by L. T. Ryan
Nodding, he wiped his eye with his sleeve. “What could I possibly know?”
“Vasiley Rudin,” I said. “That name mean anything to you?”
“Of course. He and Christiana were partners at times, and were working on this operation together.”
“Under Yashkin’s orders?”
“Yashkin?” He looked at me with a furrowed brow. “The deposed General? No, for the American.”
“The American?” I stole a glance at Bear and saw he was as confused as I was.
Artur slowed the vehicle to a crawl and pulled over. “Yes. The American. I guess you wouldn’t call him that, but that’s how we refer to David.”
I pulled Lexi’s phone out and pushed the entry for David. Through a haze of static, the call connected after a several second delay. The line rang several times then disconnected with a click. I glanced back at Bear again. He shook his head as though he was thinking along the same lines as me now. The implications of what Artur had told us moments ago raced through my mind. Did this mean Yashkin and David were working together? Or were Yashkin’s men working behind his back? If both Christiana and Rudin worked for David, why did Rudin kill her in the warehouse? Was he seeking the information solely for his own gain and she threatened his chances? He showed up at the apartment in Moscow. Either David sent him, or he already knew of its existence.
“Artur,” I said. “Did Christiana ever mention Yashkin?”
He shook his head. “Not that I can ever recall.” He straightened in his seat. “We met four years ago and never once had I heard her mention him.”
“All right.” I put my hand over my eyes and rubbed my temples. “Just… just get us out of the city, someplace quiet.”
“Preferably near a running body of water,” Bear said.
I looked back at him and nodded. We’d reached a point where we couldn’t count on anyone to get us out of the country. We had to dispose of Lexi’s body somewhere no one would ever find it.
Two hours later we were over a hundred miles from Moscow, deep in the thick forest. Bear finished digging a four-foot deep grave. The frozen ground hadn’t made it an easy task. I stripped Lexi’s clothes and wrapped her in a blanket from the back of Artur’s car. The clothing we tore into shreds and planned to throw into a river on the way out.
“Will that be deep enough?” Artur asked gesturing to the hole in the ground.
I could see that the grave was symbolic for him. He wasn’t burying Lexi, a woman he hardly knew. Wrapped in the blanket was Christiana and he was saying his goodbyes.
“It’s good,” Bear said. “Always a chance someone might dig her up, but who’s gonna find her out here? Even if they do, how much are they gonna care?”
They left me alone at the gravesite after we placed her body and covered it with dirt. I squeezed the locket tight, wondering how I’d break it to her father that his little girl was gone. I said my goodbyes to Lexi, recounting a few of the personal moments we had shared. I wondered what could have been if this had gone differently. And I realized that her dedication to clearing her name would mean anything between the two of us would never have worked. I stomped the ground around her grave and covered it with leaves and pine needles and sticks. Finally, I grabbed a heavy white rock and worked it a few inches into the ground to mark her resting site.
We worked our way west, close to the Latvian border. This wasn’t an area of the world where Bear and I had many contacts. I’d tried a few more times to reach David with no luck. The line rang, then disconnected in the same manner as earlier. After a while, I figured it wasn’t a good idea to hang onto the phone, as he likely used it to track our movements. I left it under a rest stop toilet, connected to a server in China.
It was close to five a.m. when Artur pulled off the highway and stopped the car outside of a small town.
“I’m afraid this is where we must part,” he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “I can tell you two are resourceful enough to figure things out from here. Now, I need to determine my next steps. After what you’ve told me, I think I need to reconsider my current arrangements.” He took his hands off the wheel and looked at me. “I propose a gentleman’s agreement. You never saw me, and I never saw you.”
“Fair enough,” I said.
Artur reached down along the door and popped the trunk. “Take the bags, leave the pistols. I’ll dispose of them. The passports should be enough to get you across the border, but I wouldn’t count on them getting you much further than that.”
I shook his hand before exiting the sedan. Bear waited at the trunk. He retrieved his creds from his bag, but left everything else behind. Seemed like a good idea, so I followed his lead. The bags could’ve had tracking tags sewn into them. He stood there with his arm stretched out over the trunk, pistol in hand.
“Think it’s a good idea to leave it?” he asked.
I closed the lid, faced him. “No, I don’t.”
Artur shifted the car into drive and pulled away, making a large loop in the middle of the road. He didn’t look our way as he passed. Instead, he had his hand up to his eyes. Grief over the loss of Christiana, and his life as he knew it, had set in.
“Come on, man,” Bear said, ejecting the magazine from his pistol, then shoving the sidearm in his waistband. “Let’s go find a phone. I think it’s time to call Frank.”
63
The warm, salty air coming off the Mediterranean lingered in my mouth and soothed my sunburned nose. A month had passed since that tragic night in Moscow. There wasn’t an hour that went by since that I didn’t think about Lexi. I tapped my pocket, feeling for the locket I’d kept close since she passed.
