hedges Place.
The road narrowed until he was in a cul de sac.
Reznick saw the cameras high up on the garage strafing the area. He took a few moments to run the options in his head. He looked around, a few houses overlooking the front. And almost certainly more houses the other side if he approached up the hillside.
He saw the clipboard with paperwork on the passenger seat. He reversed the tow truck up the driveway, pulled the handbrake and switched the engine off. He picked up the clipboard, got out of the truck, walked up to the entryphone door. He pressed the videophone buzzer and put the cellphone to his ear as he pretended to talk. The face of a heavyset guy flashed up on the small screen.
"Hey buddy, I'm here to pick up the vehicle that was involved in the freeway scrape earlier."
"I'm sorry, who are you?"
"8619 Hedge Place. I've got the right address?"
"I don't know anything about this."
"Hey buddy, I've just had my boss on my cell, busting my balls. No way I'm going back to the depot without that vehicle."
"Look, I'll be right down."
Reznick stood with his back to the door, waiting for the man to appear. The door opened and a heavyset guy stepped forward.
"What's this about?"
Reznick turned around and smashed his fist into the side of the man's neck. He went down unconscious. Reznick frisked the man. Underneath the man's loose fitting shirt, a 9mm Glock strapped to the man's waistband. He pulled the man over to the back of the truck. He tied an old rag around his mouth, trussed him up with tow straps and removed the Glock.
The man would be out of it for a good ten minutes, maybe more.
Reznick headed through the open door into a huge hall. He could hear TV. He followed the sound into a huge living room. Floor to ceiling views over LA in the distance.
He could hear another TV, different channel. It was coming from up the stairs at the far end of the room.
Reznick padded up the carpeted steps. He heard a man's voice, speaking into a phone.
Reznick held his breath as he crept towards a closed door. He listened for a few moments and heard the man on the other side of the door end the call. He opened the door and walked in. He pointed the gun at the man sitting on the bed. "This is how it's going to work. I talk, you listen."
The man sat frozen on the bed.
Reznick stepped forward and picked up the man's cellphone phone. "Is this yours?"
The man nodded.
Reznick scrolled through the numbers. "Okay, I see you were in contact with Brigadier Belmont."
The man closed his eyes.
"Tell me about that."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Cut the crap."
The man's lower lip began to quiver. "Please, who are you? Where is my personal assistant Pravi?"
"You need to listen. I asked you a question. Tell me about Brigadier Belmont."
"I don't know a Brigadier Belmont."
Reznick turned the caller ID display and showed the number to the man. "Okay, tell me about this call. Who is this?"
The man said nothing.
Reznick pulled back the slide.
The man stared at Reznick long and hard. "You're him, aren't you? You're Reznick."
"Last chance. Who is this guy you called? Is he one of the team after me?"
"He's a guy I do business with."
"Quds?"
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Where is he?"
The man remained silent.
Reznick grabbed the man by the throat and pressed the gun hard to the man's forehead. "You're starting to fucking annoy me. Now, where is he?"
The man reached under a pillow. "Maybe this can . . ."
Reznick caught a glimpse of black metal. He didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger. Blood and gray fragments of brain matter splattered off the walls as ear-splitting sound activated alarms went off around the house.
FORTY FIVE
Meyerstein was strapped into the backseat of an FBI chopper as it swooped low over the Hollywood Hills, searchlights strafing the backyards and pools of luxury mansions, when her headphones crackled into life.
"Martha, it's Roy," her second in command said.
"Talk to me, Roy. This better be good news."
"It's all bad. Reznick's been classified high-risk security threat. Shoot on sight. God knows where it will end."
"That's bullshit. We need to find out where he's headed."
"Martha, we have nothing. It's like Reznick's a ghost. He's just vanished."
The helicopter banked hard right and headed higher into the hills above Los Angeles. "What do we know about this Morlach guy and his relationship with Belmont?"
"The CIA is saying nothing. But people I know say that Belmont works out of the Pentagon and works on regime change stuff down at The Farm in Virginia."
"You know as well as I do, Roy, how they operate. Denial. Deflection. Has been since forever."
Stamper sighed down the line.
/> "What about the drones looking for the Iranians?"
