Night Moves

by DJ Steele

  Standing by a wrought iron gate hinged to a stone fence, she paused. She needed a moment to collect herself.

  The thatched roof cottage with whitewashed walls and a vibrant green door standing at the far end of the courtyard stirred memories. Plumes of smoke billowed from the chimney. She recalled sitting on the couch with Adrik in front of a hypnotic fire and drinking too much vodka.

  Two bikes leaned against the cottage wall near the front door. They could be the same ones she rode the last time she was here. Vines and weeds crept into the bike spokes telling her they hadn’t been used in a very long time.

  The blustery wind calmed without warning and the sun peeked out from dark ragged clouds. Irish weather, she mused, remembering the day a storm had blown in providing them with an excuse to stay inside all day. She felt engulfed in an emotion she didn’t like.

  Her head dropped, breaking the spell this place had on her. Remembering things this vividly was hindering her from focusing on a potential threat. This could be a trap.

  The pistol provided by the limo driver, as per Bridge Club orders, was stashed in her coat pocket. After drawing a deep breath, she steadied her nerves and hesitantly opened the iron latch. Unsure of what she might be walking into, she scanned the windows. No sign of him.

  She strolled along the gravel path toward the green door, legs heavy like they were full of lead. There was a surreal feeling to be back here after all these years.

  Knocking on the door, she recognized the voice calling out. Her heart skipped. Chest tightened. She felt her fingers grip the pistol inside her coat pocket. The safety off.

  The door swung open.

  "Elke," Adrik exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you." He instantly peered over her shoulder into the yard.

  "You don’t trust me?" she snapped.

  His attention returned to her face. "No. Of course not," he answered with a slight twist of humor in his voice. "Yet, it isn’t you I’m concerned about, it’s others who might have followed you."

  "As always, Adrik, I am very careful," she reminded him.

  She squeezed her way past him and over the threshold into the main room of the cottage.

  He didn’t try to conceal that he was checking her out, but neither did she hide the fact she wanted to examine him.

  Adrik no longer had a beard. His clean-shaven face exposed his sagging jowl. And the jagged scar on his neck. His hair was cropped and dyed black. Years made his eye lids droop along with rows of deep forehead creases. The one thing that had not changed was his strong build.

  His green eyes sparkled as his gaze swept over her.

  "May I take your coat?" he offered with his hands stretched out.

  She stepped back out of his reach and replied, "We must talk first."

  Dancing flames in the open stone fireplace crackled as the dry wood burned and filled the room with warmth. She removed her coat, folded it over her arm making sure the pistol was within reach.

  "Would you like a drink? Vodka?"

  "Yes. Vodka and water but no…"

  "Ice. I remember," his low intimate voice placed her on edge.

  She deliberately ambled past the couch and sat in a straight back chair next to the fireplace. The warmth of the fire felt good.

  The 100-year-old single-story structure still had the feel of a bygone era even though it had been updated. Traditional stone floors complimented the rustic exposed wooden beams bolted across a low ceiling. The quaint cottage had a combination kitchen-living room anchored by the cozy open fireplace. There was one-bedroom downstairs and two loft-style bedrooms accessible by a ladder.

  "Here you go," Adrik said holding the glass out to her. "You could sit on the couch. It’s more comfortable." His eyes met hers.

  She looked down. Her pulse quickened. His eyes still had a mesmerizing effect on her.

  "I’m fine where I’m siting." She took the glass and placed it on the table next to her chair.

  He sat on the couch end nearest her and leaned too close, their knees touching. "You look beautiful. Your blue sweater makes your eyes look like the ocean."

  Had she worn the snug sweater and black slim pants for him? Perhaps.

  "This isn’t a social visit, Adrik. I need to know some things about the Russians."

  He released a heavy sigh. "Haven’t you already paid enough of a high price for the CIA?"

  The warmth sprung from her neck to her face. "I don't need to be reminded about what happened to my daughter and son-in-law." Her lips curled into a snarl.