A call to Frank that night got us a ride out of Russia in the back of a semi filled with cleaning supplies. A twelve-hour drive through Latvia and Lithuania culminated in me and Bear being discarded like used dishrags outside of Warsaw, Poland. A man I knew from my past in the SIS delivered us to a safe house. It took two days to recover from the smell in the trailer, and another five before we were allowed to leave the location. I maintained contact with Frank throughout the stay. He was pissed with how things went down, but managed to get over it. And he stressed that he wasn’t behind any of it. He had no idea why interest in Thanos was so heavy. If the man who had taken us to the safe house had mentioned anything about the briefcase, Frank must’ve overlooked it, as he never brought it up with me. Through the course of our conversations he confirmed what I had believed about Yashkin. He orchestrated the whole thing, playing sides against one another. The reason for killing Christiana remained unclear. Frank was also unable to confirm any suspicions about David, refusing to even recognize the man existed. Hard to believe, considering there wasn’t much that didn’t filter through Skinner these days. It told me everything I needed to know, yet I still didn’t know everything.
My last contact with Frank was the day we left the safe house. He had fresh credentials delivered so we could work our way through Europe. He wanted us to stay put for a few weeks, keep our heads down until he knew it was safe to re-enter the States. I told him I’d do him one better. All I needed was a way to contact Yashkin. Frank had been reluctant at first, but soon realized that a world without the Russian psychopath was probably a good thing. He came through for me a few days ago after managing to track down a working number for Kozlov.
The Russian was highly suspicious when I called. I told him there was no ill will, I simply wanted to make a business deal. I had located what they were looking for, had it in my possession, and would exchange it for five million US dollars. He balked until I agreed to make the exchange in public. That was what I wanted anyway.
The waitress stopped in front of the table, blocking my view of the sea. She placed a carafe of wine and a glass down in front of me. “Are you ready to order?”
I raised my coffee mug, swirling the mud on the bottom. After she left, I checked my watch. Less than five minutes until the meeting. The briefcase rested in the chair next to me, covered with
a tan linen jacket. Next to it was a Beretta. I had another holstered under my shirt. I prayed Yashkin gave me an excuse to use it. I didn’t care if we were out on a busy street. At the same time, I wanted to walk away from the meeting unscathed, five million dollars richer.
Kozlov emerged from a group of American tourists a block from the restaurant. His hair and beard were trimmed short. He had on a loose shirt and baggy pants, no doubt to conceal his weapon of choice. He stood on the corner waiting for the line of cars to come to a halt at the traffic light. Reaching for his ear, he nodded. I glanced up at the buildings, searching for a face in the windows. They had to be in my line of sight somewhere. I redirected my attention to the Russian as he crossed the street. The guy was sloppy, frequently patting his sidearm through his clothing. How had he managed to last as long as he had?
He lifted his glasses and made eye contact with me. I gave him a slight nod as I pulled the chair with the briefcase closer. Kozlov scanned the faces on the patio, then glanced across the street. I followed his gaze and finally spotted the silhouette I’d been searching for.
“He gonna join us?” I said, pointing directly at the other man.
The boutique door opened, bells dangling from the handle ringing out, the door catching in the breeze and hanging there for a few seconds before Yashkin appeared. He had on dark sunglasses, cargo pants, and a purple shirt. Not sure what he was hoping to achieve, but if standing out was it, he’d accomplished his goal.
“Sit.” I gestured to the seat across from me.
Kozlov slid his backpack off and set it on the ground next to the chair, then plopped down. He adjusted his pistol.
I smiled and shook my head at him.
“What?” he asked, straightening his shirt.
“Nothing.” I kicked the chair to my left out a few inches and gestured toward it when Yashkin reached the patio.
He grabbed the wrought iron frame and pulled it out. The legs grated against the concrete, causing a few nearby patrons to cast scolding looks in our direction.
“You have it?” he asked, getting straight down to business.
Nodding, I said, “I do. And I’m guessing your end is in the backpack?”
Yashkin reached over the side of his chair and retrieved the bag, unzipping it as he lifted it toward the table. He set it in the middle, tipped it toward me.
“Good?” Yashkin asked.
“Yeah, looks good,” I said without bothering to inspect the money inside.
He eased back in his chair, smiling. “You surprise me, Mr. Noble.”
I held up a hand. “No names, Yashkin.”
His lips drew tight at the mention of his name. There was no telling who else might be in the vicinity, watching the meeting from afar. And neither of us had a guarantee that the other wasn’t wired, working for some agency or another. If so, I felt confident I had the upper hand in this situation.
“Anyway,” I said. “What surprises you about me?”
“Everything that happened, and here you are, ready to move on for a nice sum of money.”
“Can’t change the past.”
“Only learn from it, right?”
“Something like that.”
“No one ever does, though.” His smile faded as he leaned in, gesturing for me to come closer. I obliged him. Our faces were inches from one another. He lowered his sunglasses and looked me right in the eye. “Artur never figured that out. Hopefully you can carry the lesson for him instead.”
“When did you do it?”
“That night.” His smile faded as his cheeks darkened three shades of red. “After you bested my man and took what was rightfully mine.” He took a deep breath, the color drained from his face. “That’s OK, though. I know that we took something important from you as well. Anyway, we caught up to Artur sometime after he’d dropped you off. To his credit, he never revealed how you got away, even as we lopped off his fingers. He kept babbling on about Christiana.” Yashkin rolled his eyes and waved his hand. “She never should have involved herself with that man. You see, she was going to take what you have, sell it on the open market, and run off with Artur. Can you believe that?”
