by Linda Ladd
Harmon didn’t fill him in. “Do you remember anything after the truck rammed your military Jeep?”
“It rammed us? Why? I can’t seem to think straight.”
“There were multiple witnesses at the BP station who told us a white cab off a sixteen-wheeler drove right into you. Its trailer wasn’t attached, according to those who saw it hit you. Your Jeep overturned and ended up lying on its roof. Do you remember any of that?”
“No, wait…maybe. I’m really confused. Why?”
“The witnesses also swore in written statements that a man got out of that cab, approached the Jeep, and fired a gun multiple times into the back seat. You don’t remember that, either? Can you identify the gunman?”
“I’m not sure I saw that happen.”
“You didn’t see the shooter approach the car?”
Novak studied the detective’s craggy face, not sure how far Blackwood’s tentacles reached. “Where are we again?”
“You’re at the Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Center in Richmond.”
Novak wondered how influential Blackwood was with the Richmond Police Department. As a former Senator from Virginia, he would definitely know and hobnob with the current Governor and other politicos in the Capital. He had been a Senator from this state forever. Novak couldn’t trust anybody. Not a single person would believe him over the Honorable Charles Blackwood. If he wasn’t careful, Novak would end up in jail and charged with Justin’s murder. Maybe that was Petrov’s plan. He needed help, all right, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to trust this detective.
“Can you describe the vehicle that hit you?” the cop asked.
“Um, I think you’re right about it being a semi, but just the cab, yeah, like you said. No trailer. It was big and coming at us hard. I seem to remember that. It all happened so fast. I wasn’t conscious for long, I don’t think.”
“Did you see who was driving the truck?”
“No, I don’t think so.” That was true. “It was over quick. I was knocked out at first, maybe.”
“So you wouldn’t be able to identify the truck if you saw it again? Or tell me why they would want to target you?”
Novak shook his head. That rapid movement sent barbed darts of pain through his temples and down the base of his skull. No, he was not okay, not by a long shot.
“Okay, just tell me what you do remember.”
Swiping his tongue over dry lips, Novak felt the stiff suture threads on the gash at the corner of his mouth. He touched them lightly with his fingertips, and found they ran all the way down under his chin. His mouth felt stuffed with dusty cotton balls, and he was extremely thirsty but didn’t think his stomach could handle water or anything else. He just wanted this cop to go away. “It came out of the blue. On purpose, though, I think they hit us on purpose.”
It hurt Novak to take a deep breath, he found that out quickly, especially where the airbag had slammed him. He remembered his healing gunshot wound and felt his side. The recent scar had not reopened.
The detective was not finished. “Okay, Mr. Novak, like I said before, we got statements backing up your account. According to them, you were sitting at the exit waiting to pull back on the road when they rammed you. Every single witness told us the exact same thing. We think we’ve already found the truck, by the way, abandoned in the woods about fifteen miles west of that gas station. No license plates, no registration, no fingerprints, so we figure it’s gonna turn up as stolen. Lucky for you, there were lots of witnesses that put you in the clear on all counts. It just seems peculiar to me that they picked such a busy gas station to ram you and commit a murder, to boot. They had to know people would see it all go down.” He stopped and watched Novak’s face. “Would you happen to know why anyone would want to attack you like that? Were they targeting the young man in the back seat, you think?”
Novak was done with this guy. “Please, nurse, can’t we finish this later? I’m feeling really sick to my stomach and just so dizzy.”
The nurse stopped adjusting his IV line and sent a severe look at the detective. Her voice was firm. “Okay, that’s enough, Detective. This man has a concussion and does not need to be agitated. Come back tomorrow. If he feels up to it then, you can question him further.”