  "I apologize for upsetting you. That was never my intent. You know that."

  She gazed at the flames in the hearth and watched as the heat reduced the logs to ashes. That eventful day came rushing back to her.

  An explosion. Her home engulfed in flames. The emotions were as raw as the day it happened.

  Grief. Pain. Guilt.

  Then uncaged rage.

  Sickened from the memory, she closed her eyes.

  The touch of his large hand on her knee startled her, bringing her back into the moment.

  "You can’t blame yourself Elke. You had no way of knowing the Russians had planted a bomb in your home. If you hadn't taken your granddaughter for a walk to the park, she'd have died too. It’s time to let those demons go. You have done what you felt you needed to do. You left a trail of bodies as proof."

  She felt the moisture collect in her eyes. "All those responsible for taking my daughter from me deserved to pay."

  "And they have."

  She picked up her drink, lowered her eyes with the rim of the glass almost touching her lips.

  "Have they?"

  He straightened, removing his hand from her leg. "What are you implying?"

  "Who do you work for Adrik?"

  The look on his face told her what she suspected. Adrik was a double agent.

  He swirled the ice in his glass, raised it to his mouth and drained it. "I admit I’ve made mistakes."

  Her hand slipped inside the coat pocket on her lap and gripped the pistol.

  "That’s your problem Adrik. You’ve made many mistakes, but you never learned from them."

  He snorted. "You always did like to bust men’s balls."

  "There’re men who have no balls."

  An awkward silence hung in the air.

  Finally, he spoke, his tone serious, "I tried to protect you."

  "It was you who told the Bridge Club that the spy would not show in the park."

  "Yes. You shouldn’t have gone."

  "I didn’t ask for your help."

  "But now you want my help?" he asked.

  "I want a deal with the SVR."

  He tilted his head, a confused look unfurled across his face. "You no longer have anything of value for the intelligence agency. Except for those who grew old and died of natural causes, you have exposed and eliminated all the Russian assets on the list you memorized. Now there’s only one left that Moscow must protect."

  "They don’t think I know who that might be?"

  "At first there was suspicion, but no longer. I made sure of that."

  "How would you know?"

  "If you knew who the Russian asset was, he’d be apprehended by now. Or dead."

  "Perhaps. There are benefits to allowing a spy to continue in his role."

  Adrik laughed too hard and loud. "You don’t know who it is, do you?"

  She studied her watch. "Five minutes."

  "Five minutes? Till what?"

  "Till you tell me who it is that Moscow needs to protect."

  She stood, removed the pistol from her coat pocket and pointed the barrel point blank at Adrik’s center mass.

  "You plan to shoot me?" Adrik didn’t act surprised.

  "I’m doing my job."

  "And I was doing mine until the CIA grew suspicious."

  "Let’s not play games anymore. It was no accident that you ran into me at the bar in Wiesbaden. Who was your employer then?"

  "CIA," Adrik replied.

  "A
nd now it’s the Russians."

  "They pay better."

  "To end this, I need the name," she demanded.

  "Even if I had a name, I couldn’t tell you."

  She held the pistol steady, her finger resting on the trigger guard.

  "I was trained to never put my finger on the trigger unless I was ready to shoot."

  "Come on Elke. I know you care about me the same way I care about you."

  You are right about that, she thought.

  She slowly moved her finger to the trigger.

  "Wait," he said. "I don't have a name. You must believe me."

  She lowered the pistol.

  He continued, "I have only heard he has a lot of influence with the American government."

  Without a word, Elke spun toward the door and walked out.

  She had once again lost somebody she loved.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Shockley eyed the morning sky through the windshield while waiting impatiently for the light to turn green. A well-defined mass of cumulus clouds moved over the sun causing his mood to downshift. Not that he wasn’t already in a bad mood. The gloomy weather and traffic just added to it.

