by Linda Ladd
Novak looked at him suspiciously, unwilling to take them. He didn’t know what was inside that bottle.
Sokolov smiled. “I have no reason to want to hurt the pretty lady. These are what I said they were, only painkillers. The bottle is still sealed.” He held it up. Novak still hesitated. “Okay, look, I will take one myself, if it makes you feel better.”
Novak watched him break the seal and swallow a pill without water. Then he took a second one. After that, he took the bottle. “I hope you don’t run into trouble because you’re going to be as looped as Lori now.”
“I have a high tolerance.”
Trustworthy or not, Sokolov was right: Lori was going to need relief on the ride back to the marina.
“Where are you taking her?”
“Somewhere they’ll never find her. I’m staying with her until she’s settled in and I feel good about her security. After that, I’ll come back here, and we’ll go get these guys.”
“Yes, you do that. Keep your woman far away until we get this done. I’ll stay here and continue surveillance until you return. But if I see Irina, I’m going in to get her before they hurt her again.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sokolov. You can’t do it alone. That would be suicide. Wait until I get back. I won’t be gone longer than a day or so, maybe. Blackwood’s got a dozen men surrounding him. Don’t get reckless, or Irina surely will end up dead.”
“Maybe you sell my training a trifle short, my friend.”
Novak didn’t have a clue about his training, but Sokolov had gotten them both out of that hospital safely enough. His skills weren’t shabby, not by a long shot. Novak’s primary concern was getting Lori out of harm’s way as rapidly as possible. Within the hour, Lori was fully awake and felt well enough to make it to the car. She had to lean heavily on him, but she made it all the same. They were going to use another car that Sokolov had hidden in an overhang shed out back. It turned out to be an unremarkable four-door white Ford Fusion with current Pennsylvania license plates. Novak didn’t ask Sokolov how he’d managed that. More spy skills, no doubt.
The morning was so damp and foggy that Novak could barely make out Sokolov where he stood on the porch, watching Novak help Lori lie down on the back seat. It wasn’t long enough for her to stretch out, but she got comfortable on her good side with her knees bent. She would have a halfway comfortable ride, if and when she downed enough drugs. She took the pills Novak gave her with a bottle of water without urging, but until they took effect, Lori was in the mood to talk. Now that her mental acuity was on the mend, she had more questions than Novak wanted to answer. He filled her in on a portion of what Sokolov had revealed to him. She kept her voice low, but watched the Russian through the front windshield.
“I don’t trust him. I think he’s lying about everything. He’s a former Russian operative, for God’s sake. My guess is that he’s still one and playing us for fools.”
“I’m not convinced, either, but I’ll give him a chance to prove it. He says he loathes Petrov and intends to bring him down by any means necessary. That’s what I want. He says Blackwood’s fronting a big drug-running operation that includes selling fentanyl-laced opioids to kids. If that’s true, I want to smash it up and put away everybody inside it. If Blackwood’s fed up with Irina, Sokolov says he’ll put a gun to her head without missing a beat. I don’t want him to kill that young girl. I’m not going to let that happen.”
“I don’t like any of this. Oh, God…Go after them on your own, Novak. Don’t trust this guy. You don’t know anything about him.”
“I’m getting you out of here, so you don’t have to worry about him. I’ll find out soon enough if Sokolov’s telling me the truth. You just take care of yourself and feel better. I’m going to watch my back. You don’t have to.”
“I’m going to worry myself about your back all the way to my grave.”
Novak got in the driver’s seat. Sokolov smiled and waved goodbye as if they were taking off on a holiday full of fun and laughter. Novak was distinctly glad to get away from him. Once they were driving down through the speckled shadows cast by the trees with lots of leaves fluttering down on their windshield, Lori became quiet. Novak didn’t want to explain himself further because he was going on blind trust this time. That would be hard for her to understand. He rarely did that. In fact, he never did that. He shouldn’t have been doing it now, and he knew it. Lori was right in every warning she’d given him. He drove fast, staying on the less-traveled state roads and off the major highways and Interstates, which cost them some time, but was ultimately a safer route.
