by DJ Steele
"Our informant at the FBI says they’ve been ordered to do surveillance only. No physical contact with your granddaughter. Any suspicious activity is to be reported immediately to Special Agent Black."
"Damn, I think Special Agent Asshole is fishing and using Julia as bait," shot back Elke. She never could hold back her disdain for the intelligence community.
"It’s going to be difficult to keep eyes on Julia with FBI interference," cautioned the man.
"I want Julia moved out of town to one of our safe houses."
"And if she won’t go or the FBI interferes?"
"Put all-hands-on-deck and make it happen. I’ll be in London in a little over seven hours. I expect an update."
"I understand," said the man on the line.
"Is everything in place in London? I can’t afford to miss this opportunity."
Elke scanned the travelers around her. A man she had seen earlier when she checked her baggage walked by. He was dark skin, hair to match, wire rimmed glasses and early forties. Looked like he could be a Boy Scout leader, an ordinary dad with a brood of kids waiting on his return. Hopefully he wouldn’t be on her flight.
"All assets are in place. Just be sure you make your bathroom break. They’ll have eyes on you."
She knew Director Piagno wouldn’t trust her to keep him in the loop. Smart man, she thought.
The line clicked off.
Elke glanced at her watch and hurried toward her gate.
"I still have eyes on Grey Goose, Director. She’s lining up to board the plane."
"You think she knows she’s being followed?"
"No sir. We’ve been very cautious."
Director Piagno doubted Elke would believe he wouldn’t have her tracked. All he needed from her was a location, they would handle the rest. The ex-spy still had many contacts and the CIA had benefited from her since she quit the agency and changed her identity. He was certain there was a spark of recognition of the man in the picture when she studied it in his office earlier. Maybe not. He still couldn’t read her.
"You’re certain she checked a bag?"
"Yes sir. Non-stop flight all the way to Heathrow International Airport."
"Once Grey Goose boards the plane, pull back. We’ll let our team in London handle it from there. I’ll make sure there are field officers at baggage claim. Good work. If anything changes, I want to know immediately."
"Yes sir."
"Can I get you another drink?" asked the male flight attendant.
She liked flying business class which not only offered wine and champagne, a three-course meal, a seat that converted into a 6-foot flat bed, but also fast-tracked security to help speed passengers through the airport. That was important since the clock was ticking on finding the man DCI Piagno asked her to locate.
"A glass of Chardonnay would be nice," Elke answered smiling slightly with her eyes.
Not worrying about Julia’s safety was like trying to swim against a rip current. The harder she fought it, the more helpless she felt. She almost didn’t get on the plane. If anything happened to her granddaughter, she was sure she wouldn’t survive the grief. The FBI was good at surveillance, but not so much in a gun fight. If they wanted to flush out the Russian asset, then they could use her, but never her grandchild. She would deal with Special Agent Black when she got back. Whether he knew it or not he had poked the mamma bear.
The only thing that pushed her to get on the plane was knowing this had to end once and for all. She needed to keep Julia safe and the only way to do it was to find Adrik.
When the Director of Central intelligence showed her the picture of the man he needed to locate, she pretended not to know for good reason. Even though she didn’t tell him everything she knew or suspected, she was damn sure the Director shared even less with her.
The man was Adrik Ivanovich Kuznetsov. His dossier had "CONFIDENTIAL/SENSITIVE" stamped in red on the outside of the CIA folder. Details of the man’s life and photos were classified. The file read that Kuznetsov was an Irish Russian whose father was Ivan Kuznetsov, a Russian social elite and his mother, Ciara Barrett, an Irish woman whose family owned a large sheep farm outside Dublin.
Most of the information contained in the dossier she already knew. Kuznetsov’s mother divorced his father and moved to London where she passed away ten years ago. Adrik once worked as a businessman with ties to some of Russia’s most powerful organized crime figures.
