The War Business: A Sam Raven Thriller

by Brian Drake

  Tracy watched while half-listening to Nadiya. Tracy was waiting for him to act. He’d told her to be ready to improvise.

  He was waiting for the right opportunity, a seat at the Chumachenko table.

  When the big shot’s lawyer excused himself, Raven moved. He ignored Nadiya’s protest and Petro’s attempt to grab his arm. He let Tracy deal with their surprise.

  Raven dropped into the empty chair. Chumachenko, in the middle of saying something to his accountant, stopped talking. The big shot’s wife stared at him. Raven ignored her. He waited while Chumachenko met his eyes.

  “Hello, Mr. Raven.”

  “No more pretense, huh? How long were your babysitters over there going to string us along?”

  “Not much longer. You may even reach the climax of our little dance tonight.”

  “Where’s Aaron Osborne?”

  Chumachenko shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Your gimmick is going to cost thousands of lives. Is it worth it?”

  “Ask my wife. Ask her daughters. There is a cancer in Crimea, Mr. Raven. It must be cut out.”

  “And help your tourist business?”

  “There are benefits, yes. But if my government refuses to take action, we must, how do you Americans put it, light a fire behind their back?”

  “Under their ass, actually.”

  “Much better expression.”

  Raven glanced at Vikka Chumachenko as she sipped a glass of wine. She apparently knew everything and didn’t object. Ditto the accountant, who didn’t look shocked or ask his boss what Raven’s strange words meant.

  The big shot surrounded himself with those who not only supported him, but worked to fulfill the goal.

  There was a cancer in Crimea, all right. And it had nothing to do with the Nationalists. It had nothing to do with the Russian soldiers in the streets. The cancer sat inches from Raven. If they hadn’t been in public, he’d have taken steps to wipe out the group where they sat.

  The lawyer returned from the toilet and spoke in protest to Chumachenko at the sight of Raven in his seat. Chumachenko calmed the stocky man with a raised hand. He said to Raven, “It’s been a pleasure to see your face after hearing so many things. I trust our next visit will be our last.”

  “You can count on it,” Raven said. “And I don’t like your odds.”

  “I promise your chance of survival is equally as low as mine. I look forward to seeing who comes out on top.”

  Raven didn’t say goodnight. He left the table with a grim look, and shared the look with Nadiya and Petro when he returned to his table. He said to Nadiya, “I understand you have something for us?”

  “We’ve received no orders.”

  “Okay.” To Tracy, “We go back to the hotel and wait for these Mouseketeers to get their act together.”

  “Let’s play gin again,” Tracy suggested. “I can go on beating you all night.”

  Raven didn’t respond. He glanced back at Chumachenko and realized he’d rattled the big shot more than he knew. Chumachenko had turned his body to look over his shoulder at Raven and stare. Raven picked up his water glass and raised it in a toast.

  Not long until they settled accounts.

  His phone beeped. He looked at the screen. A text from Aaron.

  This needs to end. I made a mistake. Let’s talk.

  Raven: Where are you.

  Aaron texted back an address. “Here we go,” Raven said. “Nadiya, I’m going to need your car.”

  “No.”

  “Look under the table, Nadiya.”

  She did, but her face remained stoic. He held the Browning dead-center with her crotch. It would be an ugly shot. Petro didn’t have to look to know Tracy had him covered as well.

  Raven said, “We’re going to leave without making a fuss or causing a scene. Let your boss pick up the check. Once we are outside, you will hand us the keys to your car and Tracy and me will investigate this obvious trap you’ve set. Unless it’s not. In which case, tell your boss his number’s up. The prodigal son is coming home. Again.”

  Thirty minutes earlier:

  “Where are we going?” Aaron said. They had returned to Kerch but were driving through an area of small family homes. Aaron noticed the spaces between the houses grew further apart the longer they drove. Untended and overgrown greenery filled the gaps, and the houses showed a mix of care and neglect. Not every home had a car parked out front.

