“Mr. Basov?”
Garri involuntarily jerked. The specimen slipped from the tweezers and fell onto the table.
“No!” he cried.
He swung around and shot an angry glance at the person who interrupted his concentration.
“Do you know how long it took me to grow that plasmadiophorid virus?” he said in marked Pomorian accent.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Basov.”
“Who the hell are you?”
The woman was surprised by his aggressive reproach. She hesitated for a moment, and then smiled amicably at him.
“Mr. Basov, your wife told me that I could find you here in your private lab. I tried to contact you several times on your phone but it kept going to your voicemail. You should really learn to check on your mobile every now and then, you know. You might miss some very…very…important messages.”
Garri stared at the woman intently. She was in her late-thirties. Early forties maybe. She’d flowing blonde hair that fell in layers to the back of her neck. Her features were strikingly elegant but she’d an exceedingly pale and pallid quality about her complexion. Liked it was bleached. To the point that she looked as white as a ghost. And it stood out in stark contrast against the lavish gray Versace dress that she donned. It was an elegant dress but it did nothing to diminish her pale ghoulish looking features. Still, she looked very pretty never the less. And she’d a killer figure to go with it. Curves in all the right places. Big breasted. Pouty red lips. Petite hips. And it was clear that she wasn’t afraid to flaunt her junks with pride and confidence either. There was an air of authority and sense of dominance that radiated about her aura. But it was also there he sensed something amiss about her. The aura. It was a cold aura. Reflected in her icy-cold eyes that hid something deep and dark. And it transfixed him with a cunning penetrating stare. One that felt threatening and intimidating.
Garri felt slightly unnerved.
He harrumphed and said, “I’m very private man. By the way, you haven’t answered my question yet…who are you?”
The tall blond smiled and said, “Elena Svechnykov,” and then slipped her right hand into her Gucci handbag that was tucked under her left armpit.
Garri’s eye followed her hand; expecting her to pull-out a business card to hand over to him. Instead what she pulled out scared the living daylights out of him. His heart skip a beat. Felt his eyes bulged. And his mouth wide agape. A sinister sight of a semi-automatic Russian GSH-18 aimed directly at the pit of his belly.
He nearly fell of the wooden stool he was perched on.
“What’s the meaning of all this?”
The woman grinned menacingly. Then said, “You’ve got something that I’m very much interested in, Mr. Basov.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
The woman plopped back her head and laughed derisively
“Of course you don’t Mr. Basov. I haven’t told you what it is yet.”
“Even if I did have what you want why would I give to you?”
The woman burst into a mocking laugh again. Then stop.
“Oh, Mr. Basov, I think you should listen to your voicemail. Go ahead. Check it.”
Garri felt the beads of sweat streaming down his forehead. He’d a bad feeling about this. He hastily fished out his Nokia from the pocket of his trousers. Then pushed a button and pressed the mobile to his ears.
He felt his heart quicken as the voicemail started. A familiar voice materialized on the phone.
“Oh God…Garri…help…please help us. Give them what they want. They’ve got our daughter. Please help us…They’re going…,” the voicemail ended abruptly.
“You...bitch!” Garri shouted, jumping off the stool and clenching his fists his anger. Ready to charge but stopped at the sight of the gun pointed at the tip of his head now.
“Uh...Uh…Don’t try anything stupid now Mr. Basov, otherwise, I’ll kill your wife and your cute little kid.”
Garri knew she wasn’t joking. A look of pure evil flashed in her icy cold gait. She wasn’t the type of person who’d toyed around with her words. He thought of his beautiful wife Julia and his young daughter, Maria. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing them. He wanted to punch the living daylights out of the mad bitch in front of him but he knew that wasn’t going to do him or his family any good.
He raised his hands in the air submissively, and then said, “Okay. Just don’t harm them. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
Elena lips crinkled into a big smile.
“There you see, Garri. Wasn’t it easy?” she said.
5
THE GUN-METAL-GRAY Lexus came to a gentle stop about two-hundred yards away from a late eighteenth century Slavic-styled edifice. There was a neatly trimmed lawn at the front of it.
The driver sat silently observing the vicinity of the humble establishment with both palms perched on the steering wheel. He waited for a while, noted the time, and then switched off the radio. He unbuckled his seatbelt, reached for the door knob and then yanked it back. He heard the door unlocked with a slight thump. He brushed his palms on his thighs before hauling his ass from the seat and stepped out with his left foot first. Then followed by his right. He straightened his back and then slipped his right palm under his jacket, fumbled around for a while and pulled out a pair of dark shades. He put it on and then slipped his right palm again under his jacket to check for the handgun that was neatly tucked by his side. He took a breath, tugged down on the lapels of his jacket and then buttoned them up at the center. Then swiveled his head to the left and then around to the right to make sure that no one was observing him. He casually strolled down the curb towards the big house down the street. And as he came closer, he spotted a small tricycle tipped over by its side. It lay flat on the lawn and no one puttered about it. Then his eyes shifted to the front porch. A bundled morning edition of ‘The Moscow Time’ lay on the stoop: still wrapped in its plastic cover.
