“Let her go, Mike.” Alex sat at the opposite end of the table, his voice restrained. “What if I made Seinkevitz go away?”
“You would’ve saved that little boy, wouldn’t you?” Kelsey asked at the same time, leaning toward Castor again.
He chose to answer her instead of Alex. “Yes, ma’am. I would never hurt anyone, not like that. Jose and me were stupid, but we weren’t killers. We only wanted to get rich. That’s all.”
He glanced at Alex and, just like that, he let Kelsey go and pushed away from the table as far as the chains allowed. The nervousness was gone.
“Honest. I never thought they’d hurt that family like they did. Yuri’s a cold-blooded psychopath. He even laughed when he did it.”
“And that’s why I’m talking with you,” Alex said grimly.
“Yes, sir.” Castor bowed his head and sucked in a deep breath. “But I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Mark reached for Kelsey’s chair as she stood. Grasping her elbow, he meant to escort her out, but just as they reached the door, she turned to the prisoner one last time.
“Mike?”
He looked up in surprise.
“Would it be okay if I wrote to you while you’re in prison?”
His eyes glistened. “Yes, ma’am. That would mean a lot.”
For the first time, Mark felt sorry for him. Yeah, Kelsey might actually write to him, but other than that, the man had nothing to look forward to.
Twenty-Five
I have to be dreaming.
A summer raft floated just beyond her reach.
Jonathan and Mark stood waving to her like silly boys, both so handsome it was hard to know which to swim to. The water splashed over her eyes, blurring their faces. Straight and true, she pushed against the waves. Each stroke became a decision. Mark or Jonathan? Jonathan or Mark? The element of nature that she loved so much spoke to her now, each lapping wave a whisper to, ‘Think of Mark. Think of Mark.’
She reached the raft. A strong hand reached for her. It was Mark who pulled her up and out of the lake with a single move. Jonathan was gone. Warmth flooded her soul.
‘My home. My car. And my heart.’
She woke. There was no Mark. No raft. Only stone cold dark. Her resolve crumbled.
“Help me, somebody help me!” She scratched the concrete barrier and screamed, “I’m in here! Mark! Get me out! Somebody help me!”
Claustrophobia suffocated her. The walls closed in. Panic ruled.
“Help me. I don’t wanna die in here. I’m scared, and I don’t wanna die.” Tears ran into her hair and down her neck. “Mama!”
As quick as the panic attack stormed over her, it was gone. Like a deflated balloon, Libby lay limp and exhausted by the useless waste of energy, all hope sucked out of her.
As her awful reality settled itself alongside her in the coffin, she felt sad and sorry for her father, her mother, and both of her sisters. Most of all she felt sorry for herself, shut up in the deep dark wherever she was. She’d never be a nurse, a wife, or a mother. Neither would there be a marriage, a wedding night, or a honeymoon. For sure, there’d never be a birth. No babies would call her Mama. No husband would make love to her and call her darling, sweetheart, or dear.
She tried to lick her parched lips. Even saliva had deserted her.
All there was—was nothing. All there would ever be—was death. Her death. She would die in this box. Her future held only a hollowed shell of skin and bones, no life within, and no life without. All she’d ever be was a shriveled, mummified corpse. Like the sick, scared girl she was, she cried.
It was the saddest sound she had ever heard.
For the first time, Mark dared to hope.
“What if I could take that Russian bastard out of the picture?” Alex got right to the point.
“What do you mean?” Castor asked wearily. “He’s in Afghanistan. You’re here.”
“I mean eliminate him. That deal’s still on the table. You help me. I’ll help you.”
Mark shot Alex a glance. He intended to use that equalizer Mark and Harley had left inside the Russian’s compound. Hell, yeah.
“You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.”
“I’m asking you to be half the man my wife thinks you are.”
“Then what?”
“Then you’ll go to trial, most likely to jail for the rest of your life, but I’ve got some influence. I can promise protection for whatever time you’ll serve.” Alex signaled Mark.