  He rubbed his jaw to help soothe the pain from TMJ. The dentist told him it was probably caused from a blow he took to the head a year ago. He didn’t share with the dentist that the person delivering the punch was a petite older woman. That was a story he kept to himself. The jaw pain was always worse in the mornings.

  He planned on getting to work early but slept through the alarm. He was irked he didn’t get on the road early enough to avoid the morning commuters. He had already cut off several drivers as he sped toward the Metro Police Department.

  The light turned green and he accelerated just as a car in front made an illegal U-turn causing him to slam on the brakes. Frustrated, he cursed out loud.

  Distracted by the near miss collision, he almost didn’t hear his phone buzz. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he retrieved his phone from inside his jacket with the other. It was Hauser. Hopefully Hauser had good news about the search warrant.

  After leaving Julia Bagal’s home late yesterday, he called Hauser, filled him in and tried to swear out a warrant, only to be told by the judge that he’d have to wait till morning. Hauser was to let him know the moment they had it.

  "You got the warrant?" he asked Hauser.

  "Well, not exactly."

  "What the hell does that mean?" He didn’t want to sound pissed but after his shitty day yesterday and being given the finger by Julia, he was pissed. The photos might give him a suspect.

  "You don’t need to bite my head off. I’ll explain when you get here."

  "Sorry." He paused. "I gotta see the photos Julia Bagal took at the motel before we have more victims." Shockley didn’t want to feel responsible for another life taken. He needed to catch this perp.

  "I do have something. Info on Chance Martin Stephens III."

  "Who?"

  "The guy gunned down yesterday. You know. Mason Street. Two blocks from Willow Oaks Motel." Hauser gave a weird laugh and asked, "You okay?"

  "Yeah, I’m fine. Whatcha got?" Four hours sleep wasn’t enough.

  "No priors. Guy’s clean. We had somebody notify his parents. Stephens lived in Nashville. They said his girlfriend was working in the D.C. area."

  "You got a name and address on her?"

  "Working on it. Parents claim they never met her. Girlfriend’s name is Charlotte. They couldn’t recall her last name. Stephens and his parents didn’t have a close relationship."

  "Do they at least know what she did for a living?"

  "Said she was a freelance reporter. Maybe she’s our Jane Doe from the explosion."

  "That doesn't add up. Two dead bodies at the motel and nobody has filed a missing person report for her. Whatcha got on the car parked at the motel?"

  "Registered to Mateo Martinez. Small-time drug dealer."

  "Then where’s Jane Doe’s car?"

  "Authorities questioned Stephens’ boss at a local restaurant. Manager said she never met Stephen's girlfriend. They hadn’t been dating long. Stephens told the manager his girlfriend didn’t have a car and had an opportunity for a big story in D.C. He took some vacation days to drive her here. His girlfriend probably used public transportation after he left. The boss said he came to work upset the other day since he hadn’t heard from Charlotte in a couple of days. He asked to take time off and drive to D.C. to check on her. That was the last time his boss heard from him."

  "Must have been one hell of a story she was working to come all the way to D.C."

  "Must have been," Hauser agreed.

  "If the dead woman is Charlotte whoever, somebody out there must be looking for her."

  "I already figured Jane Doe might not be local, therefore the APB has been extended statewide and to Nashville. Maybe you’re right about a connection between Chance Martin Stephens and our Jane Doe. Jane Doe might just be this freelance reporter. Could have been doing a story on low life in the big city. Or trying to score some shit."

  "Make sure the authorities search Stephens’ residence. I want to know who Charlotte is. I’ll be at the office in ten." He drained his mug.

  Before Shockley clicked off, Hauser added, "Wheels wants us in his office as soon as you get here."

  With the fresh developments, Shockley had a feeling he might finally be getting somewhere with the case. The feeling lifted his mood. He hoped Wheels would give him more time to track down possible leads. He needed to know if Chance Stephens’ death was somehow connected to the murders at the motel. To do that, they'd have to track down his girlfriend. And he couldn't wait to shove that search warrant in Julia Bagal’s face.