Unfortunately, the cop didn’t listen. Novak was still piecing his thoughts together. He kept reliving the crash, the smashing, shattering, terrifying, thunderous impact that had sent the Jeep over on its top. He recalled hanging upside down, and how the blood had flowed down on the roof. The worst part had been seeing Lori suspended in her seat, bloody and unconscious. Petrov had been walking over to the Jeep. He’d fired into the back seat, and somehow Novak had fired back. After that, everything got muddied up and confusing. He’d gotten off some shots. Had he wounded Petrov? He thought he had, but he couldn’t remember for sure.
The nurse was speaking to him in her soft patient-only voice. “There is one thing, Mr. Novak, that we truly need to know. It’s important that we contact the deceased’s next of kin, but no identification was found inside the car. Can you tell us his name? Please try to remember. It’s important that we notify the family as soon as possible.”
Novak didn’t know what to do. The last thing he wanted to think about was that boy lying in a morgue on a metal slab. But giving Justin’s name would lead to more questions. He could let them know later, after he got Lori safely out of the hospital. Petrov would come back for them, Novak was positive of that, and he would show up soon.
“That young man had nothing on him,” Harmon added, ignoring the nurse’s order to leave. “We need his name. Why was he traveling with you?” Harmon was getting impatient. “He died from gunshot wounds, Mr. Novak. Two slugs to his head and two more to the back. Witnesses heard the shots. They said there was return fire from inside the car and that the assailant was possibly wounded. Did you fire back, Mr. Novak? Do you know why he wanted to kill the man in your back seat?”
There was something off about this officer. Maybe he was there at Blackwood’s discretion. Novak couldn’t trust anybody. If he was Blackwood’s man and took Novak in for questioning, Novak would end up in that noose planned for him in the little Hallmark town. One thing he did know: Petrov had been ordered to kill them, and he would have, if Novak hadn’t opened up in time. Novak and Lori could not hang around long enough for Petrov to get a second chance. He was a pro, and not a man who ever gave quarter to anybody. If he wanted you dead, you’d end up dead. He’d be back, and they were sitting ducks inside their hospital beds. “I believe some guy did get out of that truck. I think I remember that.”
The cop perked up. “What’s his name? Did you recognize him?”
“I might have, but I can’t recall it right now. You know, the dizziness.” Novak wasn’t dizzy now, but he was thinking fast. He looked at the police officer and considered spilling out the whole truth, simply identifying Petrov and Blackwood as the bad guys. Still, his gut told him not to do that. The Senator would deny everything, and Novak couldn’t prove anything, not with Justin dead and Irina still under her father’s thumb. Nope, right now, Novak couldn’t and wouldn’t trust anybody. “You know what, Officer? I think maybe we might’ve been taking that boy to the hospital. Yeah, I think that’s it. Somebody had beaten him up, yes, he was terribly hurt when we found him—yes, I think that’s right. We found him unconscious on the side of the road. We pulled over, and I’m pretty sure we were probably trying to get him to a doctor when it happened.”
“I need to know who pulled that trigger, Mr. Novak.” The cop didn’t sound like he was buying into Novak’s story. “Do you remember where you found the deceased on the side of the road?”
Novak wanted to get rid of this guy, find Lori, and get the hell out of that hospital and back to his boat before Petrov showed up. He kept feigning memory loss, but that wouldn’t hold up forever. He had returned fire on Petrov, and that had le
ft shell casings that matched his weapon inside the wrecked Jeep. They’d also find the Kimber 1911, if they hadn’t already, and it would be taken into evidence, so he wouldn’t get it back. That left him unarmed.
“I feel sick. My head is killing me. Nurse, please give me something for this pain,” he said to the nurse, and that was all definitely true. He had to do something. He was unarmed and in a hospital gown. Canadian geese sitting on a frozen pond in front of a hunter’s blind had better chances of survival than he did. “I’m seeing double now. Please, nurse, I can’t do this anymore. I need you to give me something, please.”
The nurse jumped the cop for hanging around. Her voice had a harder edge this time. “I am sorry, officer, but you’re going to have to finish this interview tomorrow. My patient is not up to intensive questioning. I think you should let him have today to recover and come back in the morning. He should feel much better by then.”
