“But what about my—hello? Sir?”
“Don’t bother,” Perry said. “He hung up, didn’t he?”
Burke stood up, brushing the sand from his trunks. “What is it with that guy and never saying good-bye? Is one simple courtesy too much bother?”
“He probably had a bad experience with a good-bye when he was a kid. I’m just glad he didn’t mention my name.”
Burke briefly considered telling a tiny white lie to get both Perry and Adabelle on the plane to Alaska, but then he decided he liked being alive and didn’t want to risk that status by pissing off Perry quite that much.
He stretched, sighed, and then walked across the sand toward the ocean to break the bad news to Lyndsey.
TWO THOUSAND, eight hundred and eleven miles away, Rance Rainwater snorted a line of coke off the toned body of his favorite prostitute. Lorelei’s long raven hair, amber eyes, and hourglass figure would cause the heads of most men—and plenty of women—to turn. But her beauty wasn’t the primary reason for Rainwater’s attraction. Whereas some prostitutes had misgivings and restrictions in the bedroom, she had none—if you were willing to pay. Yet she wasn’t only a sex toy for Rainwater. He had grown fond of her, often taking her out to dinner at either Saffron or Salt before bedding her at the Alaska Hotel. Sometimes, like today, she met him in his office.
Winter meant slow business for a private investigator in a town accessible only by boat or airplane. He hated television, considered sports the domain of the insane, and had few friends and no family. This left him with plenty of time for Lorelei. Since no one ever walked through the doors of his downtown office, he’d had no problem leaving his door unlocked as he’d undressed Lorelei and laid her across his desk.
The sound of the door whooshing open, followed closely by a gust of cold wind, brought them both back to reality.
A tiny figure entered the office, the body almost entirely invisible within an enormous puffy coat. The door slammed shut and there was a flurry of movement inside the coat as whatever it contained struggled to extricate itself from the confines.
“Goddamn frozen wasteland! I can’t believe I let that fool Moore talk me into coming up here. I’m way too old for this goddamn shit.”
The coat at last fell away, revealing a petite old woman. If it weren’t for her wildly mussed hair and beet red face—not to mention her extensive vocabulary—she could have passed for anyone’s sweet, elderly grandmother.
Frozen in place, Rance and Lorelei watched her, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” the old woman barked. “Someone get me a slug of liquor before I totally lose my shit.”
Neither Rance nor Lorelei made a move.
The old woman reached into her handbag and pulled out a .357 handgun. “Are your brains frozen? I said I wanted a slug of booze! And don’t tell me you don’t have any. This place reeks of it.”
Rance backed away from Lorelei and raised his hands slowly. He was naked from the waist down but was afraid any sudden movements toward his pants might be too much for an old lady with an itchy trigger finger.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked, trying to sound authoritative and gain control of the situation. He spoke in the slow, deliberate style of many natives—himself being half Tlingit.
“Listen, Mini Dick,” the woman growled. “One thing you ought to learn real quick is that I’m in charge now.”
“In charge of what?”
“The booze, dammit!”
“Oh, right,” Rance said. He motioned to Lorelei, who was still lying naked on the desk. “Would you mind? Bottom drawer.”
Lorelei rolled over to her stomach and reached down. After a few seconds of fishing around inside the drawer, she came back up with a mostly empty bottle of Jack. She passed the bottle to Rance, who in turn passed it to their unexpected guest.
The old woman took the bottle and regarded it with a wary eye. “Well, it ain’t Pappy van Winkle, but what can I expect up here in Butt Fuck, Egypt.” She dropped the handgun back into her handbag, tipped the bottle back, and drained the remaining contents. She belched and tossed the empty back to Rance. “Just in case you have a return policy in these parts. I wouldn’t want to cheat you out of fifteen cents.”
With the gun no longer an imminent threat, Rance grabbed his pants from the floor and pulled them on. “Is it safe now to ask who the hell you are?”
The old woman nodded at Lorelei. “Pay the lady and ask her to leave. What I have to say is for your ears only.”
Rance tried to appear insulted. “Pay her? How do you know we’re not a couple?”
“Ha! Don’t make me laugh,” the old woman said. “That—” here she indicated Lorelei “—would never hook up with that—” turning back to Rance “—unless there was money involved. Don’t be so touchy. I never said it was a bad thing. Hell, it’s the oldest profession in the world.”
Rance shrugged and then waved a hand at Lorelei, who wasn’t one to miss a hint. She slid off the desk, grabbed a filmy kimono from the floor, and sashayed into an adjoining room.
“Is this a secure location?” the old woman asked.
“Don’t worry about Lorelei. She’s too loaded to be a security risk.”
As if in response, a gentle snore wafted from the other room.
“I see what you mean,” the old woman said. “It looked like you two were getting pretty busy when I walked in. Are you on your toes enough to carry on a decent conversation?”
“Don’t worry about me. The stuff barely makes a dent anymore.”
The old woman stepped forward and extended her hand. “Then let me start by introducing myself. My name is Dot.”
“Rance Rainwater, private investigator.”
“I know. You come recommended.”
“I do? Who the hell would do a thing like that?”
“Do you know a man named Timo?”
