Rise: Luthecker, #2

by Keith Domingue

  Parks sheathed his knife back into his waistband. “I can see why they have no idea what to do with you. But you’re wrong about the curiosity. The primary thing that an act of killing gives you is the will to find the room in your soul for the act of killing. That is all. What you’re missing in all of that is purpose. I don’t kill without it. How do you think I built all of this? How do you think all empires are built? Most people are afraid to offend their neighbor, let alone ask for what they want. Let alone to have any meaningful purpose. So they never offend the neighbor and live a quiet, meaningless life. They never realize their potential; they never know glory. But once you’ve made room for the kill, there’s no more fear of offending your neighbor; I’ll tell you that. There’s no more fear of any kind. The power that level of clarity provides is beyond anything even someone like you can imagine.”

  “You confuse intoxication with power,” Alex replied. “And I’m not wrong. You will realize this before you die.”

  Parks smiled. “A conversation for another time. And you are correct about one thing—there is someone I need you to help me stop, or he’s going to kill us both. James Howe is in over his head, but he’s very dangerous. He runs Coalition Properties, an entity you are very familiar with. What Howe wants is to take over all my operations. Howe wants to create a new world order with a single, global, corporate ruling body as the answer. He envisions one economy for the world, completely free of any imposition, ruled by one corporate nation, the Coalition. And he sees my business as the final piece he needs.”

  “And how do you think I can help you?” Luthecker watched as Parks paced.

  “It’s taken me some time, but I have come to realize why you are here—and that is to help provide balance in the face of long odds. As I told you, I’m not your friend, I’m not your enemy, and I see connections too. Howe has given me twenty-four hours to decide. I turn everything I control over to him—cash, bank accounts, inventory, client lists, access to all of it—and in exchange, I receive a meager fifty billion in cash, a seat on the board, and stock options. I become washed clean in the basin of capitalism and come out a respectable businessman, albeit one relegated to the sidelines. If I refuse, he kills you, me, and countless others. Which is something I believe he will do regardless.”

  Parks stopped pacing and looked at Luthecker.“I wonder; can you see it all as if it’s already happened?”

  “I think you should consider taking the deal.”

  “Now you’re being coy. You and I both know that he will never honor his end. He needs to be stopped; and I believe that only with us together can that happen. There’s another saying—that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If you help me stop our common enemy, you will be rewarded. You and your lady friend will be able to go about your lives under my protection; James Howe, Richard Brown, Coalition Properties, and any others like them will never bother you again. You have my word. All I ask is that when this is over, you consider aligning with me as a partner. You want to help people in this world; it’s misguided, but I understand the instinct; so I will help you. If you want to save the orphans of the world, and eliminate the bulk of the human trafficking trade, I will give you that. You can have your Safe Block on a global scale. With your ability to sway and inspire others, I see that as a worthwhile trade-off, for what it is that you can offer me.”

  “And what is it that you think I can offer you?”

  “Total control of commerce through your influence and ability to detect the enemy of all trade, the lie. Can you imagine a world with no more lies? So much of the violence in the world would no longer be necessary. That is the deal on the table for you. It would be true positive impact on the world. But you have to help me stop James Howe first. Because no amount of unique clairvoyance is necessary to know that if you don’t help me, Coalition Properties will continue its death march, and we all die.”

  30

  Reunion

  Nikki splashed water in her face for a second time before examining herself in the mirror. She took note of several scratches along her cheeks and forehead, tracing the larger of the welts with her fingers. Most of the abrasions were minor, but there was one cut on her forehead above her left eye, a clean line almost three inches long and surrounded by redness; it was already crusted over with a thin layer of blood. Nikki touched the cut and the stab of pain caused her to wince.

  Once she had slipped inside the nightclub, she had navigated the darkness and abundance of bodies on the dance floor with relative ease, moving in synchronistic rhythm to the beat of the music, without being noticed. After hiding among the club patrons, she quickly glanced toward the entrance for her pursuers. She was relieved to find that they had not followed her inside; at least not yet. She then scanned the interior of the bar in search of the restrooms. She had spotted an exit sign along the far wall and, below it, a door where she saw a pair of young woman exit and make their way back to the dance floor. Nikki then moved past the crowds toward that door and stepped into the brightly lit bathroom. It was empty, but she knew it wouldn’t be for long. She took stock of the room—across from the stall there was a long mirror that spanned three sinks. Nikki made her way to the far stall, stepped inside, closed the thin metal door, and locked it. She sat down on the commode and allowed herself a sigh of relief.

