by Leslie Jones
All five shooters froze, trapped in a Mexican standoff.
Chapter 32
Lark crouched inside the car, heart thundering in her chest as the two groups squared off with one another. At least no one was shooting yet.
“Put down your weapons,” Mace ordered, voice tight with tension. “And get the fuck out of here.”
She peeked out the window. A stretch limousine eased in behind the truck. A thickset man with the bulbous nose and cheeks ruddy from alcohol abuse strolled over. She recognized Roman Vetrov, known as Palachka, from Mr. Sokolov’s home office. He ignored all of the firepower, leaning down to squint into the rental sedan’s back seat, then rapped on the window.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mace snarled. “Get away from her.”
Palachka watched her with his creepy flat stare, then knocked again. She eased across the backseat and lowered the window.
“Mr. Sokolov would like a word,” he said, jerking his head toward the limousine.
“She’s not going anywhere with you,” Tag growled.
The tension, already high, ratcheted up a few notches. Someone would start shooting, and she couldn’t bear to see Mace, or any of them, shot because of her.
“Wait,” she said, struggling back across the seat. She pushed against Tag’s legs to get him to move aside, but he didn’t budge. “Everyone, calm down. He just wants to talk. Right?”
Palachka shifted his cold eyes around, seemingly taking in the tableau for the first time. He flicked a finger. His two henchmen lowered their weapons a fraction. None of the others so much as twitched.
“Tag, please.”
He still didn’t move. Lark finally resorted to climbing over the seat and exiting through the front passenger door. Mace held out a hand, preventing her from going any farther.
“No way,” he said.
“Will you guarantee my safety?” she asked Palachka.
He rested his reptile gaze on her. “Mr. Sokolov wants to talk to you. That’s all. You won’t be harmed. At this time.”
She took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”
Palachka swept a hand toward the limousine. “He’s waiting.”
She took a step away from Mace. He grabbed her shoulder, stopping her.
“You’re not going in there alone.”
Lark managed a wan smile. “I’m not sure we really have much choice.”
“I’m going with her,” Mace said directly to Palachka. “Otherwise, this doesn’t happen.”
Palachka shrugged. “Leave your weapons. The rest of you stay here with my men.”
Mace shared a look with Alex and Tag. Some sort of understanding passed between them. He set his gun on the hood of the car, then followed Palachka down to the limousine, keeping Lark behind him. The driver hopped out and opened the back door. Lark hesitated, remembering Sokolov’s casual cruelty, but if she didn’t speak with him, violence would follow. She stepped inside.
“Holy shit!” The limo was straight out of a Hollywood movie. Two bars illuminated by purple lighting lined each side of the interior. The ten feet of the limo’s length separated posh leather seats front and back. Two flat screen televisions and a skylight completed the decor. “You could live in this thing.”
Viktor Sokolov sat in the rear, a laptop and file folders on the seat next to him. Today he wore a custom-tailored navy suit with a steel blue–striped tie. He took off his reading glasses and set aside an overflowing binder. “It suits my needs. We need to talk.”
She and Mace seated themselves side by side. Tension radiated from him through the arm touching hers.
“All right.” Her mouth was as dry as the moon, stomach quivering. “You could’ve just called me. With all the shit you know about me, I’m sure you have my cell number.”
“I find face-to-face meetings more productive. What progress have you made?”
“I still have more time.”
He just looked at her. “I’ll ask you again. Where’s my money?”
Chills swept through her body, raising goose bumps on her arms. “You know? How do you know? I didn’t tell Elliot that.”
He ignored her question. “You found my money.”
“Yeah. But how do you know that?”
A brief frown crossed his features. “Elliott seemed to feel you’d made more progress than you let on. Guess even a broken watch is right twice a day. Why haven’t you transferred the funds back to my account?”
Until that very moment, she hadn’t known what she intended to do. She worked some moisture into her mouth. Even then, she had to force the words from her parched throat.
“I’m not giving it back.”
Anger tightened his eyes and flattened his mouth. “What did you say?”
Mace froze beside her. She felt his tension, his worry for her. He didn’t say a word, though, thank God.
Mustering every ounce of courage she possessed, she repeated her death sentence. “I won’t give you the money back.”
The threat to her mattered little compared to the threat to the population if Sokolov got his hands on the nuclear bomb, no matter how small it was compared to its grown-up cousins.
“Why the fuck not?” Mr. Sokolov’s eyes had gone glacier cold. “Are you really this stupid? Do I need to remind you what will happen if you don’t?”
She swallowed so hard it hurt. “I know what you’re planning to do with it. You’re bidding on a suitcase bomb. A nuke. I won’t risk American lives. I just won’t.”
She’d surprised him; she could tell by the very stillness of his face. He scrutinized her from head to toe, taking her measure. She forced herself not to squirm.
“I got a bedtime story for you, little girl,” he said at last. Her breath escaped in an audible whoosh. At least he hadn’t whipped out a gun and shot them right then and there. Still, she knew she’d put herself and Mace in very real danger.
“You know who Lucky Luciano was?”