  Draco said, “The safe house. We’ll stay here tonight. Second set of tasks tomorrow morning.”

  “What’s wrong with where we’ve been staying?”

  “Boss’s orders.”

  “Right.”

  Draco continued driving. The forest grew thicker. Less houses now.

  “Draco—”

  The Ukrainian mercenary moved his right hand in a flash. He jammed the muzzle of his pistol into Aaron’s midsection and pulled the trigger. The unsuppressed explosion filled the car and hurt Draco’s ears. It was worse for Aaron Osborne. He not only screamed, but clawed for Raven’s gun. Draco fired again. Aaron slumped against the passenger door. Raven’s .45 tumbled onto the floor at his feet.

  Finally. The dumb son of a bitch was dead. Draco jammed the hot pistol back under his left arm.

  He turned into the driveway of a single-level cottage with thick brush and trees on both sides. The front yard was a mass of overgrowth and dirt. The driveway pavement had a large crack on one side where the slab had raised above the lawn.

  Draco shifted into park and jumped from the cab. The front door opened and two men came out to meet him.

  “Passenger side,” Draco said. He stood back while the two men lifted Aaron Osborne out and carried him between them. They went back into the house. Draco grabbed the Nighthawk Custom .45 ACP, locked the truck, and entered the house. He shut the door behind him.

  The two men dropped Aaron’s body on a bed in a back room. Draco ignored the messy interior as he headed down the hallway. The pair waited for him. Draco picked up Aaron’s cell phone.

  “You two armed?”

  “Side arms and submachine guns,” one said.

  “We’ll have company soon. Get ready.”

  The two men left the room. Draco looked at Aaron’s body. His wounds dripped blood onto the already stained carpet, so no damage done. He didn’t think the new stains would hurt. Draco shook his head. Aaron might have been a good man to have on his side. The man who proposed their entire scheme and put it in motion. The man who wanted to bring about Draco’s dream of killing more Russians and make a little money on the side. Instead, he’d been weak and sentimental. He never should have included friends or a girlfriend in the mission.

  Draco examined the cell phone. He scrolled through Aaron’s contact list until he found Raven’s number.

  He sent a text pretending to be Aaron.

  Only a matter of time before the man with the hero complex showed up. Then their problems would no longer exist.

  43

  The Russians working to solve the case made progress without any help from the Americans.

  The city-sweep of Nationalist suspects produced information leading to arms caches in Kerch. They found nothing in connection with a false flag attack.

  It was Watcher One and Watcher Two, arrested while trying to kill Sam Raven, who broke under interrogation and gave the needed answers. Once they spilled, the Russians put the pieces together.

  The two suspects named Osborne and one mentioned Chumachenko. The statement shocked the Kremlin when the Russian president demanded an update. But he refused to make a move until they learned more.

  The Russian president had the luxury of time. Watcher One and Two said their compatriots were assembling a truck bomb to blow up the Crimean Bridge. The plan was for somebody to drive out to the center of the span and detonate the bomb. Russian FSB agents took up surveillance on an auto repair shop in Kerch the suspects talked about. On the day Draco drove his convoy to the militia, another truck entered the garage. It d
id not come out. The FSB planned to raid the shop and arrest everybody inside. If they confirmed the Chumachenko connection, the Russian president promised no hesitation. He'd bring the mogul back to Moscow for a private chat.

  The GPS said: “Turn left in 500 feet.”

  They’d changed the language to English.

  Raven followed the directions. Tracy rode beside him, though every time he glanced at her, she was scanning for danger.

  Nadiya and Petro had done as ordered under the nose of the big boss. Raven wished he could relish the subterfuge but was instead too focused on Aaron’s message.

  Had he decided to flip? Had his message prevented whatever plan Chumachenko had mentioned at the table?

  “Take it easy,” Tracy said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I mean slow down.”

  Raven let off the accelerator. The houses grew further and further apart, and the forest thicker. Raven became cautious.

  “This might be an ambush,” he said.

