by Linda Ladd
It could be that Petrov had found out Sokolov was double-crossing him. Maybe he had somehow gotten the location of the two girls and was on his way to Quebec. That made sense to Novak. This pipeline had worked well for years, so they had to have a way of gathering intelligence. If they’d caught up to Sokolov, he was already dead, and the girls would be soon. Or Sokolov could have unwittingly led them straight to that convent. Novak didn’t like to think that had happened, but something was wrong.
Lori was still tracking Petrov with the GPS device in his backpack. She had called Novak just the night before with news that Petrov had flown north, with several stops to meet with couriers along the way. They were getting addresses left and right from his visits, so those couriers would go down soon. Then he’d stopped in Atlantic City and Newport, Rhode Island. She was encouraged, thinking they had eyes on all the couriers now. Her last text that morning had placed Petrov landing at Logan Airport in Boston. Novak had felt certain the man had been heading to Nantucket. So where had he gone? The delay put a crimp in Novak’s plans and Lori’s, too, because she was waiting for him to get Petrov before she gave the all-clear for the comprehensive bust at all fronts.
Undecided on how to proceed, Novak decided he needed a peek inside the barn. If it was their drug warehouse, he wanted to know it. The Feds could get a warrant for the compound, but it would take time. It would be nice for them to know it was full to the eaves with illegal drugs. He looked out at the dark ocean, and could still see lightning forking down into the waves. The surf was roaring below him now, and he felt the first sprinkles of rain. If Petrov didn’t show soon, Novak needed to go find him. It sounded like he was the only person still in the wind. Lori had located nearly everyone else involved in Petrov’s drug operation.
The unexpected delay gave him time to check out the barn. When he found the doors unlocked, he knew it wouldn’t be the main depot. He ducked inside and shined his flashlight around the interior. It looked as if they used it strictly for a garage for when the Senator was here with his entourage. It had a concrete floor, and the air inside smelled like motor oil. He saw no indication of drugs, but found a storeroom located at the back. Inside, the shelves were filled with canned goods and cases of bottled water, sodas, and beer. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a trapdoor somewhere inside the place, but he didn’t have time to search for it—he heard vehicles approaching. He dropped down and froze. That was bound to be Petrov. He had to get out of that barn, and fast. He eased through the front door, where he saw the young guard now standing up and walking toward the locked driveway gate to the inner sanctum. Over the top of the wall, Novak could see headlights that were reflecting off the windows of the house. There were two cars, both coming fast.
Novak took cover behind some firewood stacked at one side of the house. He barely made it there before the gate opened and the cars rolled inside, stopping in front of the house. He kept his finger near the trigger, his nerves jumping. After that, everything happened so fast. The first vehicle was a black Ford SUV with Massachusetts license plates; the second was a Chevy Blazer, also with state plates. The cars looked shiny and brand-new, and Novak figured they were island rentals or maybe Blackwood’s personal transportation, seeing how he was a permanent resident.
Novak peered through a space between the logs where he could see the front of the house. Two armed guards climbed out of the first vehicle. Petrov emerged from the back seat behind the driver’s side. Novak stiffened when he saw the second man. Stepan Sokolov got out and waited for Petrov to come around the hood and join him. Novak could not believe it. He frowned. Had Sokolov duped Novak again? His jaw clamped tight, and he felt like a fool. He had never been an easy man to trick, but Sokolov had played him twice.
It took momentous effort not to lift his weapon and shoot them both where they stood. He heaved in a couple of bracing breaths and forced himself back under steely control. He kept his eyes glued on the second SUV, now fearing that Irina and Katerina would be dragged out and forced into the house. It didn’t happen. Four more men got out of the Blazer and assumed positions around the house and barn. The two Russians walked down to the barn together, chatting as if close comrades, and disappeared inside the front door. Every nerve in Novak twitched to come out firing and put everybody down. He shook the urge away; he knew that would be suicide, that it would endanger the coming bust. He struggled to get his emotions in check. He had to be smarter than that. If he reacted angrily or rashly, he would probably die. So he stayed where he was and waited for his opportunity.
The compound had gotten busy. The pothead kid had disappeared. Novak wasn’t worried about him. He watched Petrov’s men open the trunk of the second car and unload several suitcases that Novak assumed to be crammed with pills and heroin. Maybe he had been wrong about the drugs coming in off the water. Maybe they brought them in by ferry, in plain view of all the other wealthy people who made their home in the gray-and-white, shingled and flower-bedecked cottages. Charles Blackwood was an exalted senator—who would suspect he had crawled out of hell? He was probably at the top of Nantucket’s Who’s Who list. Or maybe they transported it in both ways: courier boats in the dead of night and suitcases full on the ferry. He maneuvered himself to a better position and snapped photos. His two targets had come out of the barn now, standing in an elongated rectangle of white light flooding out the barn doors. They stood there a while chatting together, as the guards carried several suitcases into the barn. Another guy took two smaller bags into the house, one of which was Petrov’s bugged backpack. Lights started coming on in the windows.
