by Jeff Carson
The truck interior was dark. Very dark.
One of the first things he’d learned about night tracking, first from his father, and later in the army, was to use peripheral vision in low-light situations. Looking straight at something utilized the cone cells on the retina, which were rendered worthless if too dark. Scanning with the peripheral used the rod cells, which were distributed more evenly throughout the back of the retina.
He swept his vision, taking in the truck interior with an unfocused gaze, and groped with his hands.
It was filled with computers, laptop computers, of all sizes and colors. They were stacked five or ten deep along the floor of the truck, all along the back and left side. And there was something else. Wolf counted six large cardboard boxes with flipped-open tops, also filled with laptops. None of them were new, Wolf realized, as he reached in and felt a few of them. They were scratched on the corners, and some had stickers on them—A.C. Milan, Vespa, Hello Kitty. Hello Kitty? Wolf pressed his face close to the sticker and felt it. It was on a laptop with a soft pink plastic covering.
Wolf remembered the conversation inside the observatory from the day before. Vlad worked for the EAS, overseeing the logistics of moving astronomical equipment between observatories throughout the European Union.
A clear mental picture was forming in Wolf’s mind as to the true nature of Vlad’s activities. As of now it looked like, along with astronomical equipment, Vlad was trafficking stolen electronics. All of them supplied by a gang of thugs led by Cezar.
Small light-colored boxes caught his attention, stacked underneath the open boxes of electronics. Wolf pushed back one on top, unveiling a stark white cardboard one about a foot cubed in size. A dark-blue logo was faintly visible on the side. He bent closer and ran his finger across it. It was the letters EAS with what looked to be stars or planets. He lifted the box. It was packed dense and heavy, and shaking didn’t produce any movement or sound inside.
He straightened and turned an ear toward the doors, stilling his breath. He heard nothing.
The best he had in way of a blade was the tiny scooter key in his pocket. He pushed the small key into the tape, sliced it down the crease, and pulled up the cardboard. Inside was a square plastic bag packed tight, like a clear sack filled with flour. Cocaine, he thought. Cocaine was found at his brother’s apartment, and a white bag was found at Rosenwald’s. There was, of course, no way of knowing for sure, but if the shoe fits …
A shock jolted through Wolf’s body as he heard a jostling inside the two closed doors of the observatory. He shut the flap and replaced the box underneath the larger one in a quick move. He darted around the side of the truck as the outside light went on with a blinding flash. Wolf looked down. His feet were bathed in light. He took one large stride, aligning his feet with the tire, which put them in shadow, and hopefully unseen from the other side.
A door to the observatory swung open and hit the exterior wall with a thud. Vlad and Cezar were in mid-conversation, and one of them walked briskly to the truck.
The truck sagged down with body weight, and rummaging sounds came from the other side of the thin metal sidewall behind Wolf’s back. Wolf looked to the front of the truck. He squinted and bore his vision into the darkness to see just where the truck was going to drive. It was parked on grass, with smooth black pavement just in front of the front tires.
His eyes followed the jet-black void cutting through the dark lawn. It went on about ten yards then veered. Wolf swung his body as his eyes traveled down the road, following it all the way to a gate. The road then veered to the right and lowered below the level of the property as it descended downwards along the perimeter.
A secondary punch of adrenaline hit him when he realized that the road was the same perimeter road his scooter was parked on, right out in plain sight, with a stack of coats on the fence directly above it.
He turned back to the rear of the truck again. He tensed as fingers came into view, gripping the back corner of the truck.
Just then, Vlad stepped into view from the back of the truck, illuminated from the floodlight. He turned and looked directly in the direction of Wolf. Looked right at him. “Eh?” He turned his head to the back of the truck. Vlad shot an uncomprehending glare to the mumbling voice Wolf heard within the truck and disappeared back out of sight. The truck slumped downwards again. Further downwards. They were both in the truck.
