by John Grit
He put his arm around her shoulders. “Riley wants us to take out Janowski, that’s obvious. So if we stop hunting him, will Riley sic the company on us again? The law?”
Her chest swelled, and she looked away. “How are we to know what’s on the mind of a man who would have his pregnant lover killed? We can go insane trying to read him. All I know is I’m tired of being the tool of criminals in powerful positions. Yes, Janowski’s a piece of shit that needs killing, but if the president, those at the top of the company, or anyone else wants him dead, let them get their own hands bloody. We both left the CIA a long time ago and owe them and this country nothing.”
An elderly man stepped out of the modest home the RV was parked in front of and approached them with a smile.
Raylan opened his side window. “Hi. We would like to take a look at the RV.”
The motor home was well-used but not abused, and the old man had receipts showing that all of the mechanicals had only seven thousand miles since a complete rebuild, including the engine and entire drive train.
They came to an agreeable price and Raylan asked, “Will you take Federal Reserve Notes?”
The elder gentleman looked confused for a second and then laughed. “Of course I’ll take cash.”
Carla followed in the Jeep until they came to a desolate stretch of country road. There, they transferred all of the gear to the RV and left the Jeep parked in thick woods out of sight.
“Where to?” Raylan asked.
She smiled and pointed down the road.
~~~
A week later, Janowski sat by his pool in Florida, drumming his fingers impatiently on the glass patio tabletop. Skin formerly Russian-snow-white had burned to lobster-red in the Florida sun. A colorful umbrella shaded his shirtless rotund body from further burning. He couldn’t stay in the States much longer, and Maddox hadn’t been killed yet. In fact, those two ex-CIA agents had disappeared. His iPhone rang. “Yeah, what?”
It was Viktor Chuikov. “Still no sign of them, sir. They’re on the run again. I’m certain they have given up on coming after you. At least for now.”
Janowski slumped in his chair. “That’s very disappointing news. You have let me down again.”
Viktor’s voice came back strong and sure. “I disagree. This was out of my control. As long as they were in town, I had enough men to cover the area and the chances of us getting them were high. But now that they’ve abandoned the idea of coming after you at your beach home, it’s going to be a lot more difficult. I don’t have enough men to cover the whole American Continent.”
Janowski’s voice roared. “Oh, you don’t have enough men. Bullshit! You hired losers who let one man and a woman kill them. No wonder you’re now short on men. You’ve cost me millions, and I’ve gotten zero results.”
“That’s not true, sir. You’re still alive, and that’s after two of the best trained killers on this planet were hunting you.”
“Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!” Janowski screamed. “The best way to protect me is to kill them.”
“Sir, you know that everything we say over the air is being recorded. I’ve warned you about this before. The NSA –”
“To hell with that. I still own Washington and Langley. Don’t you fret over shit you know little about.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t flaunt it in their face. The president is no longer a reliable ally, and the new head of the CIA seems to be untouchable.”
“No one is untouchable.”
“Very true, sir. I think you should keep that in mind.”
“Uh? What are you saying?” Janowski blew a gasket. “Get over here now. I want to speak to you in person.”
“I’ll be there in less than an hour.”
“An hour? Where the hell are you?”
“Supervising my men in the field.”
“Just get here. I’m leaving the States today, and you have to make security arrangements. I’ll expect you to stay here and keep hunting while I’m attending to business back home.” Janowski terminated the call.
Chapter 21
Raylan stepped out of the motor home with two cups of coffee and walked the short distance to the folding table. He handed Carla a cup and sat down across from her. While taking a sip of the steaming brew, he felt something almost indiscernible land on his nose. Holding his open hand out, he caught two delicate snowflakes. “First snow of the year,” he said.
The Wyoming valley they were camped in was beautiful, with mountains jutting up, reaching into the blue sky on one side and into a descending white cloud on the other, bringing with it light flurries and a gentle, but increasing wind. The cloud would be over the valley by nightfall.
Carla wrapped both hands around her cup for warmth. “I guess we should head south soon. I’d hate to drive that big rig in the snow.” Her eyes drank in the natural wonders around them. “I don’t want to leave so soon. The last weeks have been great, but there’s no need to stay for the winter when we can be in warm climes in a few days.”
Raylan had been seeing a change in her over the last weeks. They hadn’t let their guard down and always kept weapons within reach, but the constant nagging worry had retreated to the back of their minds, giving them both a chance to recharge their inner batteries. Carla had never seemed so relaxed and happy, and in his eyes she had never looked more beautiful.
“You’re right,” he said. “We’ll head south soon. I think we should stay out of Florida, though.”
“Where then?” She braced herself with her elbows on the table and smiled at him.”
He shrugged. “South.”
The next morning proved that Wyoming weather could be unpredictable, announcing dawn in a celebration of aggressively brilliant colors, as the sun peeked over an eastern mountain range.
After breakfast, Carla went for a short walk, finding yesterday’s dusting of snow had melted. When she returned, Raylan had already packed and was checking the engine’s oil level. There was no need for any spoken words between them. With practiced efficiency, they prepared to leave the most peaceful place they had ever known. Almost no one ever came around, and they had not even seen a law enforcement officer in weeks. It seemed to them to be the end of the best weeks of their lives.