He hurried to retrieve a portable television. This guy was cracking. He could feel it.
“Can you see that okay?” Mark asked when he positioned the TV at the end of the table.
Castor looked up at him, suspicion still in his eyes. “Yeah, sure. What’s going on?”
Mark dialed his friend in Afghanistan. Late night in Wisconsin meant early morning there. Come on, Harley. Answer the phone.
“Morning.” Harley’s cheerful voice instantly calmed Mark. He breathed a sigh of relief. His buddy was about to make a big impression.
“Good to hear you, Harley. Can you send me the feed to camera five?”
“You bet.”
Mark listened to shuffling as his request was attended to. The screen flickered to life with input from camera five, showing an ornate building on the outskirts of Arzad’s little village. The upper balcony door opened. Boris stepped out, a phone to his ear and that arrogant sneer on his ugly face. Mark steeled his nerves as the camera Harley had placed high in the tree shifted to a close-up view.
He saw it then. Mukhtar flashed to his mind.
“You receiving?” Harley asked.
“Clear as a bell. Tell me something though. Have you ever seen any of his men with a scabbard?”
“Nope,” Harley answered quickly. “Your buddy is the only one. There’s a Japanese Samurai Katana sword inside of it, a forty-one inch full tang blade. He keeps it battle ready. I’ve been watching him. The joker practices every night on his balcony like he’s some kind of a martial arts expert.”
“I’ll bet that blade makes quite the surgical cut, don’t you think?”
“You bet,” Harley agreed. “You might say a man could lose his head over it.”
“Or his fingers,” Mark muttered, his throat dry at what Jose and Mukhtar had suffered. “Hold on.”
“Copy that.”
“That’s him,” Castor whispered in disbelief.
“Seinkevitz?” Alex switched his speakerphone on. “Or should I call you Rod Kensington?”
Mark’s jaw dropped. Alex knows this guy?
The bearded man on the balcony looked around as if he might see someone lurking in the shadows. He dropped the heavy Russian accent. “Where you at Stewart? Show yourself.”
“This explains a helluva lot,” Alex answered calmly. “None of this has been about the opium at all, has it?”
“You always were quick on the uptake.” Kensington leaned against the wrought iron railing, his voice casual like he was talking about Monday night football. “I gotta be honest. It was about the drugs until I heard you and that piece of crap business of yours were involved. Then it was just for the fun of watching you jump through your ass.”
“You killed a mother and her children for fun.”
Kensington shrugged. “Mostly. Yeah. You gotta admit. I’ve kept you busy.”
“Then you abducted an innocent young woman and buried her alive,” Alex hissed. “You’re a twisted bastard.”
“You don’t know a thing about me. Never did.” Kensington glanced around his compound like he still expected Alex to stroll out from behind his garage.
“I know you recruited your army in Leningrad.”
“All that means is you still got Mother working for you. She’s the only one who could’ve found me. Is Mortimer still working for you, too? He still snorting that crap up his nose?”
“Mother’s good, but Harley’s better.”
Mark smiled. So that was what
Mother was telling Alex during that conversation in the hallway. That must’ve been when Alex found out who Boris really was – this Kensington guy. Well good, because in a few minutes, Harley was going to be damn great. If Kensington only knew.
“You’ve gone too far, Rod.”
The wanna-be Russian grunted. “What? That little girl I got stashed mean something to you?”
Mark stiffened, but Alex ignored the question. “How many more men are you sending to finish your dirty work?”
“Yeah, right. Like I’d blow my game plan.” Kensington squeezed the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Thought you were smarter than that.”
“You’re still using, aren’t you?”
“You see, now that’s the best part about not working for you.” He looked around again. “I don’t hafta worry about your dumb-assed rules. Hell. I made my own. You wanna know what my first rule is? Huh? Do you? Well, I’ll tell you. I do as I damn well please.” Kensington stiffened at his railing as he ranted. “You got eyes on me. Do I look like I need anything? I don’t think so. I’m living the dream, but you? You’re still trying to get that stinking covert op piece of crap business off the ground, ain’t you?”