‘Not good,’ he thought.
His suspicion grew heavier as he strolled up the little walkway that neatly divided the lawn in the middle and climbed up the paper littered stoops to the front door. Then rasped his knuckles on the hard wood and waited patiently for someone within to respond. A cold wind blew somewhere from the north and greeted him icily as he perched silently on the porch.
There was no answer. After a couple of seconds, he rasped his knuckles again on the door. This time harder and louder. But no one came to door. Then he inched over to the window, stooped his head low and peeped in through the quasi-translucent drapery that hung from its inside. He caught sight of the furniture and the television set. A pair of shoes lay at the base of a comfy looking recliner. There was an umbrella tucked in the corner of the room. A raincoat hung above it. In the center, a magazine lay open on the living room table with a white coffee mug that rested on it.
He straightened his back, took a deep breath, and then turned around to clamber down the steps.
He paced himself hurriedly back to the car. His heart rate quickened and felt his palms getting clammy. He slipped his hands into his left pocket of his pants. Then fumbled around, and pulled out the keys to the Lexus. He punched a button and heard the trunk pop. Then jumped off the curb and circled to the back of the car. Flipped the lid open, reached inside and pulled out something. Then slid it under his jacket. Tried to conceal it as much as could and slammed the trunk shut. Paced himself back to the house again.
Instead of going up the front porch, this time, he circled to the back of the house. He spotted a window at the side and approached it. Swung his head left and right again to ensure no one was in the vicinity. Then pulled out the crow-bar that was wrapped in a piece of cloth from under his jacket. Swung the heavy bar - still wrapped in its cloth - at the window and cracked the glass panel. Swung it a second time and smashed the entire piece off. He reached into the empty panel with his right arm, felt around until he located the lock and then latched it down. Then gently retracted his arm f
rom the panel. He yanked the window wide open until he felt there was enough room to wiggle his whole body in and then clambered into the kitchen.
From there, he stammered into the living room. Noticed the TV and furniture again. The shoes were still there: at the base of the recliner. But this time he saw something that he’d failed to see before. The stack of toys spread out on the carpet. Sprawled over as if it was abandoned right in the middle of playtime. He exited the hall and found a flight of stairs which led up to the second floor. Then slipped his hand under his jacket and pulled out his piece. Pointed the gun up, and then slowly ascended the stairs. When he reached the end, there were three rooms. He cautiously approached the largest of them and gently tap the door open. There were clothes strewn across the bed. He sauntered over to it, grabbed a shirt and stared at it. Then threw it onto the bed again. He swung around, found the cabinets and flung the doors open. It was empty. Cleaned out. Except for a pair of worn-out moccasins that lay discarded at the bottom.
He slammed the door shut and rushed into the second room. Found two beds in each corner of the room. The pillows still bore the imprints of the little heads that once slumbered on them.
He started in. Rushed to their closet at the corner and swung the doors wide open. Empty.
“It’s too late. They’re gone,” he thought.
He fished out his Blackberry from his left pocket. Then punched in a number and placed it to his ears. There was a dial tone. And then a click. A voice materialized.
“What,” it said.
The man swallowed his spit. Then cleared his throat.
“They’re gone.”
There was a moment of brief silence on the other end. Then he heard a sigh and the line fell dead abruptly.
6
“WHAT DO YOU want with me?” Garri pleaded.
“Oh, Garri, that’s a good question. What do I want with you?” Elena smiled. Then curled the tip of her hair with her fingers.
“Please. Just stop playing around with me. Tell me what you want and I will give it to you. Is it money? I can get it for you. It may take some time but I can…”
“Oh Garri…Garri. Money isn’t the issue here,” Elena interjected.
“Not money? Then what do you want?”
“A small favor.”
“What kind of favor?”
Elena smiled teasingly and then flipped her head back petulantly.
“Oh, Garri boy, straight down to business already? No foreplay?”
Garri Basov bit his tongue. The woman was stark raving mad. She was holding his wife and kids hostage and yet she was here playing cloak and dagger with him. He felt his temper rise and then tried to calm his nerves down. Angering her could prove a costly mistake.
“What do you want from me? I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt my family,” he said. The calmest way he could.
Elena laughed cynically and then closed her eyes. She craned her neck to the roof of the van that was ferrying them across Novosibirsk.
“Oh Garri…let me think…what do you have that I would need so desperately from you?”
Then, fell her head back to her chest. Cracked her eyes open and met Garri’s gaze. This time, her petulant manner was gone. Replaced by a dark cold vibe that resonated a sense of pure evil.