She barely recognized the photo of the sixty-one-year-old man. Adrik's thick hair and beard were now wiry and reddish gray. His green eyes ringed with dark circles longed for a good night’s sleep. A heavily lined ruddy face revealed the story of a man who liked to push the envelope and live life on the edge of right and wrong.
A fact not in the file was that Kuznetsov had been hired as a contractor by the CIA to help develop informants in the Russian circle of influence. He worked with a CIA unit dealing with money laundering from foreign governments. Not until the Director of the CIA showed her the picture of Kuznetsov did she make the connection. That was why finding Kuznetsov was paramount. He was a man who could not be trusted. She knew this long before the CIA began surveilling him. The FBI let him slip through their fingers in the United States and the CIA was on the hook to find him.
After the tragic loss of her daughter and son-in-law, Elke was battered with guilt. In the aftermath of the tragedy, she flew to Wiesbaden, Germany where she had new identities created for her and her granddaughter, Julia. She felt isolated, scared and angry at what had happened. And for the first time in her life, vulnerable and fragile. It was in this state of mind she met Kuznetsov at a bar one evening. Most of the people in the bar were with friends. She sat alone at the bar sipping vodka when he approached. He was attractive, but not her type. When he asked in German if he could buy her a drink, she replied in German that she did not accept drinks from strangers. He sat down heavily on a stool next to her and ordered a beer. During the next hour they talked and eventually found a booth where they could continue their conversation. She liked talking to him and he seemed harmless enough. He shared with her that several months prior his girlfriend, who had recently moved to Germany from Russia, went missing. It was the intensity of their grief that bonded them that evening.
It was not like her to say yes to a stranger’s invitation to travel to another country for the weekend. Perhaps it was the profound sadness in his eyes or more likely a secret desire to escape her own mounting pain and guilt and, above all, the emptiness that caused her to go with a man she hardly knew.
She missed her daughter’s face, her quick wit and mostly her voice. This was not the order of how life should happen. It should have been her daughter surrounded by her husband and child mourning Elke's death. Perhaps she should have felt comfort and gratitude that her granddaughter was alive, but strangely it made things worse.
Sweet Maus, the nickname she gave her granddaughter. Every time she wanted to give up and die, she thought of Maus.
Adrik had rented a home on a small island called Inishmore, one of western Ireland’s Aran Islands. After the ferry from Rossaveel deposited them on the island, she saw a freckled-face boy herding sheep. Kuznetsov had arranged for a pony trap to take them to the place they would stay. The treeless landscape had an endless maze of stone fences throughout the island, which was separated from the sea by steep cliffs.
The next day they hiked to a remote part of the island called Dún Dúchathair, The Black Fort. The fort was situated on the cliffs at Cill Éinne. As she stood by the edge of the cliffs and stared down at the water, wind blowing against her face, Kuznetsov’s arm slid across her shoulders. "You’re not thinking of jumping, are you my sweet Elke?" She turned and was mesmerized by his eyes the same shade of green as the water below the rugged cliffs.
"No. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I have two things that are too important to me," she responded.
"And what might those two things be?"
"A granddaughter to raise and now
a man I hope to get to know better."
He smiled, lifted her chin upward and kissed her gently on the lips.
She did have two things she needed to do, but getting to know him better was not one of them. He was a distraction. Her other reason was personal.
Revenge.
On the ride to another clifftop to explore a 2,000-year-old Celtic fort called Dún Aonghasa they spotted a seal colony. It was on this tiny bleak island cloaked in mystery she was able to figure out what she needed to do.
After that long weekend they went their separate ways. Both promised to stay in touch yet knew they wouldn’t. Kuznetsov and Elke needed the escape from reality, if only for a few days.
Several years later she learned from a friend he had been offered a contract with the CIA. It was during that time their paths crossed. She was convinced it was Kuznetsov who leaked info to the Bridge Club that the Russian asset had been tipped off and would not meet his handler in the park that fateful day.