The sun was up and the sky was sunny and clear, another gorgeous autumn day by the time they reached National Harbor and parked the Fusion in a space not far from the Sweet Sarah. Novak got out and checked out the boat from stem to stern before he took Lori aboard. Nothing had been disturbed that he could tell. The safety precautions he’d set for intruders had not been triggered, so he felt comfortable that nobody had been snooping around on deck. He unsnapped the hatch covers, got everything ready to sail, and then walked back for Lori. She was awake now but still groggy, so he picked her up and carried her aboard the boat and down below. He would have preferred to leave her inside some private hospital with tons of security guards. On the other hand, it was highly unlikely that Blackwood and Petrov knew Novak owned a boat or where he had put in. They sure as hell couldn’t know where he intended to anchor next, because he hadn’t decided yet. If he was leaving Lori alone somewhere, it would be in a private cove where nobody would ever think to look for her.
After sleeping the entire drive, Lori roused a bit, so Novak helped her dress in a warm sweatshirt and sweatpants that she’d left aboard. He settled her in the master cabin with a mug of chicken noodle soup, a cup of hot tea, and Sokolov’s bottle of wonder pills. After she went back to sleep, he walked over to the marina’s office, settled the bill, and then motored his boat out into the Potomac River, heading south to the open ocean, glad to bid the place goodbye. It took a long time to navigate the river, but he finally made it out onto Chesapeake Bay. Several miles offshore, he fixed the sails and headed off south along the coast, the sun hot on his head. He had decided exactly where he would lay anchor. Novak had an old detective buddy from the NYPD named Jeffrey Summers. He owned a private marina on an inlet, not far from Virginia Beach. From there, it wouldn’t take Novak long to drive back to Sokolov’s safe house. Lori could recuperate safely under his friend’s watch. Novak trusted him. He visited Summers and his wife every time he sailed up the East Coast.
The cove wasn’t exactly uninhabited, but it was well off the beaten path. Jeff would be there to take her to the hospital, if something unforeseen happened. It wasn’t the perfect set-up, but he felt comfortable leaving Lori there. She wouldn’t be alone, and she had a gun that she definitely knew how to use. She would not hesitate to protect herself, and he doubted that anyone could get the jump on her. Those were the positives. He tried not to think about the negatives.
Chapter 11
Jeff and his wife, Angie, were out on their private dock to meet them. Novak had phoned ahead, and Jeff had agreed without a moment’s hesitation. Lori took to both her hosts right away, probably because they were also military veterans who’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan, and were proud of it. After that, Novak felt better leaving her in their care. He hung around for the lobster boil they’d already prepared and shared some of the story with Jeff, but not enough to make him a target. Afterward, he borrowed Jeff’s second car, an old Nissan sedan, and headed back to Sokolov’s safe house. The drive was going to take a couple of hours, but the solitary road trip gave him time to consider everything he knew so far. Most of the time, he mulled over various ways to rescue Irina from the devil who’d taken that poor kid and abused her since she was a little girl. That ate at Novak more than anything else.
Despite her head injury, it appeared Lori wasn’t taking it all th
at easy. An hour into his drive back, she texted Novak with some background history on Blackwood’s Senate career and business dealings. He pulled off at a big rest stop and skimmed through the information. Other than Blackwood’s horse farm and his mansion in Georgetown, his major investments were in real estate holdings. She had included a long list of residential properties purchased for investment and beach rental opportunities. The sheer number of beach houses the Senator owned seemed ridiculous to Novak and immediately raised his suspicions. Most of them were located at well-known Atlantic Coast hotspots, including Myrtle Beach, Hilton Head, Fripp Island, and Amelia Island, to name just a few. That lined up with Sokolov’s theory about drugs being passed along the coastline. Rental properties were not in themselves unusual, but this guy had way too many, which were way too close together. Novak was pretty sure these properties had a great deal to do with the opioid pipeline, if there really was one. Proving it was the problem, and that would take time and round-the-clock surveillance.