"Nothing. They're playing us."
"What about Reznick? What was the last sighting?"
"Security footage. On foot heading up higher into the Hollywood Hills. Cops are trawling the area with dogs and night vision equipment. And they're deploying heat seeking imaging equipment, just like we are."
Meyerstein stared down at the slow moving traffic on Sunset Boulevard and the neon lights shimmering in the darkness. The helicopter headlights strafed the scrub below. "I haven't heard from the Iranian contact. Has he gone to ground? Safe house? Watch and waiting for our next move?"
"The problem is, if this guy, or these guys, get to hear that Reznick is not en-route to Tehran, then we really are in trouble. We're at their mercy."
"We're at no-one's mercy, Roy. We need to find these sons of bitches. And quick."
"What about Reznick?"
"Him too."
"Martha, I've said this before, and I'll say it again, he is a liability to us."
"Roy, do you listen to yourself, sometimes?"
Stamper said nothing.
"We were going to send him to Iran. That was the wrong call."
"Martha, it was the only call which could be made. But what Reznick did . . ."
"What save himself? That's what he did. He knew that he wasn't getting transferred up to Canada."
"Is that what they said they were doing?"
"That was the bullshit story Belmont concocted. Reznick would have seen through that."
The pilot signaled to her.
Meyerstein said, "Roy, speak soon." She ended the radio call with Stamper and turned to the pilot. "Yeah, what've you got?"
"Call coming through to you from Counterterrorism Special Agent Veitch in McLean."
"Put him on."
Meyerstein said, "Veitch, talk to me."
"We just picked up a live signal thirty seconds ago. He's on the North Hollywood Highway."
"Reznick?"
"We think so."
Meyerstein signaled for the pilot to head in that direction. "Copy that, we're on our way."
"You need to know, Martha. Morlach was a diplomatic back channel for the American government to Tehran."
Meyerstein felt her insides churn. "And Reznick has just killed him?"
"In cold blood."
Meyerstein stared down at the lights of the cars on the freeway. She felt a terrible sense of foreboding as events unfolded with an urgency and inevitability she seemed unable to stop.
FORTY SIX
Reznick headed off the freeway and drove until he found an underground parking lot. He pulled out the cell he had taken from Morlach's home and downloaded the mSpy app. Then he texted a message to the last number Morlach had dialed. You must call me.
A few moments later the cell rang. On the sixth ring Reznick pressed the receive button.
"I'm responding to your message."
Reznick said nothing and ended the call. He had what he wanted. A few moments later the GPS information had flashed up on the cell. Burbank Bob Hope airport. It had been a long shot but the man who had called Morlach last hadn't switched off the GPS on his phone.
His heart rate hiked up a notch. He sent another message.
Can't speak on the phone. Where can I meet you at airport?
A few moments later a text came in.
Directly outside Terminal A.
Reznick send a text back. See you in half an hour. New paperwork.
He then took the battery and the chip out of the cell and dropped it down a storm drain. Then he strode across to a BMW convertible nearby, opened up the hood, ripped out the alarm wiring and started it up.
Reznick revved up hard and punched in Bob Hope Airport Burbank into the car's Satnav. He was seven miles from his location. A matter of minutes down the freeway.
FORTY SEVEN
Mohsen Sazegara senses were working overtime as he sat drinking a scalding hot coffee in the tacky terminal of Bob Hope airport in Burbank. He watched as a Mexican wiped down a nearby table and wondered about the message from Morlach. He didn't like it.
He went over to a payphone and caught sight of his brother pretending to be reading the LA Times. He punched in a number, popped in a couple of bucks, and waited until he heard a familiar voice.
"I'm glad you called," the voice said before Mohsen could speak.
"I'm looking for clarification."
"Your father has gone." The coded message meant Morlach is dead.
"I just received a call."
"It's Reznick."
Mohsen went quiet for a few moments. "I see. How do you know it's him?"
"Never mind. He's not far. But you have got one thing in your favor."
"And what's that?"
"Reznick doesn't know there are two of you."
"We'll handle him, don't worry."
"We need to make sure this time."
"It's done."
Mohsen ended the call and phoned his brother's cell. "Restroom nearest to you in two minutes."