“You haven’t changed at all.”
“Why should I? There’s better things than living in the good old U. S. of A. You ought to get out of the country once in awhile. Live a little.”
Mark watched Alex’s demeanor change. The calm was gone.
“You killed innocent people. If I could’ve found you then, I’d have shot you myself.”
Kensington kicked his railing. “They were nothing but a bunch of rag heads. There’s plenty more where they came from. You oughta know that. How’s that cute little Najela chic? You think I don’t know about her? I got news for you. She oughta be close to marrying age, ain’t she? At least she’s old enough to—”
“Rod.” Alex’s voice turned lethal. “Leave her out of this.”
“What you gonna do, fire me again?” Kensington stabbed his finger toward the west as if Alex stood there. “You oughta know better than to make threats you can’t keep, old man. You just wait. My guys are coming for you. You’re next. You hear me?”
Alex nodded somberly to Mark and hung up his phone. “Finish it.”
The video turned into a silent movie. Kensington ranted into dead air.
Once more, Mark put the phone to his ear. “Are we clear to strike?”
“Waiting on you,” Harley answered. “Just so you know, the staff cleared out the day they saw those footprints you planted. Good call, Houston. I didn’t know these folks believed in giants.”
Mark closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer. I’m coming Libby. Hold on, honey. Please hold on.
“Make it rain,” he whispered. “Send that bastard back to hell.”
“Copy that,” Harley confirmed. “One bastard and his minions going down.”
Mark tilted the TV stand so Castor had optimum viewing. The Russian had tossed his phone into the open door behind him, still looking for the hidden cameras. Suddenly, the screen filled with static until, little by little, an image emerged through billowing dust and smoke. This one was not from camera five though. It had to be camera twenty-one, the lucky camera a half-mile away from what used to be an evil man’s lair. Mark held his breath while Harley provided a close up view. Nothing remained. No barracks. No turret. No Seinkevitz.
“What the-?” Castor sat glued to the screen, speechless.
Mark held his breath. The world had stopped turning on its axis. Everyone waited for Michael Castor.
He blew out a long sigh before he glanced at Alex and then the double-sided window. “Sir, may I, umm, talk with your wife?”
Alex shook his head. “No. She’s had enough for one day.”
“But.” His whispered voice caught. “She believed in me. Please.”
Alex hesitated, then motioned Mark.
He found her watching in the observation room, her eyes full of tears. If she had ever doubted what The TEAM stood for, she didn’t anymore. She had just witnessed her husband order the death of a man.
“Mark.” She reached for his hand.
“Yes, ma’am.” He swallowed past the guilt stuck in his throat. Neither he nor his boss deserved these precious women who loved them.
“I’m going with you to get Libby.”
Mark couldn’t get to his car fast enough. Alex bee-lined to their other vehicle with Kelsey on his arm and his cell phone to his ear. They knew exactly where they were going. And why.
Mike Castor and Jose Gutierrez didn’t just smuggle opium for Seinkevitz; they had cheated him. Castor skimmed a little off each shipment before he made the drop to a derelict building in downtown Dover, Delaware. He never saw who picked it up, so he was not able to close that end of the smuggling ring.
When he and Jose figured they’d gotten enough opium set aside, they’d planned to disappear. Castor thought he could live undetected in Baja for the rest of his life. Gutierrez had his eye on a vineyard in the south of France. Like crooks the world over, they planned to live the high life. Also like men foolish enough to believe they could get off scot-free, neither of them realized how psychotic Kensington was. In the end, he gave them just enough rope to hang themselves. Then he did it for them.
Once Kensington found out Alex and his team were involved, the game changed. Murdering the family in West Virginia was only a sadistic ploy to draw Alex in. Once The TEAM was involved, Kensington knew Alex would never quit. It all came down to revenge for something that had happened years ago.
