The Vanishing Angle

by Linda Ladd

  “Just stay out here, Lori. Keep your rifle ready and watch me like a stalker. You don’t need to be seen anywhere on shore, and especially not anywhere on that dock. Text me if you see anything coming at me. If it looks like I’m in trouble and about to go down, call 911 and make up a story where I’m the good guy. Then call the Key West police and ask for Detective John Ebertson. He’s a friend.”

  “Let’s call him right now. I don’t like this. You’re putting yourself up against their whole team.”

  “Just stay here and keep watch.” He softened his voice. “Please, Lori, do what I want this time. I’ll be all right. I know what I’m doing.”

  Lori was not a woman who gave up. “You’re too angry. Don’t deny it, either. Get your temper under control. I’m speaking to you as a soldier now, Novak. You go in all hot like this, you’ll make mistakes. You cannot be rash right now.”

  He knew that, of course. “I’m rarely rash, Lori. My anger’s there, but it’s under control.”

  “Novak, you are not in control.”

  Novak grimaced, tired of her arguments.

  Lori took a deep breath. “I’m just worried about you. The fact is that you’re usually calm, utterly ice-cold when you go after somebody, and that’s why you always come out ahead. Right now, you’re nowhere close to that, which puts you at risk.”

  “I know what I’m doing. Stay out here. Keep out of sight with the lights off. Keep your eyes open and watch me all the time with the scope. If they know you’re out here, they’ll send a kill crew. We’re dealing with the big guys now. They won’t hesitate to protect their livelihood.”

  “I know that.”

  “Good. I need you to watch my back. I’m going to rent a car first, so I’ll be ready to follow him if he takes off. He might’ve stashed the girl down here somewhere, who knows? She could still be alive, but I can’t count on it. If he’s here with Blackwood, I think she’s long dead, probably by Sokolov’s hand.”

  “Just be careful. Please.”

  Novak left her there. Both of them had calmed down. They were ready. He did need her to keep watch from out on the water. Besides, Lori Garner had been hurt too many times since she’d hooked up with him. She’d been hurt this time, too, but that was the last time he was going to let that happen.

  Within the hour, Novak sat inside a 2019 Honda Civic, black and chrome with concealing dark-tinted windows. He had it delivered to the street parallel to the water, then parked it at the back of the hotel’s marina. He chose a shadowy space near the rear entrance, where he could just barely make out the running lights of Sweet Sarah with his binoculars, and also get a good picture of Trident Point’s stern deck. Everything else around the dock was dark except for the portholes of docked boats.

  The same four men were sitting at the table, smoking cigars, probably half-drunk by now. They took periodic breaks where they all disappeared below. The guards remained on duty at the railings. As time passed, it appeared the four players had come to mutual agreement, seeing how their conversation now appeared friendly, convivial. They laughed together as they drank their way through a lavish dinner. He did not see Irina Blackwood or any other woman anywhere aboard. This was strictly a private business meeting only for the main players.

  Perhaps an hour passed before he caught sight of Sokolov. He picked him up where he sat on a cushioned bench under a canopy. His back was turned to Novak, so he hadn’t noticed his presence until he stood up and moved to the dining table. He bent down and whispered something into Petrov’s ear. Petrov nodded, after which Sokolov walked away quickly and headed down the gangplank. This was the moment Novak had been waiting for. He slumped down behind the steering wheel as the Russian spoke to the guard without lingering this time. He took off with long strides toward the Ferrari, unlocked the door, and climbed inside. A moment later, his headlights flashed on, and he backed out of the spot, heading for the front exit.

  Novak waited until Sokolov pulled out onto Peninsular Avenue. Novak started the Civic and headed for the same exit. Minutes later he was behind Sokolov, but lagging three cars back. When Sokolov stopped at a traffic light, Novak tried to get his bearings. They were still on the same street heading inland. They started moving again, passing a mobile home court and a busy McDonald’s. Sokolov was driving under the speed limit, clearly in no hurry. He didn’t appear to notice Novak or try to lose him, so Novak figured he wasn’t aware he was being followed. That was good. Two blocks down, he pulled up to a Burger King drive-through window and ordered food. Maybe he wanted a snack before he killed Irina. He’d rot in an American jail forever if he murdered that teenager. No way would Novak let him get away with that.