“That dirty Samoan? Of course I know him. Known him for years. I saved his ass ten years ago in a hunting expedition.”
“He remembers you too and seems to think highly of you, although I can’t imagine why.”
Rance huffed a cloud of smoke. “That’s just hurtful, right there. I know I don’t look like much, but I’ve got my redeeming qualities.” He grinned at Dot. “You’ve already seen one of them.”
Dot cackled. “Sonny, if that’s your idea of a redeeming quality, I completely understand why you get high.”
Rance ignored the insult. “So what did that lousy bastard recommend me for? The electric chair?”
“He said you were a man of discretion. Is that true?”
“Lady, I snort coke off the naked bodies of prostitutes. And I’m a PI. People are always needing their secrets kept. If nothing happens during a day, I make shit up and keep that a secret. If you want a secret kept, I’m your guy.”
“Timo also said you knew everyone in Juneau.”
“I know them all at least once.”
“Excuse me?”
“I told you—secrets. I know their public and private personas. Some have more than one private life. People come to Alaska to hide, my friend. With only 1.3 people for every square mile, and with many locations off the grid, Juneau’s a great place to go on the lam.”
“That is why we’d like your help,” Dot said.
“Who’s this ‘we’ you speak of?”
“Have you heard of SpyCo?”
“You mean the intelligence agency?”
“No, the toy company that makes little plastic Sherlock Holmes magnifying glasses! Of course I mean the intelligence agency! We need a local contact, someone with knowledge of the area and populace.”
“Timo mentioned me, huh? I didn’t know he was working for SpyCo.”
“He isn’t. Not officially, anyway. But he’s on our list of contacts ever since he helped us with a mission not long ago.”
“That’s Timo,” Rance said. “Always in the right place at the right time. That’s what made him such
a good linebacker in college.”
Dot shrugged. “What the hell ever. I was never a big fan of basketball.”
“Actually, that’s—”
“Now, let’s get down to brass tits.” Dot reached back into her handbag and Rance braced himself for the reappearance of the .357. Instead, Dot drew out a brown file folder and handed it over. “This is the guy we’re looking for.”
Rance opened the folder. Inside was a dossier, to which was clipped the headshot of a man with the cruelest, most piercing eyes Rance had ever seen. As he read the accompanying bio, he became more and more uneasy.
“This guy isn’t my usual cup of tea,” he said at last, closing the folder and dropping it onto his desk. “Hell, I’m good at what I do, but I’m not ashamed to admit this sounds a little out of my league.”
“We’re not asking you to apprehend the man. Christ, we know you’re not up to that. We just want to know when he comes into town. If you’re as connected in Juneau as Timo seems to think, that should be no problem for you.”
“What does a guy like that want in Juneau?”
“The governor, that’s what. No more questions. You’ll be briefed more as we go on. Just keep alert and let us know if and when you hear something.”
Rance thought a moment and then nodded. “I think I can do that. Although I should warn you, my fee is pretty steep.”
“You’re expensive?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rance said. “People are always surprised by that.”
Dot cackled. “I can’t imagine why. But who gives a shit. It ain’t my money we’re spending.” She struggled back into her enormous coat and made for the door. “We’ll be in touch with further instructions. In the meantime, keep all your orifices open and stay off the powder. We need you as sharp as you can be.”
Rance watched the old woman leave. He was, if the truth were to be known, a little afraid of her. It was all surreal and he wouldn’t have been surprised to wake up from a coke-induced coma to find out it had all been a dream. But this didn’t feel like a drug trip. It was a little too weird. Bugs crawling on the walls, horse-sized rabbits…those were the kinds of things Rance was used to. Terrifying old women with .357s were a different breed altogether. And she had cited Timo. The big Samoan was one of the few people in the world Rance truly liked and respected. It was worth double-checking and, in the meantime, he could forward the picture of the mark to some of his buddies on the ferry route and have them keep an eye out.
Rance grabbed the dossier and walked to his computer. Ten minutes later, he was finished. He clicked “send” and waited until the emails had left the outbox before turning off the computer. He had no real reason to doubt his crazy visitor, but neither did he have cause to trust her. A quick email to Timo should put it all to rights. If his friend backed up the story, that would be good enough for Rance.
He opened the folder left by Dot and looked over the dossier once more. And once more Roman Karazmovsky glared back at him. His blue eyes were haunting, his face handsome and stubbled with salt and pepper. As Rance again read of the man’s exploits, his own blood chilled and he counted his lucky stars he was not expected to personally apprehend the Russian. This was far different from chasing dead-beat dads, bail jumpers, and philandering husbands. The Russian was lethal, ruthless, amoral, and fearless. And he was heading to Juneau.
Rance put on his jacket and made his way through downtown Juneau. It was a ghost town this time of year, with a light snow falling and only familiar faces strolling the grey sidewalks. It was 8 p.m. and had been dark for nearly five hours. He liked the eerie quiet of winter time and the cold didn’t bother him. This time, before tourist season and before the holidays really kicked into gear, was his favorite. He walked, his mind filled with the violent images implanted by that damn dossier.