Heading out of the open valley and into a thick stand of trees, Carla caught a glimpse of a man covered from head to toe in camouflage. She pulled her Glock out from under her sweater. “Ambush!”
Raylan slammed on the breaks and killed the engine. “Out!” he screamed. They exploded from the motor home and ran into the woods, pistols at the ready. The last place they wanted to be was in that motor home with its paper-thin walls. It was a bullet magnet and offered no cover at all.
After staying low behind cover and getting their bearings, they moved deeper into the woods, expecting an attack at any second. A large boot print in soft soil caught Raylan’s attention. He hand-signaled Carla to stay ten yards behind and followed the tracks. It didn’t take long before Raylan realized the man who left the tracks wasn’t part of an ambush team. He stopped and signaled for Carla to catch up.
Carla stood beside him, eyes scanning for danger. Just then, a weird sound reverberated from the woods, answered by a similar sound from far off. They moved closer. Raylan suddenly relaxed. He turned to her. Smiling, he pointed.
Carla finally saw the bow hunter hidden in brush, calling elk by blowing into a tube. She almost slapped Raylan when he broke out laughing.
“That the man you saw?” Raylan whispered.
She nodded, red-faced.
They both broke out laughing and walked back to the motor home. It was the first day of an early bow hunting season for elk. They were still laughing when they pulled onto the highway.
~~~
Janowski enjoyed being back in his Moscow office. When he returned the day before, his secretary had so many messages waiting for him, he chose the five names he thought important enough to answer and threw the rest in a pile for someone else to handle. At the top of
that list was Pierre Ladue. He grabbed his iPhone and punched in the number.
Ladue answered. “Mikhail! So you are back.”
“Yes. What is this important opportunity you keep telling me about?”
“We must speak in person. Can I come to your office in an hour?”
Janowski was surprised. “You’re in Moscow?”
“Yes. I’ll be here until tomorrow and we must talk before then.”
Janowski thought this over. “I’m very busy. After all, I just got back, and there is much to do. I’ll be in France in a month or two. We can talk then.”
“Oh, this is worth a little of your time. I promise you, Mikhail. All I can say now is things are not what they seem. Our recent setback with the untimely death of a mutual associate wasn’t the setback you think it was. It actually opened new and more lucrative doors, doors opened by still higher-placed men.”
Janowski’s eyes rounded for a second, then turned to slits. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? I mean don’t say it now, just yes or no.”
Ladue laughed. “Yes! That is what I’m saying!”
Janowski just had all of his beliefs about every man being corrupt, and if not corrupt already eminently corruptible, proven to be true. It was just a matter of price and whether the man wanted money or power. Most men sold out for little; some had a higher price, but all were willing to sell their soul for something. A U.S. President of course would be very expensive, but worth it, the return on the investment worth billions. He took a few seconds to recover. That little bastard was starting to make me believe that shit about him turning over a new leaf and coming clean. He shook his head. Crazy Americans. You can never figure them out. “I’ll cancel all appointments and we’ll talk as much as you want.” He terminated the call.
~~~
Acting CIA Director Brantly Ottoman sat in the Oval Office with several other men from various branches of U.S. intelligence agencies, including Diana Mailer, Secretary of DHS and General Thomas Finley, Director of NSA. Even Admiral Charles Septer, the Director of National Intelligence was there to ‘connect the dots.’ All were trusted by President Riley with information that could land every one of them in prison. Among the people President Riley trusted was Trey Kraust, who seemed more nervous than the others.
Director Ottoman spoke up. “It looks like we have them hooked. Letting those Chinese weapons through the California port and the slaves come in through New York under our noses as our contacts promised has them convinced. At least all evidence so far points to that.”
Riley smiled. “They wanted to believe I’m as dirty as Dulling was, and they fell right into our trap.”
Ottoman countered, “So far. And It’s your plan, Mr. President, not mine. I’m going along reluctantly, but I’ll take the heat along with everyone here if it all blows up in our face, and it just might. Don’t forget another president’s fiasco called Fast and Furious. Allowing illegal weapons across our borders, either in or out, can be dangerous and I don’t just mean politically. We’re having a hell of a time keeping track of them. Then there are the slaves. Those poor girls are being sold off and taken all over the U.S. as we speak. It’ll be a miracle if we don’t lose track of some of them. Any we do lose will be condemned to a life of hell.”
Riley grew solemn. “I’ve given you all the resources you’ve asked for. If you need more people, get them. We’re about to catch some of the biggest turds ever to roll around the earth and stink up society. These criminal organizations pose a real threat to the security of this nation and others. Their money alone arms them with the capability to corrupt whole governments in the third world and to corrupt high-placed individuals in our own government, not to mention many in Europe.” He looked around the office. “Then there’s China, and Japan. These crooks have their claws into the soul of every society.” He jutted his chin forward. “And we’re going to end all of that soon. Sure, more turds will replace them, but these particular turds are going to spend the rest of their lives in prison.”