He hung up and walked over to the rest room. He checked the stalls were all empty. His brother came in.
Mohsen put his finger to his lips and whispered in his ear. "Dismantle your phone, battery, chip, and flush it away."
His brother went into the first stall and did as instructed.
Mohsen did the same. "He's coming here."
"What?"
"Reznick is on his way here."
"How is that possible?"
"It just is." Mohsen could see the burning hurt in his brother's eyes.
"I thought he was being traded."
"He was. But it's all gone wrong. He's onto us. And we need to take care of him."
"What's he expecting?"
"An Iranian standing directly outside Terminal A."
Behzad cleared his throat. "I'm not having that. I'm going to be the one."
Mohsen sighed. He knew his brother was headstrong. Impulsive. Consumed with a black anger. Mohsen by contrast had learned to deal with the loss, rationalizing it. He had chosen to remember his brother full of life and promise. A passionate and brilliant man.
The more he thought of it the more he realized that he could compartmentalize it so much better than Behzad. His brother lived to avenge their elder brother. He understood. But Mohsen knew the mission needed focus. And discipline.
Behzad whispered, "I will be the sacrifice. But you must promise me to kill Reznick."
Mohsen said, "He will die. I make that promise to you, my brother, in the name of Allah, the most beneficent, the most merciful."
FORTY EIGHT
Reznick drove hard toward Burbank and punched in the number for Bobby Haines in Nebraska.
"What's going on, Jon?"
"I need something else."
"What're you looking for, bro?"
"Gun shop in or around Burbank, open right now."
A few moments pause. "Guns and Stuff, 9376 West Magnolia Boulevard, Unit 7."
"Owe you one." Reznick ended the call and punched in the details into the satnav. Six minutes later he was in downtown Burbank. He pulled up down a side street outside a children's clothing store. He went into the gun shop and looked at the racks of guns.
The tattooed guy behind the counter with a badge grinned, "Heading out to the range late tonight, buddy?"
"Just new in town. I'm looking to see if you can help me."
The guy shrugged. "What are you looking for?"
"I'm looking for two things. The best sniper rifle you've got and night vision sights."
"Night hunter, right?"
"Oh yeah."
"Love that. Okay, here's what we've got."
The guy went down the racks and picked out a mean looking rifle. "Just got a load of these in. M24. All American classic sniper rifle."
Reznick held the weight and looked down the scope. "Good weight. Balance."
"You know your guns. Bolt action. As used by the US Army. But I guess yo
u know that already. The M24 uses the Remington 700 action. The stock is composite Kevlar, graphite, just the best. Bipod is detachable. I've got some armor piercing ammo which might interest you."
"Indeed it does." Reznick stared down the sights again. It was pristine.
The guy handed him a box. "Telescopic sights. Same gear used by Seals. Delta."
Reznick nodded. "How much for it all, including the ammo."
"3700 dollars for the rifle, and for the telescopic scopes, another two big ones, and ammo, maybe another grand, which should keep you going, but, hey, I can give you the whole thing, six thousand dollars."
Reznick nodded. "You got it."
The guy grinned. "Man, I love it when a customer just knows what they want," he said, tapping out a beat on the glass counter.
Reznick said, "I'm also looking for a Berretta 9mm with ammo."
"That's a good gun." He bent down and pulled out a tray of 9mms. He picked out a pristine Berretta and picked it up as if he was handling a gold bar and handed it over to Reznick.
Reznick pulled back the slide and stared down the barrel.
"That's a good gun, my friend."
Reznick nodded. "And military grade binoculars?"
The guy bent over and unlocked the drawer and handed him expensive looking binoculars. "You're really going for it, aren't you? Okay, this lot was imported from Germany last month. Straight out the box."
"Ammo for the Berretta?"
The guy pulled up four packets of 9mm magazine ammo and shrugged.
Reznick picked up the packet and slid a magazine in.
The guy held up his hands. "Hey buddy, that's absolutely not allowed."
Reznick flicked off the safety and pointed the gun to the guy's head. "Don't fucking move."
The man closed his eyes.
"Okay, this is how it's gonna work. I want you to very carefully deactivate the security cameras and alarm system. Comprendi?"