I held his gaze for several seconds, staring into his blue eyes. “I guess they both got what they deserved then.”
He pounded his fist on the table. “Yes. I knew you were like me. I can see the coldness in your heart through your dead eyes.”
“Not so sure about that.” I drained the rest of my coffee. “What about David?”
He pushed his bottom lip out and shrugged. “I’m sure I don’t know anything about any David.”
“Right. Of course you don’t.” I dropped a twenty on the table and placed the coffee mug on top to hold it in place. The breeze continued to blow steadily at us. A dark cloud covered the sun. I reached over and slid my jacket off the briefcase. “What’s so important in there that so many people had to die? That you’d be willing to part with so much?”
Yashkin’s smile returned. He leaned back, folded his hands and placed them on the table in front of him. “Don’t be a damn fool. Take your money and disappear and forget you ever had anything to do with this.”
64
I walked amid a crowd of strangers keeping the sea to my left, stealing glances at the blue water while thinking I had enough cash on hand to buy a hell of a boat. I could sail out of the Med to the Atlantic, kick around the coast of Africa, make my way to Australia and New Zealand for a while.
Maybe for a lifetime.
Had to be parts down under where I’d never be found.
By this time the two Russians should’ve lost sight of me. Yashkin would have wanted to check the contents of the briefcase. I pictured him setting it down on the table, turning it so the combination lock stared back at him. Anticipation built as he worked the numbers, rewarded with a satisfying click, his treasure now inches from his fingertips.
“He’s opened it.” Bear piped in through the wireless ear piece tucked in my left ear canal. “And you’ve got a tail.”
I resisted the urge to look back to locate the man following me. Trust in Bear. He’d get the wannabee assailant in time.
I imagined Yashkin’s face as he peeled back the lid of the briefcase and rifled through the papers, which were nothing more than a class of second graders’ homework we’d found stashed in a folder on a bench in Geneva, Switzerland. It was a stroke of luck finding them the same day we were in the city to conceal the actual documents. See, we’d cracked the briefcase’s lock in Germany, after we had left the safe house. The documents Yashkin desired so greatly that he was willing to part with five million dollars were hundreds of miles away, safe and secure in one of my numbered accounts. I figured if the coded information they contained was worth more than all the lives that had been lost, plus millions of dollars, maybe it was better I held onto them for a while.
“Oh man, you should see this, Jack.” Bear cackled in the earpiece. “They’re furious. He showed the stack of homework to Kozlov, then threw it up in the air. Papers are drifting down on the patio like the snow in Moscow.” Bear kept the line open, filling it with deep, concentrated breaths. “They’re on the move now, headed your way. Stay the course, bro. Don’t panic.”
My jacket, which was folded over my arm slid down my forearm, concealing my hand as I freed the Beretta from its holster. The screaming crowd behind me indicated I might not need to discharge the sidearm.
“Kozlov’s down.”
A twinge of disappointment raced through me. Part of me wanted to take the man out myself. I pushed forward to the next intersection, turned right, away from the sea. I waited there for confirmation. Another collective gasp arose from the people on the street.
“Tail’s about a half-block from you. Be ready, but note that there’s a wave of people coming your way.”
The crowd’s collective anxiety preceded them in the form of panicked yells and the excited shuffling of feet on the pavement.
Another crack tore through the
air.
“And there goes Yashkin.” Bear whistled a maddened tune, sounded like a Bluejay on acid. He sucked in a sharp breath, held it. Another shot. “Don’t worry about the tail. His brains are plastered on a store window. Gonna see if any other roaches come scrambling out before I break down.”
The crowd reached the intersection behind me, some in a dead heat, knocking others over. The rest scrambled past, with some turning in my direction with no regard for oncoming traffic. Tires squealed on the asphalt as drivers attempted to avoid taking out the wave of frantic pedestrians.
“All right,” Bear said. “We’re good. I’m out. Weapon is clean and broken down. Gonna dispose of it right here. Meet you in an hour.”
65
We met on a deserted country road outside of Grenoble, France. Rolling hills and farmland stretched out as far as I could see. A warm breeze blew from the southwest. In less than ten minutes I had acclimated to the smell of manure.
I had arrived in my rental car fifteen minutes before Bear. During that time, not so much as a stray dog had wandered past. This was the kind of place I could hide for a couple months and no one would ever know, as long as I had an accommodating host. Bear and I had a few friends in France, but none knew we were there. I hoped it would remain that way. Soon the story would be all over the news, and neither of us needed someone connecting the dots.
Bear parked his rental ahead of mine. Exhaust lingered for a few seconds before the wind disposed of it. I spit the aftertaste out of my mouth. A few seconds after cutting the engine, he exited his vehicle, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound was lost in the void. He walked around the back of my car, where I waited, seated on the trunk lid, the Beretta next to me.
He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, folded his arms over his chest, nodded a couple times while looking around.
“Nice spot,” he said.
“I thought so,” I said.