Outside, the activity waned as everybody headed into the house. One guard stayed behind at the barn, and another stood in front of the house. The cars remained parked in the driveway. The rain was still holding off, so Novak contemplated getting another look inside the barn. He wanted to know what was in the luggage taken inside. He couldn’t risk it yet. Now his main desire was getting his hands around Sokolov’s throat and choking answers out of him. The fact that the girls were no longer with him did not look particularly good for their health. They were both probably dead, either buried in shallow graves or wrapped in chains and dropped overboard. The visual got to Novak. He had made a terrible mistake in judgment that had cost those girls their lives.
Hidden in deep shadow, he tried to decide on his best option. The coastal sting was coming, but not just yet. If Lori had a hand in coordinating the takedown, it would come off without a hitch. She was that good. His only worry was the number of federal agencies involved, and the possibility of a snitch getting word to Blackwood and Petrov. Right now, he wanted Sokolov so bad he could taste it. The man was good at lying, but why wouldn’t he be? He had lasted as a spy for years before he’d given it up. This time he had either double-crossed Novak or Petrov, or played them both for fools. Sokolov was slick and dirty and would pay for his betrayal, hopefully tonight.
Novak shook his head, remembering how loving Sokolov had been with Katerina. He was her father. He had to be. They knew each other that night. He wanted to believe that she was safe somewhere, that Sokolov was playing Petrov, but it was getting hard to convince himself of it. He needed to question Sokolov before he put a bullet in his brain. He needed to get him out of that house alone. They had no idea Novak was on the property, not yet. Maybe he could get into the house, find the guy, and make him tell him where the girls were.
Watching the windows, he could see a man preparing food inside the kitchen. The other guards were sitting at a table in front of a long set of casement windows. Neither Petrov nor Sokolov were with them. After a while, the man standing at the barn was relieved, and the new guard said something to him in Russian. The other man laughed with him. Novak couldn’t understand everything he’d said, but he knew they were talking about women. They chatted and smoked cigarettes, on all accounts seeming to feel safe and secure. Good, he thought, let them get comfortable.
After a while, the first man w
alked inside and sat down with the others. He could hear them laughing and talking. When they started eating, things got quiet until three other guys came outside and took up positions along the wall, two in front and one at the back gate. The one in back strolled along the wall’s perimeter and watched the waves crashing below. The others kept their attention on the entrance road. Unfortunately for Petrov, nobody seemed to consider that an armed intruder might already be inside the walls.
Not long after, Novak moved to a position closer to the house. He found a concealed spot where he could watch the back door. Only one lamppost was out there and he could avoid it. Sokolov had a habit of smoking a special brand of Turkish cigarettes right before he went to bed. He had done it every night that he’d been with Novak. So maybe Novak would get lucky and the man would do it tonight. He settled down, well-hidden, listening to the rhythmic beat of the surf, and waiting for Sokolov to appear. He kept his gun ready; he knew he would come. He tried to remain loose and relaxed and ready to move, hoping the Russian would exit through the back door and walk down into the yard. That’s what he usually did. Novak could take care of him there with nobody the wiser.
Almost an hour later, Novak got his wish. Sokolov exited the back door, crossed the open porch and descended to the yard. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and lit his cigarette. Novak could see his face clearly in the flare of his lighter. The familiar smell of that strong, potent tobacco wafted out to him. It was an unpleasant odor, and it clung to Sokolov’s clothing all the time. Novak would have recognized it anywhere. After a moment, Sokolov strolled down a sandy path toward the seawall. Novak followed him. Once he was within a couple of yards, Sokolov sensed his presence. He swung around and came face to face with Novak. His gaze dropped to the gun Novak held pointed at his heart. He dropped his cigarette and lighter, holding up both palms in front of him, a defensive stance that would not stop Novak’s bullet. The Russian’s voice was a frightened whisper. “Wait, Novak, this isn’t what you think.”
“I think it is. Where are the girls? Did you kill them or did he?”
“They’re safe, I swear to God, they are.” He looked back at the house, keeping his voice low. “I’m not back with Petrov. For God’s sake, Novak, you’ve got to listen. I didn’t know where you were, but I figured you’d come out here alone. I knew you’d need my help. I’ve been trying to spot you since we got off the ferry. We’ve been down at their depot. I can give you the name of the street. I’ve got it all down in my phone. I swear to God that’s the truth. Look, he’s got too many guards out here for you to shoot me and get away alive. You need me. I’m on your side, I swear to God. You’ve got to believe me.”
“You really think I’m that stupid? I know a double-cross when I see one.”
“I double-crossed him, not you. They’re on to you, man. Petrov put out a hit on you the minute I got you out of that hospital. I can’t believe you came out here alone. That’s crazy, man. You’ll never get out of here alive.”
“I got in. I can get out.”
“The guys we brought in. They’re trained mercs out of Moscow. Don’t underestimate them.”
“Where’s Petrov?”
“Asleep, I guess. He was up all night down at the warehouse. Look, you’ve got to believe me. You need me to get this done. Did you get the names of all the couriers?”
Novak had never completely trusted this guy, but somehow he wanted to believe him again. What was the matter with him?
“You want Vasily? Is that it? I can deliver him to you. Just say the word.”