First things first, they had to get Irina out from under Blackwood’s power before it was too late. She was going to end up dead, sooner or later. Novak knew it in his gut—she didn’t have a chance, just like her boyfriend hadn’t. She was becoming Blackwood’s pain in the ass instead of his sweet little underage plaything, and he didn’t like it. Murder was his favorite method of disposing of unwanted problems, or so it was beginning to seem. She would be on the kill list soon, if she wasn’t already.
Novak had no trouble finding Stepan Sokolov’s woodsy little hidey hole again. It bordered Blackwood’s horse pastures and private woods, just like he’d said. Sokolov had found a good place to stand watch, right on top of Blackwood’s every move. The fact that he was a well-trained espionage operative was showing more and more all the time. He knew exactly what he was doing. Whether he could be trusted was another story completely. Time would tell. Novak turned off the blacktop road and drove back through all that swaying dappled sunlight streaming through all those beautiful autumn leaves, until he pulled up into the same scraggly front yard that he’d left on that foggy morning.
In the bright daylight, he realized the outside of the house was in worse shape than the interior. It was either unpainted or all the paint had peeled off. Some of the shutters were hanging askew, and many bannister slats on the porch were missing. It looked exactly like a place he might choose to burrow in and hide, if he were in another country illegally. Right now, the Russian did not look like the typical farmer where he sat on the front porch in an old rocking chair, dressed entirely in green camouflage, holding a high-powered rifle across his knees. A country bumpkin or stupid redneck Stepan Sokolov was not.
Novak stopped the car at the porch steps. He turned off the motor but kept his eyes riveted on the Russian. The rifle was attached with a giant, telescopic scope. No way could he let down his guard with this guy. Glancing around, he put his hand near his own weapon, searching the undergrowth around the clearing for Petrov’s thugs. Sokolov had been a successful spy for decades; a double-cross was definitely possible. Still, if this guy could help Novak take down an opioid network that had killed even one American child, Novak would work alongside him.
Irina Blackwood wasn’t Novak’s highest priority, but she was for Sokolov—at least that’s what he’d said. Novak had some doubts about all the sentimental father-daughter drivel he’d been fed so far. Whether the familial ties were true or not, that teenager did not deserve what life had given her. She was in big trouble. She thought she could handle Blackwood, and she probably had manipulated him easily enough when she was young. Now she was a thorn in his side.
“Welcome back, my friend,” Sokolov greeted him, as Novak mounted the front steps.He stopped at the top and looked around.
“You’re sure this place is safe?”
“Of course, one of our agents bought this property decades ago with KGB money. They’ve been watching Blackwood’s farm for years. That’s how Petrov got to know Blackwood was corrupt. He’s been dirty since his broadcast days, and that only got worse after he was elected. Good news for us, though. I’m sure your people did the same thing in Russia.”
They had, of course. They still did. Novak had lived for a time in a safe house on the outskirts of Moscow. But he wasn’t going to trade spy stories with this guy. “Okay, I’m back. So what’s your plan? How do we get Irina off that farm without getting her killed?”
“No clue. I was hoping you had some ideas.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear, Sokolov.”
“Please, call me Stepan. I will call you Will.”
“I’m not calling you Stepan. We’re not buddies. We’re never going to be buddies. I’m working with you because you have information I need to bring down Petrov and the guys in that truck who tried to murder us. I’d rather bring in the Virginia State Police, to tell you the truth, but I can’t, because Blackwood’s got a long history in this state, which means they’ll never believe me over him. We are not in a budding friendship, Sokolov. We’re too experienced in this game to ever completely trust each other. After we destroy these guys, I don’t care if I never see you again.”
“You appear quite judgmental for a man who has committed many of the same crimes as me. But you can trust me. I served my country bravely, as you did yours. In time I lost the patriotism I once felt for the Motherland. She failed me. This will be a difficult and trying alliance, you and me. But we do need each other.”