“VECTOR.”
Garri Basov was shocked. He swallowed his spit at hearing the name.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why do you want to know about VECTOR?”
“What kind of security clearances do you have?”
Garri hesitated.
“I…I can’t tell you that.”
Elena’s eyes flashed with anger and fury.
“Do I have to remind you again what’s at stake here again? Or don’t you love your wife and kid anymore?” she raised her voice to a near yell. Then slipped her hand into her Gucci handbag and produced the KBP GSH-18 again.
“OK. OK,” Garri said, raising both hands in the mid-air submissively.
“Spill it out,” she screamed bitterly. Then rose from her seat and poked the gun into the side of his temple.
“Level four…I have a level four security clearance,” Garri blurted out.
“Good. So that means you’re able to access the labs, right?”
Garri nodded his head nervously.
“That’s the bio-labs,” he thought inwardly. “Oh God! What are they planning to do?”
Elena’s grave expression suddenly vanished. The patronizing, and roguishly contemptuous manners returned again. She relaxed her gait, plunked her haunches down onto the back seat of the van and rested the handgun on the skimpy dress that barely outlined her bare naked thighs. The tip still pointed directly at his gut. Then flashed an impish smile at him and said, “Okay. Here’s what you’re going to do.”
7
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, this is your captain speaking. We’ll be landing shortly. The weather is Chicago is mostly cloudy with a slight chance of rain. The temperature outside is about sixty-degrees Fahrenheit. We hope you have a pleasant trip and thank you for choosing our airlines,” the speaker overhead blared.
James looked at his watch. Good, he thought. Thirteen-hours of none stop flying was taxing. Even to a trained veteran like him. He couldn’t wait to get off the giant mechanical bird.
A sweet-tempered feminine voice now materialized over the speakers.
“Dear passengers, please take your seats. Kindly place your luggage stowed in the cabin overhead or in the space below your seats. Make sure that your seat is straightened and the tray tables are in their full upright position and fasten your seatbelt. All electronic devices must be shut off.”
James fumbled around looking for the seat buckle. Found it dangling by the right side of his seat. Then fastened it to his side. Caressed his side arm rest, felt around until he located a protruding knob, and punched it with his index finger. The seat reclined up for a brief moment and then it jerked and stopped abruptly.
“Hey mister, your seat isn’t fully up,” a girlish voice mewled from behind his seat.
“Yeah, sorry about that, let me try again,” James said, pressing the knob by the side of his arm rest again.
The seat shook, then shuddered and jerked again in protest. Refused to budge a single inch from its tilted position.
“Nope, it ain’t working mister,” he heard the little voice say.
Then he heard a click and before he could utter a single word, the flaxen haired girl appeared by his side.
“Nancy…what the hell are you doing…get back here to your seat right this very moment.” The grown man behind him barked after her.
“I want to help. I think I can yank this seat up a little and…,”
“Hey kid,” James interrupted. The little girl looked at him.
“Mister, I think I just have to pull the seat up and…,”
The floor beneath her feet suddenly fell. She jolted from the aisle, dangled in the air for a split second, and then buckled her feet nastily when the floor jumped back up again. It was like watching a piece of heavy brick bouncing violently on a hard surfaced floor. It twisted her ankles awkwardly. She stumbled clumsily and fell. Crashed her head into the headrest of the passenger seat next to her. Knocked her out cold even before her little body could hit the floor of the aisle.
“Nancy,” a voice screamed hysterically.
James unbuckled his seatbelt. Then leapt into action. He dived onto his knees and jabbed his fingers at the little girl’s neck. Felt for the jugular vein: hoping to God that there would be some sign of life.
Then he heard several clicks, looked up and found a crowd of concerned passengers towering over him. Caught the stewardess running down the aisle with a first-aid kit in her left hand.
“Oh my god…is she okay, sir?” one of the passengers asked.
“Yeah. Is she okay?” another said.
James flung around and found a tall slender man perched beside him. He held the little girls hands in h
is. Behind him, was Tim. He whimpered fearfully. Like a little puppy. Clutched the man’s arm tightly.
James nodded his head.
“Yeah. But she has had a concussion.”
“Oh dear. Is she going to be okay?” the stewardess made a repeat question.
“Yeah. I think she’s fine. Probably a small concussion. That’s all.”
“She may need CPR,” someone in the crowd said.
“No. She’s breathing. You don’t need CPR.”
“But look at that bruise on her head,” the man perched beside him protested.
James looked down at the little girl’s head. And sure enough there it was. A bluish-black contusion the size of a quarter. Swelling around the girdle of her forehead. He eyed the contusion carefully and then slowly poked it with his index finger and felt it. Then he pried open the kid’s eyelid and checked for the color of her sclera. White. It was still white. That was a good sign.
Cardinal Rule: A James Kendrick Thriller Page 2