“Who’s down there?”
They both jerked around at the sound of the guard’s voice. A man was heading down the path toward them. Novak ducked back behind a tree and got ready to put him down. Sokolov stood where he was and called out the man’s name.
“It’s me, Dmitri. Stepan Sokolov. I’m just having a smoke before I turn in.”
“I thought I heard voices.”
“No, I’m out here alone. Probably just the wind whistling. Sorry to alert you. I’m about ready to go back inside.”
The guard looked around. He hesitated. “Okay, no problem.”
The guard turned and walked back toward the barn. Novak waited where he was, but the guy didn’t come back. No alarm was raised.
“Do you believe me now?” Sokolov whispered.
Novak stood up and faced the Russian, not sure what to believe.
“It would have been easy for me to point you out just now. Why wouldn’t I if I wanted you dead? I’m still on your side. I always have been. How could you doubt me after what they did to my Katerina?”
Novak began to waver. It was not easy for him to believe the guy. He kept his voice low. “Why are you here with him? Where are the girls? You were supposed to take care of them.”
“They’re safe at the convent, just like I told you. Both of them are fine. I came down here to help you. I told you I wanted to when I left, because I knew you’d be in trouble if you came alone. Why else would I be here?”
“You tell me.”
“Is the sting happening?”
Novak wasn’t going to tell this man what was about to go down.
“Look, I’ve got a GPS tracker on Petrov’s car now,” Sokolov went on. “I’m traveling with him because I don’t want him to get away. I know where he’s headed from here. He’s taking me with him, and you can follow us. He’s got a cabin up in the Maine woods, somewhere close to the Canadian border. He always stops there and picks up his false ID, and then goes to a safehouse he’s got in Quebec City. That’s your best chance to get him when he’s alone. He never takes anybody with him into Canada. That’s an old KGB route across the border. I know exactly where it is, because I’ve used it.”
“You really think I’m just going to forget all this and trust you, Sokolov?”
“Why didn’t I just give you up a minute ago?”
“Probably because I would have shot you dead before they got me.”
“Then don’t follow us up there. Let me kill him myself once we get out in the woods alone. If I’m taken into custody here in the U.S, I’ll never see Katerina again. She’ll be stuck in that convent forever. I’m wanted by your government, as you well know, just like Petrov is.” He glanced back at the house and reached into his pocket. Novak’s finger moved to the trigger, but the Russian only withdrew a cellphone. “Here, take this. It’s got his GPS trackers on it. It’s a burner, but it’ll lead you right to Petrov’s backpack if you go after him. I’ve got the addresses of his safehouses listed on there, too. I took pictures of the dealers we met in New England the past few days, and everybody else I came across who were helping him. Here, take it. Send the data to your girlfriend. I’ve got to get back inside before Petrov comes looking for me. He’s already suspicious.”
Novak took the burner and watched Sokolov hurry back to the house. He waited to see if he gave the alarm. Nothing happened, so Novak watched the guard move out in the other direction. He ran for the wall, scaled it in a hurry, and got the hell out of that compound while he still could.
Chapter 24
Novak wasted no time getting back to Sweet Sarah. He pulled up Petrov’s GPS signals and found them blinking, still at the compound. Taking Sokolov’s burner phone, he went through the files and found it had everything the Russian had said would be there. It also had the address of the warehouse where the drugs were stored on Nantucket, and pictures of Petrov inside overseeing the shipments. Novak felt better now that he was in possession of the new information, but was still uneasy. Sokolov always had an answer for everything. This time Novak wanted to believe he now had important evidence that Lori could use, but only if it turned out to be true.
Novak had never been one to trust on blind faith, and only did so if he knew the person to be honest. He rarely relied on anybody, and certainly not on a short-term acquaintance. Despite all his misgivings, he found
himself wanting to believe Sokolov yet again, when he probably should have never trusted him. He delved into the phone’s information once more, realizing it held clear and incriminating photographic proof of drugs and money changing hands. That’s when he texted all the addresses and pictures to Lori. It didn’t take long for her to get back to him. Fifteen minutes later, his cellphone vibrated.
“Hey, you get those goodies I sent you?”
“You bet, I got them. Wow, Novak—why didn’t you just send me this stuff in the first place? Would’ve saved me some serious time.”
“I just got it from Sokolov. He showed up at the compound. I confronted him, thinking he had double-crossed us, but he says he’s still playing Petrov.”
A couple of beats passed before she spoke. “Well, is he playing him or not? He could be playing us. If that’s the case, I can’t rely on distributing this information to law enforcement.”
“I’m not a hundred percent positive one way or the other. He’s smart, crafty. He could be lying. But I feel like he’s telling me the truth. Guess we’ll figure that out once you verify what he gave us.”
“I’ll send it along to the appropriate people and tell them we think it’s above board. That’s all I’m willing to do. We’re getting closer now to shutting this thing down for good. Some of the mules live in small communities inland from the coast. We’ve got to get local law officers lined up to raid them, take them in, and let some of our guys pick them up later. That will delay the takedown here.”
“For how long?”
“A few days, probably not more than that.”