  They continued driving on a circuitous route, passing trailer homes, luxurious golf courses, and a community college, until Sokolov finally turned into a dark middle-class neighborhood. Sokolov made his way through the streets to Azalea Drive, ending up at a modest brown house surrounded by clustered palms. There was a wood fence out front with brick pillars. The Russian turned into a bricked driveway, stopping in front of the entrance. Novak drove past, fervently praying that Irina was inside that house. He still held out hope that she was alive.

  Novak made a quick circle of the block and drove past the house again. The lights inside were on now. The house looked made for infiltration. The fence and thick tropical foliage and palms were perfect cover. There was a light shining to the right of the front door, behind a big plate-glass window covered with draperies. Novak drove around the block once more, trying to see into the backyard. He kept killing time, afraid the Russian would take off again for the yacht. Thirty minutes passed, and he stayed put.

  Novak parked the Civic down the street after his next pass, choosing a house on the opposite side. A ‘For Sale’ sign was planted in the yard. The property appeared vacant with dark, undraped windows. No cars were in the driveway or carport. He pulled out his weapon, checked it out, and racked a round into the chamber. Then he got out, holding his gun close beside his leg, finger along the trigger, hoping Sokolov didn’t have nosy neighbors. He breathed in humid, muggy, hot air, the temperature cloying even so late at night. Huge gray moths flitted and buzzed, murdering themselves on street lights crowned with mist. They were set a good distance apart, filling the street with lots of shadows. Sweat dripped down his neck, running down his back under his T-shirt. There was no breeze, only the chirping cacophony of a million insects and tree frogs. He moved along cautiously, avoiding the circles of light illuminating the sidewalks.

  Once he was directly across from Sokolov’s house, he stood hidden in the shadows under a trio of palmetto trees and watched the windows. Nothing moved in or around the house. No other lights came on or went off. Finally he crossed the street, searched the eaves for security cameras, saw none, then crept up through the foliage at one side. The neighboring houses were hidden behind the fence. No way could they spot him easing through the dark, let alone observe anything else going on in that yard. Sokolov’s house was small, only one story with a crawl space. The backyard was tiny, the grass dying, choked out by weeds. It didn’t appear that Sokolov stayed there often. It had to be an old safe house, or maybe it was a storage facility for the opioid shipments. Maybe it was a prison, a death row for Blackwood’s captured enemies.

  The back door was locked tight. No light shone from what must have been the kitchen. He moved closer, his back to the wall. Then he froze as a hushed voice came out of the darkness, right behind him.

  “Don’t move. I got you dead to rights.” It was Sokolov’s voice. He was close, maybe a foot off to Novak’s right.

  Novak didn’t wait. He ducked down, spun around, and lunged. He got the smaller man around the waist and took him down, forcing his weapon up at the same time. It went off through a silencer, tearing off palm leaves above them. They went down hard, tangled together, Novak on top. Within seconds, Novak had the advantage due to his superior size and strength
. The Russian had been caught by surprise. He fought hard to shove Novak off, but he was too big. Novak chopped his wrist and the gun fell free. He forced his forearm hard against Sokolov’s Adam’s apple until the man started choking for air and quit fighting. Novak hit him hard in the temple, then gave a quick jab to the nose. He heard it crunch under his knuckles.