Relaxing in her seat on the plane, she raised her glass of Chardonnay and took a long sip, letting it linger in her mouth before swallowing. Her eyelids were heavy, and she needed to rest. Because tomorrow she had to be mentally prepared to pull the trigger.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dark Alley Warehouse
* * *
Panicked patrons scrambled for the exit.
The short man that had been led to the curtained room earlier ran out in his underwear. The chesty woman sprung from behind the bar and bolted for the door, pushing people out of her way. Her heavy breasts slapping against her body. People were herding out like a stampede of wild horses.
Except the two women he met earlier. Both were trying to help the downed officer who had been shot in the leg.
"Keep pressure on it and keep talking to him," Shockley yelled over the pandemonium. "Help should arrive soon." Both women nodded. Brave women he thought. Probably seen more than most people.
He kept his gun trained on the door to the back room and cautiously advanced toward it. Shockley needed to check the back room where he heard the gunshots after the fire fight in the club ended.
"Careful cowboy," cautioned Tattoo Woman. "Caleb is dangerous."
Caleb must be the birthmark man he saw earlier. The man who disappeared when the cops barged in.
Shockley checked Vasquez’s pulse. He needed to make sure the guy was dead. Vasquez had been hit by three rounds, but he knew, in a gunfight never assume anything.
He stepped over the dead man’s body and stood next to the door leading to the back office. As soon as he touched the doorknob, he felt something hot hit his neck and splinter the doorframe. Before his brain could process what had happened, he swung around pointing his weapon toward the thump. The burly bouncer dropped in the front doorway. His eyes as wide with disbelief as Shockley felt his were.
For a second Shockley believed he had fired his weapon until he saw Pink Hair pointing a gun at the bouncer. Her hands shaking uncontrollably. Lowering the weapon, she looked at Shockley. He nodded at the stripper. He’d have to thank her later.
He tried to turn the knob, but the door was locked.
Only one thing to do.
He drove the heel of his boot into the door with a forceful kick.
When the door swung open, he knew he was too late.
More dead bodies. An old man was lying near the door, hand wrapped around a gun. The birthmark man was down on the other side of the room. A man almost the size of the front door bouncer was slumped in a sitting position next to the table.
He walked around the table and saw an overturned chair with something lying next to it. On closer inspection he decided it was leather bindings. Somebody had been strapped to the chair.
Who?
Maybe they escaped out the back door. He was a few steps from the back door when out of the corner of his eye he saw what looked like a driver’s license on the table.
His hand was about to pick it up when he heard a voice from behind, "You okay?"
Without turning he knew it was Hauser.
He snapped up the license and slipped it in his coat pocket. "Yeah. How come you’re here?"
"Seriously? Half the force is here. What happened?"
Before he could answer, Hauser moved closer and pointed, "You’ve been hit."
Shockley touched his neck and felt the warm sticky blood. "Flesh wound. I’ll live."
"Maybe from the flesh wound," Hauser said. "But Wheels is a different story. He wants you in his office ASAP. Didn’t sound too happy with you going all cowboy on him."
Hauser moved toward the dead man with the birthmark. "Is this Max?"
"No. That guy’s called Caleb. Max wasn’t here."
"What you gonna tell Wheels?"
"Nothing. I gotta check something out before I meet with him."
"That’s not a good idea. Wheels told me to personally make sure you get your sorry ass in his office."
"Not yet. I gotta run down a lead while it's hot and then I’ll check in with the boss."
"Pretty sure this is another one of your bone-headed stupid ideas."
"You’re probably right, but I owe it to Bull and T-Bone to find this cop killer. I need you to cover for me."
"This could cost you your badge. Worse, it could cost me my badge."
"Not if you didn’t find me here. This one’s all on me."
Shockley heard Hauser grumble as he walked out the exit door.
Sirens pierced the air as he stretched his stride down the back alley. He assumed the alleyway emptied onto the main street.