  “Look there. House on the left.”

  “Behind those trees?”

  GPS: “Your destination is on the left.”

  “Correct,” Tracy said.

  Raven slowed some more. If any shooting started, he was ready to mash the gas. The car drifted past the cottage. Truck in front, lights on within.

  Tracy kept her eyes on the house. She took off her seat belt to turn for a better look.

  “Clear in front. Recognize that truck?”

  “Yeah,” Raven said.

  He pressed the gas. He drove another mile, the forest thicker with no homes now, until he found a place to turn around. He stopped on the side of the road and grabbed his phone.

  “What are you doing, Raven?”

  “I want to hear Aaron’s voice.” He dialed, listened, frowned.

  “Hi, this is Aaron…”

  Raven killed the connected and texted Pick up, dammit. He waited. No response. He called again. Voicemail. He put the phone away.

  “It’s a trap.”

  Raven pressed his lips together and banged a fist on the door.

  Either Aaron was trying to lead him and Tracy to their deaths, or…

  The or bothered him most.

  “What do you want to do?” Tracy asked.

  Raven tapped a finger on the steering wheel. What to do indeed.

  How many in the house?

  Was Aaron inside?

  If so, was he being used as bait to bring in Raven and Tracy?

  If so, when the enemy sprung the trap, would he change sides?

  Aaron couldn’t bring himself to kill Raven before. He had the chance in Sparks before the FBI showed up. What changed?

  “Raven?”

  “What?”

  “We have to go in there.”

  He nodded. “We approach on foot, separate directions, and improvise.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll go first and cut around back. Give me two minutes.”

  He opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  Draco expected the call and ignored both the ring and the text message.

  His two associates, whom he’d christened Shooter One and Shooter Two because he couldn’t be bothered to note the names of cannon fodder, yelled to him that the car had driven out of sight.

  Draco ordered Shooter Two out the back. He told him to open fire on Raven and the woman when he saw them. Shooter Two moved fast through the kitchen to the back door.

  Draco checked the submachine gun they’d provided. The CZ Scorpion EVO 3 was a good weapon and he had the fire selector set to full auto.

  On his knees on the worn carpet, he peeked through a curtain. He tried to discern movement in the darkness beyond, but it wasn’t possible. He might as well have been staring into the void of deep space.

  Anything might be out there.

  Raven might have called a battalion of US Marines. Draco and his shooters with their SMGs and pistols would be no match.

  Preposterous.

  Only Raven and the woman were out there. Only Raven and the woman. No Marines, no FSB. They had nobody to help them.

  The final battle would begin soon. Once the war began anew, Draco would have his chance for revenge against the Russian war machine.

  Come on, Raven.

  I have a war to finish.

  Raven dropped flat in the hard-packed dirt. Dried chunks broke apart beneath him. Whoever left the cottage through the back door didn’t shut it the right way. He made too much noise.

  He held the Browning at the ready and wished for a suppressor, and sub-sonic ammo. But it wasn’t Christmas yet; he couldn’t ask Santa for any favors.

  The shooter blended with the cluster of trees on the side of the cottage. The trees concealed part of the back patio. One of the tree branches moved. Raven aimed. He fired four shots in a square pattern, and held back on a fifth. Three of the shots missed but one scored. The shooter screamed. Raven fired again. He jumped up and ran as the shooter fell sideways. His body was visible under the branches, and Raven fired twice more to keep him on the ground for good. He stowed the Hi-Power and grabbed the man’s EVO 3. A quick pat down and he found two spare magazines which he stuffed in the left pocket of his jacket.

  Raven stepped onto the patio. Rusted metal chairs and a dirty table provided little cover, but he took advantage. He crouched behind the table and waited a moment. When nobody came through the door he rose, approached the door, and flung it open. He stepped aside to avoid exposure. He fired a burst inside, then bent low and ran into the cottage.