Rance lived in a room in the Alaska Hotel, but before going home, he went to the adjacent bar and had a couple of whiskey shots while listening to a shitty band butcher Hendrix. Then he made his way through the bar upstairs to the hotel, where he hoped to find sleep.
That coveted state, however, proved elusive and Rance lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts of international intrigue running through his mind.
A ding from his phone alerted him to an email and he practically threw his arm out of joint reaching to the nightstand. He grabbed the device and opened the email. It was from Timo.
“You are in good hands,” the email said. “Can’t say much over email, but those two are tops, brother. Be careful, though. I have heard of the target, and he is bad business. Let them do their job and you do yours. Stay safe, brother.”
Rance let the phone drop onto his chest. This was the job of a lifetime…he just hoped it wouldn’t be the last of his lifetime. He made a good living nabbing criminals and malcontents off the ferry, although none of them were internationally sought assassins or agents.
“Rainwater, old boy, you’re moving up in the world,” Rance muttered.
He closed his eyes and tried not to dream of dying.
4
Burke and Lyndsey landed at the Ted Stevens International Airport in Anchorage and walked across the terminal to catch their connecting flight to Juneau.
Lyndsey looked around. “Never thought an airport could feel so…orderly.”
Burke laughed. “Compared with La Guardia, it’s downright serene. But from what I hear, it gets much more rustic. We’re catching what’s known as The Milk Run. Until very recently, we would have shared a plane with essential supplies being delivered to cities and villages without reliable road access. They finally have some dedicated passenger planes, though.”
“It really is a different world, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is.” Burke looked around, his face lighting up. “And, you know, I’m finding it somewhat invigorating.”
“We’ll see what you say when the cold starts hitting you. This place is sparsely populated for a reason.”
They rounded a corner and Burke walked directly into a man coming from the opposite direction.
“Sorry,” Burke said. “I didn’t—”
“Idiot,” the man spat out, his words thick with a Russian accent. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Hey, I said I was sorry.”
The two men looked at each other, the atmosphere tense. Lyndsey laid a soft hand on Burke’s sleeve.
“Let it go,” she murmured. “It’s not worth it.”
Burke hesitated, then smiled. “Again, sorry. I should have been paying more attention.”
“Idiot,” the man repeated but backed off before turning and continuing on his way.
Burke and Lyndsey watched as he exited the airport.
“Someone should tell that guy the Cold War is over,” Burke said. “I actually think he wanted to kill me.”
“I thought for a moment you were going to kill him.”
Burke didn’t reply but kept staring after the man. Then he gave his head a little shake. “Okay,” he said, “let’s go catch that plane.”
KARAZMOVSKY REGRETTED the incident in the Anchorage airport for two reasons. First, he resented not being able to teach the arrogant American a lesson in manners. Second, it had drawn undue attention to himself. His plan had been to arrive in Anchorage via falsified documents and then travel to Juneau overland using sled dogs. Such travel was not unusual this time of year and he would be able to enter the town without using either the Juneau airport or the ferry. If any whiff of the plan had reached American intelligence, those would be two places where they’d be waiting. Of course, there should be no reason why his impending arrival should be expected, but Karazmovsky had been in the game too long to make such naïve assumptions. The enemy always knew more than they should and it paid to be extra cautious. And that was why the brief exchange with the American was so regrettable. The odds of it making any difference whatsoever were miniscule. The man and his female companion did not look like the type to cause any danger in Alaska. Indeed, they appeared c
ompletely out of their element. Probably newlyweds who thought it would be romantic to spend their honeymoon in the wild. Being completely self-absorbed, as newlyweds always were, they would have already forgotten the matter.
There would be a couple of additional interactions before he left town, Karazmovsky knew, but they should be completely innocuous and, by the time they were remembered as important—if they ever were—he would have long returned to his comfortable house in Russia.
He took a shuttle to Whittier, about sixty miles south of Anchorage, where he boarded a ferry without notable incident. For a moment, he’d thought the ferry man had given him a glance just a second longer than the ones reserved for the other passengers, but that was likely a mere coincidence.
Now he had only to wait. He would catch another ferry to Skagway, and then find a less observable method of entering Juneau. He had no desire to be seen entering the town. With peak tourist season over, it would be much more difficult to enter these small towns without notice and prancing off a ferry ramp would be foolhardy. But no one would look for him in Skagway, and from there, he would be a ghost, a foreign invader on American soil. Karazmovsky liked the sound of that: a foreign invader. As a child, he’d dreamed of storming the shores of America from a landing craft or parachuting in with guns blazing. He could almost pretend this was much the same, and his heart beat a little faster.
5
After landing in Juneau, Burke placed a call to Moore to receive further instructions. The SpyCo chief was, as usual, terse and snippy.
“Finally made it, did you?”
“What do you mean ‘finally’? You’re lucky we took this job at all.”
Moore sighed. “You make it sound as if you had a choice. I sometimes wonder if you ever remember who you are working for. You did not ‘take’ this job, it was ‘given’ to you.”
“Mere semantics,” Burke said. “And this conversation is making me miss the beach even more, so how about giving us our orders? The sooner we know, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”
Assignment- Danger A SpyCo Collection 4-6 Page 12