The truth was he didn’t know if he had a lead or not. The driver’s license was probably one of the girls who worked at the club. Yet the picture of the girl on the license didn’t look like the type to work as a stripper in a sleazy joint. The name on the license was Julia Bagal.
Could the Dark Alley Warehouse be a front for human trafficking?
He needed to track down Ms. Bagal and get her to talk. Find out why her driver’s license was left at the warehouse.
On the main street, he located his car without attracting attention and sped away from the swarm of police converging on the crime scene. He fished the driver license out of his coat pocket and read the address. She was local. But not from this part of town. He plugged the address into his GPS. Hopefully Julia Bagal was alive. Maybe she was a link to Max. Just the thought of Max slipping through his fingers made his blood boil. As he pressed the accelerator, he hoped this was the break in the case he needed.
Shockley parked behind a RAV4 in front of the row house that was Julia Bagal’s address. At least according to the driver license he held in his hand. There was a light on which meant somebody might be home. This better lead to something, he told himself, or the fallout from today’s events would probably end his career.
Walking up the sidewalk, he noticed a security camera mounted above the door. Not Home Depot quality either…better. Much better. Somebody doesn’t feel safe in an otherwise safe looking neighborhood. When he pounded on the front door a large calico cat pounced on the porch, pranced over to him and rubbed against his pant leg. He shooed her away with his boot. The cat hissed and fled the porch.
Seconds passed. No answer. He pounded again. A faint sound of footsteps grew louder. Then stopped. Somebody inside was trying to determine whether to answer the door. After glancing up toward the camera, he pounded again. A little harder to show his impatience.
The door eased open. He kept a hand on his holster inside his jacket. Just in case.
"You can quit banging on my door."
The woman in the doorway wasn’t who he expected to see. He expected Julia or even Max, but not the tall Black woman blocking his entry with a baseball bat propped on her shoulder.
"Excuse me, ma’am. I’m looking for Julia Bagal."
"Well, she ain’t here," said the woman in a terse tone.
The woman’s eyes were swollen from crying. He could see she held a death grip on the bat a
nd looked like she was ready to use it.
"My name is Detective Shockley with Metro PD. I found Julia Bagal’s driver’s license at a crime scene. It’s urgent I talk with her."
"Yeah. Where’s your badge?"
He fished his hand under his jacket and pulled the badge out. After showing it to the woman, she studied him.
"Are you a friend of Miss Bagal?" he asked.
It happened fast. The large calico cat had snuck back on the porch, meowed and leaped between his legs and into the open doorway. He quickly reacted as the woman bent down, cussed the cat and tried to catch the furry animal.
Shockley shoved the door open and stepped inside, knocking the woman aside. "Thank you for inviting me in," he said.
The woman raised the bat with both hands. "I didn’ invite you in. Now git out fore I bash your head in."
He took several steps back and raised a warning hand. "Put the bat down. I just need to make sure Miss Bagal is safe." He’d been hit with a lot of things. Never a bat. He wasn’t about to let this be the first time.
"She ain’t here. I done told you that."
"Okay. Please just lower the bat so that I don’t feel threatened. Can you do that for me?"
She lowered the bat. "Mister, you broke into my home and I feel threatened."
"This is your home?"
"I live with Julia."
"What’s your name?"
"None of your damn business."
"Do I need to come back with a search warrant," he said hoping she’d take the bait.
"Laquita Morrison."
"And Julia isn’t home?"
"You deaf? I done told you that twice."
"Then whose car is that parked out front?"
"It’s my car."
"Your car?"
"That’s right. Now git out fore I call the real police."
"Alright. I’m sorry to have bothered you." He started to turn toward the door, stopped and added, "I’ll have to run the plates to verify that’s your car."
The woman bit her upper lip and shifted uneasy before saying, "What I meant was its Julia’s car, but she lets me drive it. We’re real close."