“Yeah, whatever. What are we going to do now?”
“I do have ideas; I only wished to hear yours first. A few I think are failsafe. An assault on the horse farm is not well-conceived. It’s much too well protected. Infiltration at the perimeter will be difficult, and a frontal assault even less desirable. We cannot simply barge in there and grab my daughter. It would be wiser to wait until they travel to one of his beach properties. Fortunately, he often moves his retinue around, especially on weekends. They’re headed south, and that’s when and where we’ll strike. As you found out the hard way, Blackwood’s men surround him night and day. They’re his private army, and they do exactly what they’re told, or Petrov executes them where they stand. That man is ruthless when it comes to discipline. Once they leave the farm, fewer people will be with them. Security becomes more lax, and that will be our best opportunity to strike.”
“Are they on the farm now?”
“They left there this morning.”
“Irina, too?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Would you like for me to show you?”
“That would just be peachy, Sokolov.”
Sokolov smiled. “That is sarcasm. I have already set up round-the-clock surveillance in the attic, and positioned cameras in the woods behind this house. It was the first thing I did when I set up here. Come, I will show you.”
The narrow steps leading to the attic were concealed behind an old door. The stairs were enclosed, and so narrow that Novak had to turn his shoulders sideways to get through. He felt claustrophobic, not to mention vulnerable to anyone coming up behind him. Sokolov preceded him, and was already at the top. Novak climbed the last few steps, not sure what he’d find. He had his gun ready. He holstered it when he stepped out into a big room that ran the length and breadth of the house. It had unfinished studded walls and open rafters. It smelled like new lumber and paint.
It also resembled a NASA control room for Apollo 13. Novak was surprised at the amount of electronic equipment. Old and new maps of the United States were tacked on bulletin boards nailed to the studs, and clipped newspaper articles were pinned to the walls. A row of brand-new Dell computers sat on a countertop across from one twin bed made up with a blue coverlet that looked hand-crocheted. This place had been here a long time and was a spymaster’s dream. “How long has this room been in use, Sokolov?”
“I told you we’ve owned this property since the Cold War day
s. My new computers are locked up. I purchased the very best. They’re over there, in that cabinet.” He pointed to a tall built-in safe secured with a keypad lock.
“If this was KGB property, how come Petrov doesn’t know about it?”
“He wasn’t assigned to this area. He ran things up around New York mostly. I was assigned down here.”
“How many other people know about this place?”
“A few people maybe, but they’ve moved on or been recalled home years ago. It has sat here empty until I came and tidied it up. Nobody will come out here.”
“I hope you’re right. They might take a bullet if they do.” Novak watched the Russian, looking for signs of deception. But he probably wouldn’t see any. Sokolov was no fool. Novak needed to remember that.
Sokolov punched in the code and pulled open the doors. Inside, there was an elaborate surveillance system similar to the ones seen in Five-Star hotels and restaurants. There were eight screens, all revealing various rooms inside a house. Novak leaned closer. “Is that the house at Blackwood’s farm?”
The Russian nodded. “I managed to plant secret cameras in the major living areas of his house. This is the living room, and that one is the kitchen. I wired up both Irina’s and Blackwood’s bedrooms. There’s also a surveillance camera in the stable and the bunkhouse beside it. That’s where the guards sleep.”
Novak stared at the small screens as Sokolov booted up a thirty-inch monitor in the middle. He could see men moving about inside the bunkhouse, some asleep on beds and others getting dressed. He could see a female cook dressed in white standing in the kitchen of the main house. Everything was being recorded. Impressed, Novak looked at Sokolov. “How in the hell did you get those cameras inside that house?”
“This was what I did during my stint in your country. I’ve bugged hundreds of houses through the years, sometimes with our targets watching me the entire time. For Blackwood’s house, I used the excuse of a possible gas leak. They have gas fireplace logs in nearly every room.”