“Sure. He was a mobster. Everyone knows that.”
Mr. Sokolov fingered the bridge of his crooked nose. “He took the small gangs of New York and created one organized mob. He controlled them because they were afraid of him.”
Lark shivered. “You made your point last time, Mr. Sokolov. You don’t need to threaten me.”
“Then why are we talking here?” He glared at her. “Lucky Luciano was prosecuted and jailed in the midthirties, but he still ran his businesses from inside prison.”
“You mean he bribed people to help him.”
“I mean,” Sokolov said, “that he kept control of the New York families.”
“So what are you saying? That even if you’re sent to prison, you can still have me killed?”
“Yes. But that’s not my point. Shut up and listen before I decide you’re not worth my time.”
“Okie doke.” She wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Where was he going with all this, if not to threaten her?
“World War II broke out while Luciano was inside. The Japs attacked Pearl Harbor, then the USS Lafayette caught fire on a New York dock, supposedly sabotaged by German spies. The Navy feared more spies would get in through the docks, which were controlled by mob-organized unions. They approached Luciano and asked him to protect the docks from our enemies.”
Interested despite herself, Lark said, “He agreed?”
Mr. Sokolov nodded. “He said yes, not only to providing security at the docks, but he also promised there wouldn’t be any union strikes as long as the war lasted. Then he went even further; he provided intelligence to the US government.”
“How? Why? What did he get out of it? Did the government pay him?”
“No, he wasn’t paid. When World War II ended, he was released from prison and went home to Sicily. That’s all. That was it. That was the deal.”
“So he did it out of self-interest. For a Get Out of Jail Free card.”
Mr. Sokolov undid the top button of his shirt and tugged his tie loose. “Christ. You’re a
goddamned mouthy bitch, you know that? You remind me of my fucking useless nephew.”
Lark flinched, a hand rising to touch the cheek where he’d hit her, reminded of the similar bruise on Elliott’s face. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”
“You do that. What I’m trying to tell you is that Luciano was an American. He loved his country as much as anyone else. Why wouldn’t he pull whatever strings he could to help win the war?”
Lark laughed, forgetting she’d just promised to shut up. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that a man who made his living screwing over the government would suddenly start working for them?”
Mr. Sokolov didn’t smile. “Why can’t a mobster be a patriot?”
The thought stopped her cold. Was he seriously saying . . . ?
Mace shifted restlessly beside her. She put a hand on his knee. He stilled.
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a patriot?” She couldn’t help the sarcastic tinge to her voice. “Am I supposed to swallow that crock of shit?”
“I don’t give a fuck either way. Yes, I intend to bid on the nuke. And I intend to win. And when it’s safely in my hands, I can personally ensure it’s never used on American soil.”
“Seriously?”
He smiled faintly. “As a heart attack.”
Lark scrubbed both hands down her face before dropping them back into her lap. “Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Which I don’t. Maybe. I mean, you have to admit it sounds pretty farfetched, right?”
“Your opinion means shit to me, mouthy girl. But that’s the way it is.”
Unable to help herself, Lark twisted her head to look at Mace. “What do you think?”
“I think he’s a criminal who threatened to kill you. I wouldn’t trust him to tell me rain is wet.”
“Well, yeah, there’s that.”
Sokolov ignored Mace. “Elliott tells me the girl who hacked a nuclear power plant just to help them tighten their security has principles. You’ve shown me here you have a strong moral compass and a lot of courage. I respect those things.”
Lark crossed her arms and legs. “Even if I wanted to help you, I don’t think I can. I used FBI resources to track down your fifty mil. The FBI has control of it now. I seriously doubt they’ll give it back just ’cause I ask nicely.”
“Find a way.”
She pressed her lips together and relaxed them. “What if the government just seizes it? I think that’s a lot more likely to happen.”
“They have no justification to do that.”
“Um. So, say you buy the nuke. You say you won’t use it; but what will you do with it?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll sell it. To Iran or Syria or back to Russia. I don’t care, as long as it’s not used in the United States.”
“No. Not acceptable. How do you know they won’t just smuggle it right back in?”
“It’s unlikely.”
“But possible.” She thought for a minute. “What about this. Lucky Luciano helped out during World War II, you said, by handing over information about German spies. You want to help now by stopping the nuke from being used. So do we. Why don’t we team up?”
His brows knit. “What do you have in mind?”
“Well, you’re one of the bidders, right? So let the FBI or whoever go to the auction with you. We get everyone in one room and arrest them all. Except you, of course. The government seizes the nuke and dismantles it. That way, no one can use it.”
Mr. Sokolov leaned forward and took a bottle of water from the bar. “One way or another, my money will be returned to me.”
Lark saw another bottle near her. She snagged it and twisted off the cap, taking several long gulps. “I just saved you fifty mil. Pretty cool, huh?”
Sokolov gave her a quizzical look. “You’re . . . unique, aren’t you?”
She looked down at her lap. Was that a compliment? “I have no authority to make any deals with you; you know that, right?”
He nodded. “You’re a junior cyber scientist with barely five months with the FBI. If you’d told me you could, I’d’ve killed you.”