  She lifted her right leg, gently put it over her left knee, and checked the ankle. Blood covered her sock and most of her shoe, and the skin around the joint was bruised and swollen. She still wore the running shoes that she had on the night she was kidnapped and was smart enough to keep them on now, knowing they would help keep swelling to a minimum. She gently placed her right foot on the floor, and leaned against the metal stall divider, the coldness against her cheek offering a moment of minor relaxation. The combination of injury and adrenaline caused a wave of nausea to wash over her, and for several seconds, she held still, thinking she might vomit. She pushed herself away from the divider and sat upright, taking several deep breaths to calm her jittery stomach and stop her hands from shaking. She was interrupted when several women entered the restroom, the blast of the door opening followed by rapid conversation in Russian that soon broke into laughter. Nikki peeked into the narrow slit between the stall door and its frame. She saw three young women wearing skintight brightly-colored dresses with matching high heels. They leaned over the sinks, combing their hair and reapplying the requisite lip gloss and makeup. She could see the excitement on their faces as they prattled on about their evening; their youthful body language and movements were a form of nostalgia for Nikki. She thought how far she was from that life now, how in reality her background—combined with her strong sense of purpose at a very young age—never allowed for much fun. She experienced an emotional flashback to the jealousy and loss caused by never allowing herself the simple enjoyments. Her eyes welled up at the thought, and she was surprised at the strength of her emotional response. She quickly shook the emotions off, and after the three women left the restroom, she hobbled out of the stall and made her way the sink.

  If I can survive until morning, I’ll be fine, she thought.

  Nikki looked around the restroom as she tried to think of her next move. Beyond the commode stalls and sinks, there was only a small storage closet door on the farthest wall from the entrance. There was nowhere to hide, and she had no idea what to do next. She began to panic and grabbed hold of the sink to keep steady. Her mind went to Alex.

  Nikki thought of her circumstance of escape, and how she knew without question that Alex had orchestrated it. “Don’t die,” David Two-Good had said to her, just before he sacrificed himself to buy her just enough time to get clear of the castle. Nikki wondered if that had been a direct message from Alex to her—if those might have actually been Alex’s words. She wondered if he was capable of something that extreme, wondered just how far his influence on another’s mind could go. It dawned on her that if Alex had orchestrated her release, he was perhaps counting on her to help him out as well. To do so w
ould require the use of PHOEBE, the Internet’s version of Alex Luthecker, which Nikki had purposely lain dormant in the deep Internet. With PHOEBE, she could disrupt or alter anything in the world that was electronically connected. If she could find her way to a computer, she might be able to help Alex. Nikki made up her mind that that was the plan.

  “To the back. Come with me,” Masha said, yelling over the din of the club as she led Chris and Yaw deep into the underground establishment. Yaw and Chris tried not to push club patrons aside, who were lost in their own world, as they attempted to keep up with the fast-moving Masha. The lighting of the club was darkness cut by red; heavy and rhythmic-pounding music provided the communal heartbeat. The combinations of noise and red and dark and motion was dizzying, and it made keeping up with Masha, who moved like a shark past the bodies, a challenge for Chris and Yaw. She made her way to the back wall without bumping into a single individual and went directly to the corner booth where four women were seated. She turned and waited for Yaw and Chris to catch up. When Chris and Yaw reached the booth, they recognized the women as Masha’s friends who’d earlier been in the street.

  Masha barked in Russian to the women in the booth, and the ladies moved off the black leather seats and stood up in their heels. A tall brunette, who wore a gold crucifix, kissed Yaw on the cheek before all of Masha’s women quickly disappeared within the crowds. Masha motioned to Yaw and Chris, and the two men slid into the booth, making sure to place themselves so that they could keep an eye on the door.

  “I told them to look out for Semyon or any of his men.” Masha took a seat next to Chris. Her voice cut through the noise without changing tone.

  “How long have you know Semyon?” Yaw yelled over the music.

  Masha searched her Chloe Elsie bag for the soft pack of Winstons before she answered. She lit her own cigarette this time. “I met him after he left the military. We became involved. This was right before he went to work for the Barbarian.”

  “Who?”

  Masha took a drag from her cigarette, and the ember glowed. “Ivan Barbolin.” She exhaled a breath of smoke. “The Russian gun tyrant.”

  “Trans Dniester is controlled by the Russians?” Chris asked.

  “Technically, no. But Mother Russia has never taken her eyes from us. Have you seen our statues and landmarks?”Masha did a quick reconnaissance scan over the club. She exchanged looks with several of her girlfriends, getting the all clear from each before she continued.“Ivan Barbolin ran the Soviet military machine before the empire was broken into pieces. Then capitalism came to Russia, and the Barbarian, and many others like him, became billionaires. He earned his nickname by killing any and all who opposed him. When Trans Dniester broke free from Moldova, it was the perfect place for he and his American partner in the gun trade to avoid international law. His American partner is a man by the name of Lucas Parks.”

  Masha pulled an ashtray close and tamped out her cigarette.“They already had billions, and they made billions more. More money than most could count. The Barbarian was having the North Star castle rebuilt for Lucas Parks at Parks’ request. Parks was unexpectedly sent to prison in America, but the Barbarian ordered the rebuild to continue. Oligarchs love their castles. When Parks suddenly arrived only days ago, the Barbarian sent him an escort and a security detail to ensure his safe arrival. Semyon is the head of that detail.”

  “And was it Semyon who told you all this?” Yaw asked.

  “Everyone knows who the Barbarian is. Everyone knows who Lucas Parks is.”

  “You mentioned earlier that you all pay. Is that who you pay? The Barbarian?” Chris asked.

  A waitress approached with a tray of shot glasses.