  In the dark he made it only two steps before colliding with the edge of the island in the center of the kitchen. He hit the floor and gunfire blazed through the doorway to the next room. Raven slid across the floor to the other side of the island. He peeked around but didn’t see the shooter.

  Raven moved diagonally to the right of the doorframe, covering the opening at an angle. He fired. Shifting to cover the left side, he fired again. Somebody panicked. A gunman ran down the hall from the left side of the doorway. Raven ran through, firing, pivoting to cover his backside. No other threats. Raven slapped a full magazine into the EVO and leaned against the wall.

  “Aaron!”

  No response.

  Raven cursed. Glass shattered up front. An SMG crackled. Raven moved ahead. Two pistol shots popped and another full-auto burst joined the commotion.

  Tracy screamed.

  Raven ran.

  44

  The shooting at the rear of the cottage gave Tracy the edge she needed.

  One light burned inside, glowing behind the curtained windows. When the shooting started, she watched a shadow move against the light. Running to the side of the road, she found a rock. More gunfire popped within. She flung the rock at the front window. Glass shattered. She ran to the door and blasted the lock, jumping to one side. A burst of return fire came her way. Swinging low through the doorway, she brought up her pistol and scanned for targets.

  The first was easy. A gunman came running down the hall into the front room. Tracy stopped him with two shots to the chest and a third to the head before he fell.

  She pivoted right as a second man with an SMG rose from behind a chair. She fired once and missed. She dived out of the way as he fired back. Tracy rolled as the shots landed somewhere behind her and bumped into a table. A lamp tumbled onto her back. She let out a startled scream, then fired a string of shots in the gunner’s direction as he moved.

  Another figure appeared in the hallway. She swung her gun over but held back as she recognized Raven.

  “On your left!” she shouted.

  Raven brought up the Scorpion as Draco swung his weapon at his midsection. Raven fired first. The salvo opened Draco stomach to chest. He froze, a look of pain flooding his face for a short moment, then fell. Raven ran to him and kicked the SMG across the floor.

  He ran to Tracy. “You okay?”

  She stood. “Yeah.”

  Raven headed for the hall
way again. “Aaron!”

  Tracy joined him as he began checking rooms, calling out Osborne’s name each time. When he reached the back bedroom, he didn’t say anything. He froze in the doorway with his eyes on his friend’s dead body.

  Raven stepped into the room and felt his friend’s face. He was almost cold. Raven thumbed Aaron’s eyes closed.

  “Raven?”

  “This is not what I wanted.”

  “What did you want?”

  “A last chance to talk some sense into him.”

  She pulled on his shirt. “We gotta go.”

  Raven sighed. “Yeah. There’s nothing more to do here.”

  They left the room for the front but Raven stopped to check Draco’s body. He found Aaron’s phone. The text was now explained. A further search turned up his Nighthawk Custom Talon .45 ACP. He checked the gun and put it in his belt.

  “Grab the sub guns and magazines,” he said. “We’ll need them. And let’s take the truck out front.”

  Tracy began gathering guns. “Why?”

  “They used it this morning and somebody might recognize it when we visit Chumachenko.”

  They ran out. Two steps off the porch another car approached. Raven and Tracy ran for cover as the car stopped short in the driveway, blocking the truck’s exit. Two people piled out. Nadiya and Petro had arrived to check the carnage but now they’d join the corpses.

  Tracy fired first, catching Petro in the neck. He fell against the car and tumbled to the ground. Nadiya moved faster, firing for effect as she ran to the rear bumper.

  “Keep her occupied,” Raven told Tracy. He broke left, jumping off the porch. Nadiya winged a shot his way. Tracy fired back. He ran in a wide circle and then headed for the car. Nadiya swung her gun to Tracy but her return fire nicked a tree. Raven took a shot and punctured the rear fender, missing the tire. Nadiya pulled back. Raven closed the distance at a sprint, stopping short. When she appeared again, he was in front of her. The flash of fire from the muzzle of the EVO 3 turned one side of her face bright red mush mixed with bone. Her body flopped. He shot her again for good measure.