Mace tensed, and she had the sense he was about to fling himself across the limousine and choke Sokolov. Lark put her hand on his arm, trying to make him sit back. He didn’t budge, muscles gathered to leap. Sokolov reached into his suit jacket and brought out a small revolver.
“Sit. Stay,” he snapped.
Lark took several careful breaths. The tension in the small space had skyrocketed. “Mace. Stop. Please.”
Mace rubbed a hand over his jaw, then slowly, too slowly, settled back in the seat.
“It’s fine,” she lied. Everyone in the limo knew she lied. The smallest misstep would still get them killed, and she felt so far out of her depth she might drown. “Everything’s fine.”
“Put away your peashooter, or this conversation is over,” Mace growled.
Sokolov sneered, but slipped the revolver back inside his jacket. “Muzzle your dog, mouthy girl.”
Lark decided the best option was to ignore the confrontation. “Mr. Sokolov, what if you give us what you know about the bidders? Like, who, and where you’re meeting, or how the auction’s going to be handled. Is it anonymously online? Face-to-face auction? What?”
“And in return?”
“I do my level best to get the FBI to return your money. No promises, but I’ll give it my best shot. We arrest everyone and sort it out later.”
Sokolov stretched out his legs. “In my experience, the government is real good at fucking up operations like this. I can’t take that chance.”
“You won’t back out of the auction, you mean?”
“Yeah. Here’s my deal,” he said. “Take it or leave it. I’ll tell you who, when and where. On condition of complete immunity from prosecution. I want it all in writing.”
Who would even have the authority to make this deal? Someone probably higher up the food chain than Doug Huckabee. “I’ll find someone.”
“You do that. One more thing. You’ll be coming with me, mouthy girl. As insurance in case something goes wrong.”
“Um.” Lark’s mind went blank. “What? No. I’m not an agent or anything. I’m just a computer scientist.”
“Take it or leave it,” he said again. He plucked a business card from his breast pocket and held it out to her. “Once you have everything in order, contact me directly.”
She leaned forward to take the card. “I’m all over this.”
“Then get the hell out of my car.”
Chapter 33
Mace turned to help Lark out of the limousine, glad to leave Sokolov’s forceful presence. A mobster who was a loyal patriot? Who only wanted the nuke to keep other criminals from using it?
Give me a break.
No one outside had moved, but he hadn’t expected them to. His men wouldn’t leave Lark unprotected, no matter the cost. The heavyset man with the dead eyes and ruddy cheeks who’d tapped on Lark’s window still stood by the limousine, hands in his pockets. When he saw them, he snapped his fingers toward his two goons.
“Let’s go.”
The two men backed away from Alex and Tag. When they reached the truck, they lowered their weapons. Everyone climbed into their respective vehicles and pulled away.
Alex and Tag holstered their semiautomatics. Alex brought Mace’s Browning to him.
“What happened?” Tag asked.
“I think Lark just made a deal with the devil,” Mace said.
Lark turned to him. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He looked down at her, knowing she could see the worry in his eyes.
“For not, you know. Being all macho and shit. Not trying to talk over me or take over. Except for that last bit, you were great.”
A smile flickered and vanished. “You were handling it.”
“Most alpha males wouldn’t have been able to help being sexist jerks.” She touched his forearm, stroking down until she held his hand. “I think I just fell in love with you a little
bit.”
The smile returned, this time making his eyes twinkle and his heart beat harder. “Just a little?”
“Ugh! Men.” She released his palm and punched him in the arm instead. “I’m trying to say thank you, you jerk.”
Alex laughed. “So what’s the deal? And who’s the devil?”
Mace filled them in. Alex gave a slow whistle.
“You can all go home,” Lark said. “I need to go brief Doug. Again.”
“We’ll stay,” Tag said at once. Alex nodded.
“No need,” she said. “I’m in no danger from Mr. Sokolov.”
“We’ll wait,” Mace said, using his firm “I’m-not-budging” tone.
“For fuck’s sake. Fine. But you’re wasting time with me when you could be polishing your guns or something.” She walked to the revolving door and reentered One Center Plaza.
Mace turned to his teammates. “She’s right that there’s no immediate threat from Sokolov. I need to brief all of you on some developments, though. We should all meet—”
His phone chirped. Two seconds later, Tag and Alex’s rang as well.
“Shit,” he said. “I think we just went operational.”
He put his phone on speaker. “Jace, you got me, Tag, and Alex.”
“No, we’re not operational yet,” Jace said immediately. “However, unless there’s a critical need for you at the FBI, the joint task force is meeting at our new base of operations.” He rattled off an address, which Alex wrote on his hand. “Best if you can meet us here while we sort through our options.”
He hated leaving Lark alone. She was still in danger from whoever engineered the mob theft in the first place, but he was a special operator, and it was time for him to do his job.
“Alex, you drive,” he ordered, jumping into the passenger seat. Tag climbed into the back. Mace thumbed to the right app and typed a message to Lark.
Duty calls.
He fidgeted as he waited for her response.