The Vanishing Angle

by Linda Ladd

  “Petrov won’t make dumb mistakes. He’s careful.”

  “You got Sokolov’s daughter out, I take it.”

  “Yes. He’s on the way to the convent where he stashed Irina for safekeeping. I hope he follows through and makes it there. Never know what to expect with him.”

  “He’s hasn’t betrayed us yet. This thing is so damn far-reaching. If we pull this off, it’ll be a miracle. You know what else, Novak? You better make it through this alive. I’m warning you. You could wait for reinforcements when you get up there. I can make that happen.”

  “No, I do this one alone.” Novak knew she’d argue, so he said, “Are you really feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine, please—let it rest. My state of health is A-OK. What about you?”

  Novak still had some headaches, but he attributed that to stressing over bringing those guys down. She didn’t need to know that. “I’m fine, too. We’re both tough.”

  “How much time will you need to get there and map out the inside of that compound?”

  “Another week, at least. Ten days tops, unless I hit a vanishing angle.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a nautical term. That’s when the wind tips a sailboat too close to the water to right itself and it capsizes. In other words, a freaking disaster.”

  “Did you just say freaking? My word, I am rubbing off on you. And I thought I knew all your nautical terms.” She laughed a bit. “That sounds like what’s been going on since you stepped foot on the dock in Maryland. Yes, sir, a vanishing angle is heading right for us. My Jeep certainly capsized. It’s totaled, but luckily I’m not going to have to pay for it. Hope I can pull all this off on my end.”

  “You can. You always come through.”

  “All I want is a nice warm beach and a hotel with a king-size bed. And you.”

  “Sounds good. After I take down Petrov, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “He’s only a part of the whole. This is bigger than him.”

  “Not to me, it isn’t. He was going to kill you in that Jeep. He killed that boy without blinking an eye. He’s got to pay for that.”

  “Wait, you’re not saying you’re going to murder him, right? I misunderstood that.”

  “I’m telling you that I’m going to stop him, no matter what it takes.”

  “Bring him in. He’ll rot in a federal prison for the rest of his life if he doesn’t get the death penalty. Better yet, let the Russians have him. They won’t go easy, let me tell you.”

  Novak kept quiet. He’d have liked to see Petrov in the ground. He had wreaked havoc on more innocent people than they’d ever know, and for decades. He’d always escaped punishment. Not this time.

  “You know, Novak, I hate the thought of visiting you in jail for the next thirty years. It would put a crimp in my love life.”

  Novak smiled. “I won’t go to jail. I’ll sail into the sunset before they catch me.”

  “I hope you get out of this thing in one piece. So what are your plans when you get to Nantucket?”

  “I’m going to case out the island, find whatever warehouse Blackwood’s using. I’d blow it to hell if it wasn’t full of evidence. I’ll leave capturing the good senator on his luxury yacht up to the Coast Guard.”

  “All that sounds so sweet to my ears. Just watch your back. Or let Sokolov help you.”

  “I told him to stay put and protect those girls. They’re both eyewitnesses to Blackwood and Petrov’s crimes. We need them safe and sound so they’ll agree to testify. Sokolov wants payback for those guys, so he’ll definitely keep them safe.”

  “Hang in. All we need are some high-ranking signatures and a good plan in place before we move.”

  “Just give me time to get up there. Stall your boss if you have to.”

  “That I know how to do. Be careful, Novak. I mean it. And keep me informed so I’ll know you’re still breathing.”

  “You got it. Ditto.”

  They hung up, and Novak felt much better. He turned his gaze to the north horizon. Even with refueling stops and managing to get some sleep, he just might make it up there in excellent time. Any change in the fair weather or a mechanical breakdown would be calamitous. Time would tell, but he was praying for clear skies and favorable winds.