  As the blood sprayed, Sokolov groaned and choked but didn’t try to fight. When he got his breath back, he spit out blood and struggled. Novak clubbed him in the forehead with his gun butt, and that was the end of the fight. Sokolov sagged, only half-conscious. Novak grabbed a fistful of Sokolov’s shirt and dragged him bodily to the back door. It was locked, so he put one shoulder against it and gave it a hard shove. When it banged open, he pulled the smaller man into the kitchen, shut the door, and looked around. A night light burned on the stove, but everything else lay in darkness. Sokolov started coming back around, but his struggles were weak. He was gasping for breath through his injured nose. Novak jerked him up in front of him and flexed his forearm tight around the man’s neck.

  “Stop fighting, or I’ll finish you right now.”

  The Russian must have believed him, because he sagged limply. Novak thrust him down in a kitchen chair. He pulled out the roll of duct tape he’d brought, secured his arms and legs, and slapped another strip over Sokolov’s mouth. Then he quickly switched on the overhead light and searched the house, checking for prisoners. He found nothing and nobody, just a lot of empty rooms. Irina was not there.

  When he got back to the kitchen, he stood over the woozy Russian, ripped the tape off his mouth, and stared down at his bleeding face. “I actually thought you’d put up a better fight, you being a trained Russian operative and all that. Pretty weak show of skills, Sokolov. I had you pegged as a better fighter.”

  Sokolov gagged on blood when he tried to talk. He swallowed it down. “Not that kind of operative.”

  “Really? What kind then? The kind that murders abused little teenage girls? After we left, you took Irina out of that hospital and murdered her, didn’t you?”

  Sokolov started shaking his head. “I didn’t. I’d never kill her. I have killed only a few people in my life.”

  “Irina didn’t deserve what you and Blackwood did to her. She was an innocent child when you snatched her and corrupted her in the worst ways possible.”

  “No, no, you got it wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Irina is not dead. For God’s sake, listen to me, man. I couldn’t kill my own daughter. How could you even think I could do something like that?”

  “You had me at first, but I don’t think she is your daughter, not anymore. I think you work for Blackwood, and have all along. You played me for a fool, using those two teenagers to pull me in.”

  Sokolov leaned his head back, trying to stop the bleeding. He coughed and spit out more blood. Novak was not affected.

  “Where is she? Where’d you bury her body?”

  “I swear to God. I never hurt her. I just needed information. That’s why I took her out of the hospital. I knew she wouldn’t tell me anything until she got desperate for the heroin. I knew you wouldn’t let me force her to talk that way.”

  “Damn right, I wouldn’t. Who the hell are you? What do you do for Blackwood?”

  “I don’t work for Blackwood.” He paused a second, as if trying to think straight, or maybe just to figure out his next lie. “Petrov’s an old friend of mine, that’s true, I admit it—or he used to be one back in the old days.” He took a deep breath, his eyes closed.

  “Where?”

  “Syria. He was, I guess you’d call it, a mentor.”

  “You were whispering to him on the Trident Point, looked pretty buddy-buddy to me. What did you tell him? Why did you come out here tonight?”

  “I’m playing him, not you. I swear it on the Holy Virgin.”

  Novak laughed, but his amusement died quickly. “You expect me to believe that? Where is Irina now? Is she dead?”

  “She’s alive, I swear to God. She’s safe. I left her in a place where they’re taking good care of her.”

  “Where?”

  The Russian clammed up. Now the blood from his nose was just a trickle. “If I tell you now, you’ll kill me, or leave me out here to die.”

  “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t. I will for sure if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

  “Let me explain. Please. Just listen to me.”

  Novak pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down where he could see the back door and the archway into the living room. He kept his firearm pointed at Sokolov’s heart. “Make it short. I’m not hanging around for your buddies to show up.”

  “I’m on your side. I’ve been with you from the beginning.”

  Novak shook his head. “Yeah, I can see that. You and Petrov both are my best buddies.”

  “Not him. He’s the villain in all of this, not me. Please, you’ve got to believe me.”

  “Where is Irina?”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll tell you. She’s being cared for. She’s in sort of a rehab center, but…not exactly. Listen, you can call her, if you want. I’ve got her number. She’ll tell you herself that she’s fine, that I didn’t lay a hand on her.”