The cop looked disgruntled. “All right, I’ll come back.” Then he turned to Novak one last time. “We will need a full statement from you before you’re released. You sure you don’t know who the deceased man is? He’s young and seems to have taken a violent beating before he was shot to death.”
Novak picked up on the implication and didn’t answer. He kept his eyes closed. The cop thought he’d beat up Justin. He was in for an assault and battery charge at the very least. He opened his eyes. “He was unconscious when we found him; yeah, he was beaten up, that’s what scared us. He had a gun, too. It was stuck in his waistband. That’s right, I do remember that. I didn’t want to leave it at the side of the road, so I picked it up and stowed it under the front passenger seat.”
“What kind of gun?”
“A .45 caliber, I think.”
“What else did you find on him?”
“I didn’t look for anything else. We were in hurry to get him help. I do recall that gun, though. The lady with me was armed, too. She works at the Pentagon. They need to be notified about the accident. It was one of their Jeeps.”
“Seems your memory is coming back now, Mr. Novak.”
“Yeah, a little bit at a time, but I’m so tired.”
“That’s enough.” The nurse was adamant this time. “You’re going to have to leave right now.”
“Okay, just one more question. You say the victim was in terrible shape when you found him, but he was armed and unconscious. Why didn’t you call the police, right then and there? And why would you stop at the BP station and pick up donuts, if you were in such a hurry to get him to a doctor?”
This guy was asking all the right questions, which was not good news for Novak. “I don’t know why. Wait, we were out of gas. We were rushing him to the hospital, and when Lori went inside to pay, she grabbed some food and water, I guess, I don’t know exactly. Nurse, can you give me something for this headache? Please, it’s terrible.”
The young nurse grew fierce. “Okay, enough is enough. This man has just woken from a traumatic accident in which he suffered a serious head injury. He needs time to recover without your badgering him. Leave right now. You can come back tomorrow. Do I have to call security?”
The detective appeared unconcerned with all that. He knew—and so did Novak—that hospital security couldn’t make him do anything. The doctor could, though. He stared at Novak. “Don’t leave town until we have a chance to talk,” he said. “I hope you feel better soon, Mr. Novak.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get out of this bed any time soon,” Novak lied. He was getting out of that hospital bed the minute he could walk on his own.
The nurse had a sedative already prepared, and was injecting it into his IV line. “There now, Mr. Novak, this will relieve your pain and help you get some sleep.”
Whatever she gave him worked fast. The tension in his body drained away, his limbs relaxed, and his headache subsided. He closed his eyes, hoping Petrov didn’t show up and kill him before he woke up.
Chapter 7
The next time Novak opened his eyes, he had been moved into a private room. It was dark outside his windows. His headache had faded, and his thoughts were clear. There was no double vision, and he could sit up without groaning and clutching his head. Even better, there was no sign of Petrov. Unfortunately, a man that Novak had never seen before sat in a wheelchair that he had rolled up close beside the bed. He had on blue hospital scrubs and white tennis shoes, and was watching a New York Rangers hockey game on the television affixed high on the opposite wall. The sound was muted. Novak did not want to talk to this guy. He felt okay, but nowhere near a hundred percent. It was quiet outside in the corridor, so it must have been late. Who was this guy? A nurse, an orderly? He was mildly surprised the hall nurse had allowed some stranger to come in and watch his television. Maybe he was waiting for somebody. Novak shut his eyes again.
“You feel better now, do you not?”
Novak considered feigning sleep but wanted to know who this guy was and what he wanted. He turned his face toward the guy without lifting his head. “Who are you?”