  Everything did go exceptionally well. Weather, boat, and wind held up for most of the next week, and the blue hump of Nantucket Island showed up on the horizon one week and seventeen hours later at midmorning. He had only been to the island one other time, and had stayed for only a day or two. He remembered the marina he’d used and how to get to it, but there were marinas everywhere, most of which had whole colonies of sailboats anchored in the deep water off their slips. He wanted to approach on the south shore and drop anchor at a marina across the island from Blackwood’s place—just a bit of caution on his part—but he didn’t like to take chances. He felt it unlikely that Blackwood’s people could be watching every boat dock on the island. On the other hand, bad luck often happened of the blue.

  Novak felt confident he could get there undetected and rent a car. The marina where he was heading used to have a few on hand for their customers. Things had gone well so far, but in Novak’s world, this run of good luck would not last. Now everything depended on how careful Petrov was. From what Novak had seen, it seemed that Petrov put his personal security before everything else. He was the man running things on the island. So he would be out and about. Novak had to keep his head down and stay alert. Petrov was a formidable enemy, something that Novak had to remember.

  When he got closer to the cove where he’d anchored before, he called the marina there, owned by a man named Hap Carlton. He was a friendly older fellow whom Novak remembered and liked well enough. He requested a spot out in the water among the other anchored sailboats. He arrived there without incident, dropped anchor, and took time to batten everything down. He set his usual booby trap alarms so he’d know if anyone had been aboard, steered the Zodiac into a slip near the office, and settled up his tab in advance. Hap Carlton was working the desk and was pleased to rent out an older model Oldsmobile that he’d bought years ago. So far, so good.

  Nantucket Island lay about thirty miles off the southern coastline of Cape Cod, Massachusetts, an old whaling port that had been famous back in its day. The island was still as colorful and quaint as it probably had been in the past, but now it was trendy and hip with bookstores, restaurants, and cozy streets that took visitors back in time. It was a beautiful storybook setting, with its gray-and-white shingled houses built up on the hills over rugged white beaches strewn with seaweed, driftwood, and shells. The trees had turned, and the hills were vivid with fall colors and bright chrysanthemums in all the window boxes.

  Nobody paid any attention to him as he got into the car and found his way to Polpis Road, which ran along the Nantucket Sound. It passed a lot of nice places edging the sea, and Novak had no trouble locating the heavily fortified gate that blocked off the entrance road to Blackwood’s compound. He drove past it, pulling over a quarter of a mile or so farther along. He drove the car into a thicket of wind-stunted pine trees, grabbed the backpack holding his gear, and headed up an overgrown hiking trail that meandered its way over a gentle rise.

  A few minutes later he came out on a spectacular view of Nantucket Sound. Below him, a deserted rock-strewn beach stretched out in both directions. The waves were coming in heavy, with whitecaps dotting the ocean all the way to the horizon. A storm was brewing out there, one he was glad the Sweet Sarah had missed. He hoped the worst of it skirted around the island. No one was on the beach or in the water, probably because the water was cold. He could see the neighbors’ houses, all gray-and-white with window boxes, stacked like blocks up the hill. Blackwood’s stood off by itself on a point that jutted out farther than the rest of the coastline.

  The surf was coming in high and dangerous, not to mention
thunderous, with rip tides he could see in the crashing waves. The surf bombarded the sand and encroached on the docks that lay at various spots along the beach. Far out on the horizon, he could see the storm was a bad one, with dark clouds gathering and spears of lightning forking down into the sea like crystal arrows. He was going to get wet before this day was done. There was a trail along the crest, but it was overgrown with weeds and straggling bushes. He noticed some wind-twisted trees dotting the slope down near the water that he could use for cover. With binoculars he could see Blackwood’s house clearly. It was also gray-and-white, enclosed by a rock wall that had probably been stretching across that ridge for more than a century. Blackwood’s compound had a larger dock than the other houses. He had a pretty good idea what that dock was used for.