Wolf moved to the front of the truck, eyeing the open gate to the perimeter road. If he ran out to the gate, he could do it without detection, but getting the scooter as well? Not unless they stayed inside the truck long enough for him to slip past the fifty-foot section of road that was illuminated through the iron fence.
If they spotted him, would they recognize him? Wolf thought of Cezar’s pistol, and then the man wielding it. Was he a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of guy?
Vlad and Cezar launched into a loud argument, which sounded like it was right next to his ear. They were deep into the back of the truck.
Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth, cursing his options. He shuffled to the rear of the truck and peered around the back corner. Wolf saw the faint flashlight glow and heard them talking, probably eight feet in. It sounded like both men were rummaging through materials.
He eyed the dangling rope above, and the locking latch on the truck’s roll-up door.
Wolf sucked in a breath and lunged, gripping it with both extended arms, and pulled down with the full force of his body weight. The door slammed all the way shut faster than he’d expected, bouncing up from the floor a good three feet as he stumbled backwards onto his backside. He landed hard on his tailbone, then rose instantly and pulled down hard again on the handle this time, catching a glimpse of shoes inside. The door began to rise, and Wolf knew that the leverage two men had trying to raise the door from the standing position was much more than he had holding it down with his arm. It inched higher.
The locking latch was right there in front of his face, but the door needed to be completely closed. Putting both of his hands on the exterior handle, he pulled down with the force of his two-hundred-pound body lifted off the ground. It slammed shut, and at the same instant he flipped the latch.
Instinct told him he was already too late. He lay back and rolled just as loud reports from inside pealed open holes next to the door handle. Bullets smacked the asphalt next to him and whirred into the night.
He got up and sprinted back the way he’d come in, more muffled gunshots ringing out behind him. Huffing loudly, he reached the fence and vaulted it in a single bound, barely touching his left hand to the top with the adrenaline coursing through his body.
Wolf was suddenly flying ten feet over the scooter toward the rapidly approaching dirt road. Wind filled his ears as he fell motionless, and then he landed hard on his heels, rolling and smashing his hipbone into the ground. A split instant later, his elbow connected hard with a teeth-clamping jolt. He gasped, stumbled to his feet, and gripped his elbow to contain the pain.
He heard a diesel engine roar to life from within the property fence and he saw the swinging lights of the truck on the trees inside. There was a yell, then the deep gurgling engine accelerating hard.
“Shit.” He rammed the scooter key into the ignition and sat on the seat, rolling the scooter off the kickstand. He started it and cranked the throttle, producing more of an ear-splitting whine than any forward movement. He jumped off and pushed, sending a fresh jolt of pain into his hip.
When he couldn’t run any faster, he jumped on, and acceleration gently took over as he was propelled down to the main road. To the right was the direction of John’s apartment, but it was an uphill climb for a hundred yards or so past the front of the observatory property. The street slanted downhill to the left, which would give him more acceleration from the small engine.
He went left, shooting out onto the black pavement in a deep lean, just keeping his balance as both the front and back wheels skidded sideways.
; The tiny vibrating handlebar mirrors showed the bright lights of the truck passing where his scooter had just been parked seconds before.
Wolf looked back toward the front barely in time to see a sharp turn to the right. He handbraked hard and leaned deep again. As he turned, the rear tire slid before grabbing purchase with a jolt, kicking the scooter hard right, leaning him into a sharp involuntary turn to the left. Like a rodeo cowboy, he kept his balance, but the move had caused him to lose all speed.
A straightaway stretched for a hundred yards in front of him. Cornfields lined the right and left, and it ended in a dimly lit township, where there would be small alleys and tight spaces to lose his pursuers. He cranked the throttle wide open and leaned down, the scooter inching forward with maddeningly slow acceleration. He checked the mirrors again. The hairpin turn was illuminated with bouncing light behind him.
They would run him down on the straightaway. There was no doubt. A two-tire dirt road materialized on the right, and he jammed on the brakes and leaned, launching himself toward it. He bounced onto one of the tire troughs, then cranked the handlebars, crashing into the cornfield.