  That surprised Novak. He wasn’t sure he believed him, of course. It sounded like a trick. “That sounds great. What’s the number?”

  “First, just let me tell you some stuff. Let me explain what’s going on and why I kept you in the dark. I couldn’t tell you everything.”

  Novak studied the man’s injured face. It was already bruising and starting to swell. The look in his eyes seemed legit, desperate, but that was because he thought Novak might shoot him. He ought to be afraid. Novak was more interested in answers, and he wanted the truth for a change. He was tired of flying blind in this thing. He didn’t work that way. He wanted to know what he was caught up in. “I’m listening, Sokolov. Don’t feed me lies. I’ve heard enough.”

  “I’m telling the Gospel truth now. I swear it on all the holy angels.”

  “You sure got religion fast. Go ahead, tell me everything.”

  Sokolov looked relieved. He started talking. Whether any of it was true, Novak had no way of knowing, but he would listen to his story. It had better be worth his time.

  Chapter 18

  Sokolov stared down at the floor. He was feeling the cut on his mouth with the tip of his tongue. The bleeding had stopped, but the man’s shirt was wet and shiny red. “Okay, okay. This is the truth. I’m done playing games. I am playing Petrov. I have no interest in hurting you and your girl.”

  “That didn’t tell me a thing.”

  “You don’t know Petrov like I do. You don’t know what he’s capable of. I won’t be a part of it, anymore. I want to bring him down, probably more than you do.”

  “Is Irina your daughter or not?”

  “Okay, you’re right. She’s not my kid. Blackwood just snatched Irina off a Moscow street when she was little, just like she said. She wasn’t the first he picked up for his perversion, and she won’t be the last unless we stop him. She’s special to him, though, because he adopted her and kept her around all these years. He gets the kids overseas. Sometimes he pays off their parents. If they don’t want to let him have the child, Petrov beats them up until they agree. Just like they did to Justin. They’re poor and can’t do anything about it. He’s always had diplomatic immunity that smooths his way to take the children out of the country, while greasing palms at government levels.”

  “Why did you lie? Why not tell us the truth from the beginning?”

  “Because I needed to get information out of Irina. She’s not my daughter, no, but she’s the one who took my baby girl.”

  Novak watched his eyes. They were bloodshot and swelling, but they looked calm now. He searched his face and body for signs of deceit, but he
couldn’t find any yet. Maybe that was because Sokolov was good at it. The man before him no longer appeared frantic. He gazed straight back at him, ready to cooperate. “Irina took your real daughter? That’s your new story? Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know why. I guess because Blackwood told her to. That’s what I want to know. I want to know where my baby is. I want to know if she’s dead or alive. I found out they took her through an old army buddy who’s at the Kremlin now.”

  “I’m asking you again. Why does Irina want your daughter?”

  “She didn’t. From what I could figure, her father told her to get Katerina over to the car. She says she did it because she was strung out and he was withholding the heroin as punishment. I got that much out of her after you left the hospital.”

  Novak felt his anger flaring up again. He waited a moment to get it under control. “What else did she say?”

  “She said Blackwood took Katerina to the farm until he got tired of her. He was trying to groom her like all pedophiles do. She was afraid of him, homesick, and she cried and screamed if he tried to touch her. He didn’t like her after that, thank God.” His voice actually broke this time.

  Novak said nothing. It took some time for Sokolov to regain his composure. He started talking again. “Irina told me that my daughter’s with one of the couriers. She says they take kids out for the drops and use some kind of black pennant or something to recognize their contact. Apparently, they meet up with different people each time. The drugs are transferred boat-to-boat, all the way up the coast. I guess you’ve already figured that out, right? They take little kids so they’ll look like families and allay suspicion. My daughter’s being held by one of those drug dealers, Novak. Probably living with a bunch of addicts. I’ve got to find her and get her out, and then I’m taking her as far away from here as I can get.”