  Novak found a spot behind some bushes and retrieved his field glasses from the backpack. He focused them on the house. He estimated it was maybe sixty yards away from his position. It was identical to most Nantucket homes, only bigger. It had several outbuildings inside that wall. Novak figured the place had once been a prosperous farm or some kind of lookout point. Now it appeared to be a nice warm little drug den befitting a dirty, corrupt former senator from Virginia. Little did Blackwood’s neighbors know that the big gray house and matching garage probably held a multimillion dollar stash of opioids, heroin, cocaine, and deadly fentanyl. No telling how many teenagers on this island and in neighboring Massachusetts had died from what had once been stored inside that compound.

  There were a few guards loitering about, but not as many as he had figured. They were dressed as day workers or handymen, but every single one was armed. Their weapons rested in leather holsters in open carry. They did not look like Secret Service agents, though. These were private bodyguards. They strolled around the property, sitting on the wall to smoke cigarettes or lounging on one of the three porches. They were not expecting trouble. Nobody walked the beach, which Novak found ridiculous. That’s where he expected their shipments came in, most likely late at night, just like the rum smugglers had done it in the old days. No way could they risk bringing product in on ferries or at the airport. The drugs traveled north, boat-to-boat from Cuba, and this is where they ended up, right down there on that dock.

  Novak made his way closer, keeping out of sight as best he could. The hill was grassy, the land uneven and rocky, and there weren’t many trees that had stood up strong against the pounding sea winds. He wanted to get a bead on the far side of the house. When he couldn’t get close enough without being spotted, he returned to the Olds and drove past the driveway in the opposite direction. He gained a similar viewpoint on the rise on the other side, and that’s when he discovered the steps that led from that tiny beach below the compound up to the buildings above. They were steep and wound around a bit, and would not be difficult to ascend with bags of drugs unloaded at the beach, which he assumed was how they did it. He had a feeling Lori might be watching him right now on one of those big military satellites used at the Pentagon. If she was, they would also be able to watch the drug shipments coming in. He wanted to get closer, but would have to wait for nightfall.

  He holed up in a little dip in the slope that hid him from the guards, but he stayed alert, hoping Petrov didn’t have foot patrols walking the sand. While he waited, he went through various scenarios on how he could destroy the operation and get Petrov at the same time. He hadn’t seen him yet, but it was only a matter of time. Sokolov said he was coming up there, and that he ran things inside that compound. Dark seemed to take forever to fall, but Novak stayed put, eyes peeled for any incoming boats, though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get that lucky. If they made transfers along the coast every other day, and he knew they did, it stood to reason that a shipment would arrive here just as often. He wanted to blow the entire place to hell, but he couldn’t or he’d give the bigger bust away. He couldn’t take down anybody until Lori’s people pulled the trigger on the comprehensive takedown. He didn’t like waiting for them to get their act together, as that meant more time for things to go wrong. He had enough C-4 with him to blow everything to smithereens inside that rock wall, and everything in him wanted to destroy every inch of the place, but he would wait for Lori’s go-ahead.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t be impatient.

  Chapter 23

  Dusk crept across the water like an intruder in dark attire, and the day slowly went to black. Stars appeared, bright pinpoints in the heavens, white crystals scattered on beds of coal. The sea was magnificent, with a beauty that never failed to strike awe in Novak. Nantucket Island was a gorgeous place. Far out on the horizon, the electrical storm still marched toward him in its throes of atmospheric rage. Lightning bolts struck the sea, one after another, as if Zeus and Thor and Odin were all hurling their weapons at the earth. The dark sky lit up in quick three-second intervals, backlighting mounding clouds before the charged electricity danced its way across the horizon.

  Novak was glad he could watch the approaching gale from where he sat, and not in his boat navigating through those turbulent, stormy waves. He heard thunder, low and rumbling, and hoped it came no closer. When it was dark enough to move around without detection, he stood, slipped on his backpack, and focused his night-vision glasses on the compound. It looked nice and quiet and deserted inside that low stone wall. He could not see the guards now. No one was down on the beach, due to the storm winds and heavy surf. High tide was coming in fast, and the strip of sand below Blackwood’s property had disappeared under rising water. He couldn’t scale the hill to the wall without detection, so he was going to try to make it to the steps. That meant entering the water and swimming around the craggy rock outcropping impeding his way. The boardwalk to the beach was not affected; it looked like the perfect place to tie up a boat and unload drugs. The moon was out but obscured by rain clouds, keeping things nice and dark. That was good. He descended the slope, keeping low, trying to get a better vantage point. He wanted to know if Petrov was inside. He had yet to see him.