The man remained seated. He didn’t look as big as Novak, maybe five feet eight or nine, or even smaller. He was stocky, with the kind of big rough hands and bulky arms of a dirt farmer who fought hard scrabble earth for years. He looked fit, though, and totally relaxed with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His thick fingers were intertwined and resting atop his stomach. He was smiling. Problem was, there wasn’t anything to smile about. Novak sure as hell wasn’t smiling. The man had the bare hint of a foreign accent, one that Novak had a sneaking suspicion was Russian. There seemed to be lots of Muscovites running around in northern Virginia all of a sudden. He did not like the feeling that he was unable to defend himself if this guy meant him harm. Tensing up, he waited for those big rough-hewn hands to clench around his throat. Novak needed to get out of bed and find some kind of weapon, because he was still drugged up, and if this guy wasn’t one of Blackwood’s henchmen, the next guy would be. The effects of the sedative were slowly wearing off, but he was still at a definite disadvantage. If this man had come there intending to fight him or inject him with something lethal, Novak was in trouble. He could have done that while Novak was asleep. So why hadn’t he?
“Hey, Will, please—I know you’re trying to figure all this out. Please do not fear me. I mean you no harm. You will have to defend yourself, however, when Vasily Petrov shows up here with his steel icepick. I’m surprised he hasn’t come for you yet. He’s had the time to kill you, so why hasn’t he? I suppose they think you and your pretty lady friend upstairs are too busted up to go anywhere, so they’re taking their time.”
Novak tried to digest all that. He asked again, “Who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
On edge, Novak glanced around the room. Everything seemed all right. He didn’t sense imminent danger. The guy had his hands in plain sight, so he wasn’t reaching for a knife or pistol. Novak searched for a call button, but found that it had been moved from the bed to the side table, well out of his reach. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. How about handing me that call button? I need a nurse.”
“Sorry. I can’t do that.”
Novak examined the guy’s face. He stared back. His eyes were big, black and luminous enough to reflect the television screen. He looked fairly young—thirties, maybe older. White-blond hair that looked bleached because of his dark brows, close-to-the-skull buzz cut, and a dark blond scruff along his jawline. His voice was the rumbling kind of deep bass, but he had the calm and quiet demeanor of a scholar. Novak was in no shape to take on him, or anyone else for that matter. He would probably have to, sooner or later. He flexed his arms and figured he could put down the guy if he got in the first blow. He played stupid. “Who’s Petrov? What do you mean?”
“Come now, my friend. Don’t play silly games. Better to not take
me for a fool or incompetent. I know what you and the woman have been doing. I know who the deceased kid inside your car is, and I know why he was almost beaten to death.”
He knew a lot, all right—too much, in fact. His English was good, but his accent was definitely Russian, barely discernible but probably originating from the north—somewhere around St. Petersburg would be Novak’s guess. He had lived and worked in Russia for almost a year. They had been protecting a diplomatic mission with the cooperation of the Kremlin. His guess was that this man was a member of the GRU, Russia’s military intelligence service. They were all taught English as part of their job. He looked and acted the part. He doubted the guy would admit it. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“Do not be alarmed. I am here to help you, my friend. You need to believe that and trust me. So listen well, Mr. Novak. You need to get out of that bed right now so the two of us can go upstairs and get your girlfriend and take her out of here. We cannot leave her behind, or she’ll end up with a bullet in her head like Justin Dalton, or poison in her IV.”
Novak felt alarmed, if that’s what the man was going for. “Is she okay? Did she wake up?”
“Yes, about an hour ago, I guess. The way I saw it, she felt pretty much the same way you did when that detective was questioning you down in the ER.”
“How do you know so much about me?”
“I’ve been following you, ever since Blackwood’s men grabbed you at that steakhouse.”
Novak didn’t like that. “Why? I don’t know you. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’ll tell you that and everything else you wish to know, but only after I get you and the woman to a safe house.”
“And if we don’t trust you and don’t want to go along?”
The man stared at him for a long moment, then hitched a small shrug. “Then you will both end up dead. Tonight, most likely. This place has very weak security. Almost non-existent. I was able to move about freely once I put on these clothes and stole an ID card. Nobody even questions my presence. Even I was surprised at how easy it is to infiltrate your American medical centers.”