Mark didn’t have all the answers. Apparently, there was bad blood between Alex and this Rod Kensington guy. Mark only knew that once Castor had Libby, Yuri forced him to pull over into a wayside, the Wisconsin version of a rest stop. The wayside was barricaded and closed for repair. Stacks of rectangular concrete planters had been stockpiled for a beautification project. Since no work crew was on-site, Yuri had simply dropped his unconscious victim into one of the planters, and covered her with another, using the front-end loader on site. It was convenient, quick, and a tremendous bit of luck—for the Russians.
Mark grimaced when Castor told them the exact location, only twenty miles south of the mile marker where they had intercepted the Russians.
He’d been so close to Libby and hadn’t known it.
Cold ....
Can’t feel ... feet. Everything ... aches. Aspirin ... sure be nice.
Wish I could ... sleep.
Mom. You seen my red sweater? Wait. Oh, yeah. You’re not here ... either.
So very ... tired. Can’t wait ... anymore.
Leave me alone. It’s time.
I quit.
Twenty-Six
Mark screeched into the construction site amidst a cloud of flying gravel and dust with Zack at his side and Alex and Kelsey on his bumper. The police weren’t far behind. The life flight helicopter already searched for a nearby place to land.
Mark ran to the rows of planters.
Zack ran for the frontend loader. “There’s no damn keys!” he roared.
Just like Castor said, the planters were stacked three high in ten neat rows—thirty planters that created twenty ready-made tombs. But which one? Libby was right here, but still out of reach. They needed the frontend loader.
“Libby!” Mark bellowed. “Libby!”
If she would just make a sound or scream for help. Anything. He grabbed the first planter on the end of the stack. It didn’t move. The damn things were nested into each other, the base of each fitted into the lip of the one below. Applying his shoulder, he went at it again. They had to be moved carefully, or risk crushing her, but damn. It wouldn’t budge.
“Why couldn’t he tell us which one she’s in?” Zack added his muscle to Mark’s.
“Yuri didn’t trust Castor. He blindfolded him once they got here.” Alex joined in. “I called Mother. She contacted the governor. Someone’s on their way with the key.”
The knowledge
that Yuri had blindfolded Castor sent a cold chill washing down Mark’s back. Yuri could’ve killed Libby, could have shot her and left Castor thinking she was alive. The planters might be another lie. She might not be here. Panic seized his gut, adding strength even as his eyes combed the landscape for any sign of a body.
It took all three men to work the top planter off the stack, inch-by-inch and grunt-by-grunt. At last it fell.
No Libby.
Mark groaned. Suffocation swelled up inside of him. Hypothermia shivered into his soul. She’s here. I know she is. He brushed the sweat out of his eyes and attacked the next planter in the same stack. Hold on. I’m coming, babe.
Zack took the other end. Alex braced himself against the toppled planter and took the middle. No words. The three men pushed and pulled. This one was lower to the ground; it offered more resistance. Mark’s legs trembled. Sheer brute force might not be enough. I’m not letting her die. A roar blasted out of him. The planter toppled over. Alex dodged it just in time.
No Libby.
“Where is she?” Mark growled as he ran to the other end of the stack. The end planters seemed the most logical. They were easy to reach with a frontend loader. But if Castor only knew the lies that Yuri had told him ….
Mark pushed the evil thought away. No. She’s here. I know it.
Alex and Zack were quick to his side. Each planter became heavier and harder to wrangle. They were fighting time as well as their own strength. Mark’s hand slipped. The concrete sanded a patch of skin off his palm. He glanced at Zack and Alex. Sweat glistened on their faces. Both men shook from their efforts, panting like draft horses, their faces contorted in sheer determination and resolve. He’d seen these exact same looks on other brothers before—in Afghanistan, and here they were again, in it to the end with him. For her.
If they believed, then so did he.
Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) Page 23