Broad, cool leaves slapped and sliced his face as he rolled and bounced between thick stalks. He ended up lying in a row, staring up at the sky. He quickly crawled to the screaming scooter, which lay on its side, still running with the powerful light pointing to the sky, and turned it off. Then he reached up, steadied two cornstalks, and waited.
Wolf calmed his heaving breaths and listened carefully, hoping to God they hadn’t seen any part of his crash, or they weren’t looking at a telltale dust cloud on the side of the road in their headlights.
Wolf relaxed a little as he realized they hadn’t yet completed the hairpin turn. He heard the diesel slow, and then he saw headlights through the corn as the truck swung out onto the straight portion of road. It coasted slowly and quietly at low RPMs.
Braking to a halt, the truck paused motionless for a few seconds, then turned onto the narrow dirt road Wolf had just crashed into. Light swept across him through the stalks as the truck crunched onto the turnout.
Wolf’s heart thumped. Chances were good he could outrun Cezar. Cezar was a smoker, and Wolf would be a hard target in the corn. Of course, Cezar would have quite a stride on him, being so tall, and who knew what kind of shot he was.
The truck squeaked to a stop. It was no more than fifteen feet and five rows of corn from Wolf. From Wolf and his white scooter.
He could see inside the truck clearly. Cezar was in the driver’s seat, looking to his left out the glass, but more down the road than into the corn directly in front of him. Wolf stayed frozen, muscles tensed for action.
Cezar lit a cigarette, momentarily lighting the interior of the cab, and rolled down the window.
Wolf narrowed his eyes and kept an eye on the cab for any sign of a pistol. Light-blue writing on the outside of the white truck momentarily distracted him. It was the same light-blue writing as on the wooden Albastru Pub sign. In fact, it said “Albastru” on the side. However, underneath he could make out “International Shipping Co.”
Wolf darted his eyes back to the cab as the truck rocked slightly on its wheels. The rear lit up and a continuous beep filled the air. The truck slowly backed up, pulled onto the road, and went back the way it had come.
Chapter 31
Drool ran up Wolf’s face as he watched Connell, laughing maniacally and sharpening a stick with a camping axe. Chop-chop-chop-chop. Wolf dangled by his ankles, which were tied together with a heavy boat rope that had been slung over a tall tree branch.
He pleaded, but couldn’t produce any intelligible words. He tried to move, tried to reach his feet, but could only struggle against the pull of gravity, which was way too strong for his beaten body to handle. Chop-chop-chop-chop.
Wolf woke with a start.
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
He looked at his watch. It was 8:15. When—p.m.? Had he slept through the whole day? He got out of bed, and stared at his watch again. He looked around the room. He knew where he was; he just couldn’t put a name to it.
Knock-knock-knock-knock.
He moved toward the sound of the knocking, wincing at the hot stabbing in his left hip as he walked through the hallway. He turned the knob and pulled. It was Lia, wide-eyed on the other side of the door. Wolf came to the present moment in a sudden instant. He looked down at himself and straightened his twisted boxer shorts.
“Oh shit.” Wolf looked again at his watch. “Sorry. I don’t know what happened. I forgot to set the alarm last night, I guess. Come in.” He stepped aside.
Lia’s stiff expression melted to a slight smirk as she walked in.
“They say it takes one day per one-hour time difference to get over jet lag,” she said from the hallway as he quickly put his clothes on.
“Yeah, I’m definitely still feeling the effects.” Visions from the night before came to him like distant childhood memories.
Lia looked at his bare torso, her eyes stopping at the long scar on the front of his shoulder. “They have all the paperwork done to release your brother from the morgue.”
“Okay.” Wolf walked to the bedroom and put on some clothes.
“Let’s go for coffee in the piazza before we leave,” she called.
He felt as if he’d taken a handful of sleeping pills after just running a marathon. “Heck of an idea there.”
Wolf freshened up as fast as he could and joined her in the main room.
They went downstairs and outside.