  Laquita was right. Julia was stubborn. And foolish not to share what she knew about the murders. This perp would want to eliminate anybody who could identify him.

  The sound of an approaching ambulance had traffic veering to the curb. He was impatient to get to the office and find out what Wheels wanted. Hopefully the meeting wouldn’t last long. Then he and Hauser could serve Julia Bagal. As soon as the ambulance passed, cars eased back into the road. There are too many damn cars in the D.C. area. No wonder road rage has become such a problem.

  Instead of ten it turned into twenty minutes before he parked his car at the station. He rushed inside and walked down the hall toward his boss’s office. When he passed Hauser’s desk, the man stood and fell in beside him.

  "Not sure what’s going on," said Hauser. "Fifteen minutes before you got here, I saw several suits walk into the war room." That was the nickname Hauser had for Wheels’ office. Wheels had been a Ranger in his previous life and his military management style made it difficult at times to work for him. Praise was rare and criticism plenty. No excuses for why you failed. Hauser didn’t like Wheels, but Shockley understood the man. He had been raised by a father with the same military standards. They never asked more of a soldier than they’d do themselves. That had to be respected.

  "Any idea who the suits might be?"

  "Looked like fibbies."

  "What would the FBI want?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine."

  "Got the search warrant?"

  "It should be sitin’ on Wheels’ desk." Hauser popped the tab on a Red Bull and took a swallow. "How’s the neck?"

  Shockley touched the bandage he had put on his neck wound from the Warehouse club. "Not bad."

  "Maybe next time you’ll take back-up."

  Shockley grunted. "Maybe."

  The Chief’s aide saw Shockley and Hauser coming and waited for them by the Chief’s door. With a tight smile she said, "The Chief is ready for you."

  He got an uneasy feeling when she pushed the door open. There were three men dressed in dark suits, white starched shirts and ties standing like mannequins with their arms hanging stiff by their sides.

  The FBI always looked too serious. He wasn’t sure they were even breathing. His brain scrambled to figure out what
he had screwed up. He came up blank. Shockley had no idea why these agents were in his boss’s office.

  "Come in detectives," said Wheels.

  Two of the men in suits could have been twins. Both men were tall, dark hair, dark skin, and stone-faced. The other man was not particularly fit, thinning white hair, round eyes with wire rimmed oval glasses perched on a hooked nose. He was older than the twin suits. Even at 5’5" the older man had an authoritative air about him. Someone with a high opinion of himself and maybe for good reason. Respected in the ranks and feared.

  The older agent put out his hand to Shockley.

  They shook and he said, "I’m Senior Special Agent Sid Black with the Federal Bureau of Investigation." He turned and gestured to the twins. "This is Special Agent Ken Farris and Special Agent Gary LaMay."

  Shockley and Hauser nodded to acknowledge the silent twins.

  Agent Black stepped over and promptly shook Hauser’s hand.

  "Have a seat Detectives," he said. It sounded more like an order than a polite request.

  Shockley squared his shoulders and replied, "I’m fine." He wasn’t going to sit if the agents stood. Hauser didn’t move.

  The smile evaporated from Agent Black’s face.

  Wheels said, "Detective Shockley, Detective Hauser take a seat."

  Hauser didn’t move until Shockley did. Shockley gave a hard-sideways glance at the three men in suits before taking a chair on the other side of the room. Hauser sat next to him.

  Shockley had been told when he was in training to be a police officer to always trust your instincts and right now his instincts told him something was off. He was sure he was about to find out what.

  Agent Black looked at Wheels and then turned his focus to Shockley.

  "Your boss tells me you and Detective Hauser have done a good job working the Willow Oaks murder case." He paused as if he was waiting on a response from Shockley or Hauser.

  Both remained silent.

  Shockley knew when somebody starts a conversation with a meaningless compliment that the next thing out of their mouth wouldn’t be liked. He hadn’t made much progress on the investigation. Agent Black was setting him up.