“Sir.” Trey hesitated “The trouble with letting more in on the plan is OPSEC. Most involved in this operation have no inkling of the big picture, but some may figure it out. We’re bound to have a mole warn the targets if we have too many involved.”
“So we’ll have to do the job with what we have,” Riley said with more confidence than anyone in the room was feeling at the time. “Yes, there is risk, but after seeing James turned into something so crooked and evil that he tried to have my friend killed even after I warned him I was onto his ways and to leave him alone, I decided I will use the rest of my term to cleanse the world of this filth, especially Mikhail Janowski. He’s the one I want most.”
Several people in the room exchanged glances. Others professed their full support.
Director Ottoman grunted in preparation to speak. “Sir. I’m almost certain I have Ladue and Janowski believing I’m as deep in their pocket as Dulling was, but they’re a little too suspicious to believe you’re taking their payoffs too. Janowski in particular will want to have more direct communications with you before he swallows our hook.”
Riley nodded. He turned to General Finley. “The NSA has been recording this brazen Janowski’s phone calls, right?”
“Yes,” General Finely answered. “And he knows we’re recording them. He thinks he’s out of reach of the U.S. Government from what we can tell. His security people occasionally remind him not to talk so freely on a cell phone, but he dismisses their warnings. Of course, he’s smart enough not to say anything that would be considered terrorism or an act of war against the U.S. Murder of a U.S. citizen wouldn’t normally be enough to justify sending the CIA or U.S. Marines after him and he knows it. Then there’s the fact we don’t have a legal wiretap warrant and nothing we record would be admissible in court. With his political power in Russia, that government isn’t likely to turn him over, and he knows that too. He’s more afraid of his competitors than the U.S. Government. He even has a home in Florida; that’s how unafraid he is of us. The guy thinks he has enough money to bribe God.”
Riley had waited impatiently for him to stop talking. “What I’m getting at is you know his personal phone number, right?”
“Uh, yes,” the general said. “I can get that for you.”
“Good. Do so. I’ll give him a call.” Riley checked his Rolex. “What time is it in Moscow now? I wouldn’t want to wake the fat bastard.” He looked around the room for someone who had the answer.
~~~
Raylan and Carla decided to stop in Tennessee for a few days before heading farther south. Crossing the Mississippi River on the Alvin C. York Memorial Bridge, they motored into Dyersburg. The river was up, and much of the lower land was flooded. They found the weather there delightful but a little warmer than they expected and enjoyed playing the tourist couple, which they actually were.
In Jackson, they stopped off at the Rock-A-Billy Hall of Fame. They agreed it was okay but not worth seeing twice in a lifetime. Not their kind of music. From there, they headed east into Nashville.
“Notice how all the government buildings that were built after the Civil War face south?” Raylan asked. He was driving and at the moment was waiting at a red light.
Carla answered innocently. “No. I didn’t notice. Why did they do that?”
“Sending a message to Yankees that they can kiss Tennessee’s ass.”
She laughed. “I knew you had something up your sleeve.”
The light turned green, and Raylan noticed a restaurant on the next corner. “Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ve been hungry for hours.” Carla slid her Glock into its holster on her right side and then put on a photographer’s vest to hide it. She hung a camera round her neck to complete the look of a tourist.
Raylan already had his pistol hidden under his shirt. He scanned the parking lot for signs of trouble and a place to park. It was a little late for lunch and early for dinner, so the place wasn’t crowded, and he had
his pick of parking spaces for the big motor home.
Carla sat at a table and looked over the menu. “I’ll have the chicken breast and yellow rice.”
“Sounds good to me too,” Raylan said. He pretended to casually look around, just a diner absorbing the atmosphere, but he was checking out the patrons at other tables for anything suspicious. Nothing set alarms off.
A waitress brought the meal. They both commented on how the tea seemed sweet, though they had asked for non-sweetened. Other than that, the food was delicious.
During the meal, a man with a pockmarked face and long, stringy black hair walked in alone and sat down near the door. He ordered a tuna sandwich and chips but barely touched it.
Raylan noticed he was taking too much interest in them for comfort. He reached for his wallet and pulled out two twenties to cover the meal and tip.
Carla saw the tension on Raylan’s face and stopped chewing.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Vacation’s over.”
She swallowed and nodded. Washing down her last bite with a gulp of tea, she rose from her seat. “Be back in a minute,” she said, and started for the ladies’ room, then veered to the exit and hit the parking lot running.
Raylan was already heading for the man he pegged as a thug with the Dixie Mafia, probably doing freelance work for Janowski. It would be unusual for the Dixie Mafia to be working with Russians, but not out of the question. Janowski had the money to buy anything and anyone. The man’s eyes widened when he saw death staring at him. He reached under his shirt in a panic. Raylan swiftly stepped forward and punched him, three quick jabs to the jaw, finishing with a karate chop to the back of the neck. The man went to sleep and slumped over on the table, his face resting on his tuna sandwich. Diners screamed. Raylan hit the backdoor running, nearly ripping it off its hinges.
Carla waited by the RV, ready for trouble, but kept her gun out of sight. She didn’t want to attract attention by waving a gun at people.