The piazza was warm and bright, bustling once again. Wolf decided that John had been onto something, coming over here for inspiration. Too many people for Wolf’s taste. But, had he been here for any other reason than his current situation, he could see himself enjoying the atmosphere. Throngs of people milled around, double the amount he’d seen before, and the space felt more festive than ever. There were large groups of old men arguing, young kids chatting and pushing each other playfully. It was Friday, Wolf realized. No matter where you went, people lived more on Fridays.
They reached a bar, which was bustling no less than the piazza, and stepped inside. People were lined up two-deep against the counter. Baristas yelled and paced behind the bar—clacking, smacking, twisting, and frothing.
“Two,” Wolf said holding up his fingers to Lia.
“You want a double?”
“Yes,” he said. “It was a difficult night.”
Wolf looked in the mirror behind the shuffling baristas and saw Lia’s face turn red.
They had a croissant, or a brioche as the Italians call it, and slammed their coffee without eye contact or a word said.
Walking out, Wolf said, “Look, about last night. I didn’t mean it was a difficult night because of you ... or because of us.”
“I’m sorry about that—”
“No, I don’t care. I mean, don’t worry about it.” He shook his head. “Look, there’s more to last night. I went to the observatory, and I found out something big.”
As they drove to the morgue, Wolf detailed the night before for Lia. He told her about the load of stolen computers and bags of white substance in the Albastru International Shipping Co. truck, how Cezar had shot at him, and the ensuing chase. He left out the part where he sat motionless in the cornfield for an hour after Cezar had left the scene, only to get hopelessly lost on the way back to his brother’s apartment, finally shoving the keys to Cristina’s scooter under her door and climbing into bed at two-thirty.
“Okay,” she said, “that connects the Romanian bar owner and Vlad to the cocaine. I’m not sure what that means. Was Matthew dealing the drugs for them? Why were the baggies found at your brother’s and Matthew’s apartments?”
“I don’t know. But Cezar was really roughing up Vlad last night. He was furious about something Vlad had done. I had a little time to think last night.” Wolf ran his hand over a scratch on his arm from the cornstalks. “I would bet money that if we found out whe
re these two were from in Romania, the places would be one and the same.
“What did Dr. Wembly at the observatory say about Vlad? He was kind of kissing his ass, like he was surprised that Dr. Vlad had chosen to work there. He said something to the effect of, ‘He’s gracing us by working here.’ Of all the places in Europe, he chooses that outdated observatory in northern Italy to set up shop. Why? I think it’s because he wanted to be close to Cezar. Or maybe he didn’t have a choice. Cezar might have something on him, might be forcing him to help. From the little I saw last night, their relationship looked that way—a bully and the bullied.
“Anyway, it’s obvious that Cezar is running some sort of electronics fencing and drug operation, and Vlad’s complete reign over a respectable European agency’s shipping and logistics operation is a perfect means to transport the stuff wherever they want. The Albastru International Shipping Co. and the European Astronomical Society—it’s a perfect marriage.”
“So how does your brother fit in? And Matthew Rosenwald?”
They saw something they shouldn’t have. Wolf stared at the passing cars parked inches from each other on the side of the road. “I think it might be best if I go about this alone from now on.”
She laughed, and looked over at Wolf, then turned back to the road. “I will help you.”
“I don’t want you getting in trouble, Lia. I plan on getting to the truth today. No matter what it takes. I don’t have any time left.”
…
John’s remains were packed in a heavy-duty plywood box with metal latches and handles. Large gray and black stenciling read “Handle With Extreme Care” diagonally on each side in English.
An air tray. He’d seen plenty in the army. All of them had stabbed his heart, but none like the sight of this one. He gave it a quick shove with his palms to check the quality of construction, an unconscious maneuver that told him nothing.
The agent pointed to where Wolf needed to sign, and he signed. He took his brother’s bag of belongings, and the agents wheeled the box to a waiting truck. Wasting no time. That was good. John was on his way home. Wolf had accomplished half of what he had come to do.