  Removing the gear he would need from the backpack, he secured all of it inside a waterproof bag and waded out into the shallows. The water was cold, a little wild, but it pushed him down where he wanted to go in a hurry. He swam up to the lower part where the boardwalk was already submerged, got atop it, and squatted there, watching for guards at the top of the stairs. Nobody was outside the wall in that area. The lack of security gave him concern. It didn’t sound like Petrov to leave the place this vulnerable. From what Sokolov had told him, the man was never nonchalant about his personal security. He waited a few more minutes, watching and listening, then removed his gun, racked a round, and took his flashlight before quickly climbing to the top.

  Once he was outside the wall and hunkered down, he found the gate in front of him had a lock. Novak had no trouble picking it. Afraid of hidden alarms, he felt around the edges of the gate for wires, finding none. The people inside had to feel less than secure with this kind of protection. He saw no security cameras either, only a few lampposts here and there.

  Unlatching the gate, he ducked through quickly and got down inside the shadows against the wall. He waited for a hidden alarm to scream his presence. Nothing. All he could hear was the roar of the ocean below him, as well as the insane flapping of an American flag attacked by stormwinds. High tide was encroaching behind him, rising slowly on the steps. The storm was getting closer.

  Still, there were no guards anywhere to be seen. He stayed where he was a few more minutes. Lori’s satellite image of the compound had been clear about the arrangement of the structures inside the wall. There was the typical Nantucket house, big with two stories and lots of paned windows facing the sea. It stood dark and quiet, with no lights on inside. There was a big garage, some kind of storage shed adjacent to it, but he couldn’t see anyone around anywhere. Where had the guards gone? Maybe he was wrong about this place. Maybe they stored the drugs somewhere else on the island. He kept his weapon up and ready
. Three dusk-to-dawn lights threw off some pools of light, but it was easy to avoid. The wind was obstructing any noise he might be making. The yard had more sand than grass, but had been partially sodded in the backyard.

  Novak crept down the wall until he got closer to the big house. The tarmac driveway came in at the front gate and curved up to the front of the house. He found the first guard standing in front of the barn, under a light over the door. He was young, early twenties, maybe even younger, just a kid. Novak pegged him for a boy who’d grown up on the island and was out there making pocket money. He did not look like a professional, not even close. When he walked toward the house, Novak realized he wore a red football-letter jacket with award patches sewn on the sleeve. He sat down on the front steps of the house and lit up a joint. Novak could smell the smoke from where he was hiding. If Petrov was hiring these kinds of guards, he was losing his edge. Maybe he was a night watchman, and Petrov brought along his own bodyguards. Still, it was strange, and made him second-guess whether the drugs were really stored there.

  Making his way around the house, he was certain Petrov was not in residence yet. He should have been, according to Sokolov, which again put Sokolov’s story in doubt. Out back, he found one light burning inside. It looked like it was over the kitchen sink. The place looked empty as far as Novak could tell, but the house was a big rambling place with lots of rooms. The second floor was all dark, but the place was big enough to house a lot of people. So where was Petrov? He had flown out of Key West more than a week ago. Lori had checked. He could have been staying somewhere else on the island. Maybe the compound wasn’t the right place, after all. Sokolov could have been lying. Maybe they stored the product in a warehouse on one of the wharves. That seemed more dangerous than up here on their private property, unless the island’s law enforcement had been paid off. Now that the DEA and Coast Guard were about to get involved at Lori’s end, he wanted to take Petrov down before all hell broke loose up and down the coast.