  “Vodka,” Masha said to the woman.

  “No thank you,” Yaw said, waving the waitress off.

  The waitress smiled, ignored Yaw, and placed a shot in front of each of them. She then looked at Masha and nodded, before she wheeled about and walked away.

  “We are not prostitutes if that is what you think,” Masha said, before she picked up the shot of vodka in front of her, tilted her head back, and swallowed the drink in one gulp. She slammed the shot glass back down on the table. “We are spies.”

  The beat of the music shifted to a higher tempo, and the people in the club cheered.

  “Semyon works for the Barbarian. I work for Semyon. And if you do not drink, you will look suspicious.”

  Yaw and Chris looked at one another before picking up their shot glasses. They raised the tumblers and tilted their heads back, swallowing their shots in one large gulp. The look on both of their faces indicated that the vodka burned the back of their throats more than either anticipated.

  “We are paid to watch; more for former KGB or Moldovan problems than American or European. There is much local competition in both the slave and drug trade. The Barbarian controls all and the penalties for stealing from him are severe.”

  “Is that why you approached us? Because you thought we were a threat?”

  “No. Trouble for tourists is trouble for the Barbarian and his trade. They are to be left alone. Guided away from trouble if necessary. Or enjoyed.”

  Masha held Chris’ eyes just long enough to let him know she meant him.

  “So what happened between you and Semyon?” Chris asked.

  “He cheated on me. We broke up. But I still work for him. In this I have no choice.”

  “Can you help us get inside Lucas Parks’ castle?” Chris asked.

  Masha laughed. “That is impossible. What I can do is find out who the woman is that Semyon is looking for. See if she is your friend. And if she is, I promise you I can find her before he does.”

  “That’s great. But we came here for two people.”

  “You will be very lucky to find one. Now how do you plan to get me out?”

  Winn Germaine watched from the cover of the alley as armed soldiers hustled past him. He had climbed down from his perch atop the Tiraspol Hostel to the side street next to the building as soon as he had seen soldiers break from the forest and cut through the slow-moving crowds of tourists and locals. He had watched their actions and how they had quickly focused on key local individuals, questioning them in what looked like a standard search-and-seizure routine before beginning their search inside every establishment, open or closed. It was clear that they were after someone, and the locals kept a keen eye on the streets. Winn had noticed the commotion too late to establish who they were after. He had chosen to stay in the shadows and observe, and only once did he consider moving into the open and involving himself in the flow of fear and threat that these soldiers were creating, and that was when the leader of the soldiers approached Yaw and Chris. Winn had moved the three sets of Kali stick holsters strapped on his back free in preparation, but chose instead to hold still. The exchange between Winn’s students and the soldier had been brief, and the heavyset man never lifted the barrel of his AK-47 in a way that had constituted a threat. As Winn watched the soldier turn and walk away, he noted that the man’s movements were encouraged by the anger of the woman, who had been the focal point of not only Yaw and Chris’ attention but the soldier as well. Winn sensed that the danger had passed, and he slipped back in the shadows to continue his observation, watching as Yaw and Chris followed the woman into a nightclub across the street. Winn sensed that she was now a contact of sorts for them, and he had faith that his students would be able to handle themselves accordingly. He decided that he would keep his eye on the soldier’s movements in the streets, in hopes of discovering who or what it was that they were after. Winn observed as the soldiers, a dozen of them in total, continued to canvass the crowds, knocking on doors and speaking to key locals. He recognized a pattern and realized that there was an intricate human intelligence grid at work; despite the appearance of tourists—freely at play with locals who were happy to accommodate—the truth was that everyone in the city was being watched. It hit Winn that it was only a matter of time before their presence would be ques
tioned and their efforts discovered.

  It was when the man who ran a small food cart near center court was being questioned by three soldiers that the hair on the back of Winn’s neck stood up. The man had pointed at the nightclub entrance that Yaw and Chris had entered only minutes earlier. It was a familiar reaction for him, years of experience—combined with the confluence of events—telling his instincts that conflict was near. He removed the Kali sticks from his back and stepped from the alley.

  “You have not answered my question,” Masha said as she lit up another Winston. One of her friends approached the booth and smiled at Chris before leaning over and whispering in Masha’s ear. Masha nodded to the woman, who promptly disappeared into the dance club crowd.

  “And Semyon’s men will be in the club soon,” Masha said.

  “Our getting you out, as well as our own exit, is predicated on us finding our friends. We ride or die together. That’s the only way,” Chris said.

  Masha looked back and forth between Chris and Yaw. If she was going to trust them, she had to decide now. Her gaze settled on Chris, and she decided to take a chance.

  “The woman Semyon is after. She is in the club. Come with me.” Masha got up from the table and walked into the crowds without looking back. Yaw and Chris leaped to their feet and followed her. Once again she weaved her way between patrons with uncanny precision as she led Yaw and Chris through the club and toward a neon-red exit sign on the far side. As the three of them approached, Yaw and Chris noticed that the large wooden door of the ladies’ restroom was locked from the outside by a thick vertical dead bolt. Two women stood on either side of the door, guarding it like sentries.