“Maybe. I sure as hell hope it isn’t this bad.” Heinz pulled out the Sig Sauer Lana had lent him. It felt good to have one in hand. He checked the clip, and then slipped it back inside the body holster just inside his coat.
Lana sighed. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this suicide mission?”
“It’s the only way. We discussed this already.”
She looked away. Heinz sat, patiently waiting. Finally, he said, “I’ll be all right, Lana.”
“Will you?” she asked, still looking out the driver’s side window. “You thought so the last time and look what happened.” She turned to face him; her amber eyes filled with worry. “And what about me and Alexei? The FSB will not be kind when they catch up to us, and they will catch up to us.”
Heinz hated seeing the fear in her eyes when she spoke of her son. It wasn’t fair, he knew, but he was limited in what he could do to help her. He reached out, taking her hand. “Lana, follow the plan. As soon as I get out of this car, go get Alexei, and leave that house. You have the fake passports for both of you. Drive to the Finnish border, and once you pass the checkpoint, keep going until you reach Sweden. Get to Stockholm, and then contact HackTwice. Tell her I sent you.
“I still can’t believe she’s a she.” She shook her head. “But how will you get out, Martin? You have no papers.” She gripped his hand, pain in her eyes.
Heinz was not unmoved, but he pulled back. “Don’t worry. I’ll find my way.”
“But there was no time to get your passport made. You won’t make it without one!”
“Lana!” He spoke over her rising anxiety. “I will get out. Don’t think any more about it. I have the cell phone, HackTwice’s number, the money you lent me, and the gun. I will get in, get my answers, and then I’ll be right behind you. Now, go.” He pulled back quickly, climbing out of the car.
Lana stared at him; her eyes moist with unshed tears. Heinz stood beside the car, waiting. When she hesitated, he reached out, tapped the roof, and turned, walking away. He knew it was the only way she’d leave. The early morning light was just breaking across the horizon turning the black skies a dull gray as the cloud cover hung, threatening more snow.
As he walked away, he heard her shift the car into gear, and drive off. Each step he took towards Sokolov’s house became louder in his ears. His plan was simple. Break into Sokolov’s garage and wait for the man to come out. The element of surprise was on his side, but he didn’t have much time.
Heinz bent low, keeping to the line of shrubbery, moving quickly. The crunching of snow beneath his soles broke the silence. He made it to the side of the house near the garage. Slipping around back, he sought a door. He found one, but the double locks made breaking in impossible. He couldn’t very well shoot holes in them. That would defeat the purpose, and he had no silencer for his gun. There was a small window to the left of the door. Just enough room for him to enter if he could manage to open it. He looked around, making sure he was still alone. All was quiet.
He began feeling around the edges. It was the type of window that opened out, similar to the kind commonly found on houses back home in Germany. This one was old and cracked. The break began at the top and ran in a zig-zag pattern diagonally to the opposite side on the bottom. A chip in the crack proved that an opening did exist. Heinz looked on the ground around him. He needed something slim and strong to slip into the crack. If he could pry it out, the glass would break and fall to the soft, snow-covered ground outside. Then, he could reach in and flip the latch.
He scuffed the toe of his shoe into the snow, clearing it away. After a moment, he noticed a glint by a flower bed two feet over bordering the far side of the terrace. Heinz dropped down and cleared the dead leaves and snow away with his hands. Luck was on his side. It was a gardening trowel left forgotten.
“That will work.” He grabbed it, rising, and headed back to the window. The sky was lighter. He needed to move fast.
He slid the tip of the trowel into the chip in the crack, and carefully pried out the glass. The sound of it cracking was like a whip. A chunk flew out, bouncing off his coat and hitting the ground, breaking. But at least the ground muffled that sound. He had just enough room to put his hand through. Finding the latch, he lifted it, and pulled the window open. Within moments, he was up, over, and inside the cold garage. Now all he needed to do was wait.
He didn’t have to wait long.
No sooner had Heinz climbed into the backseat of the tan colored luxury model Lada Priora parked inside the icy stone and concrete garage when the side door leading from the interior of the house opened. Sokolov took the three steps down, and, switching his thermos of coffee to his left hand, unlocked the vehicle. He fell into the driver’s seat and set his thermos into the cup holder. Whistling to himself, he cranked the ignition, and reached up to hit the button to open the garage door. The whistle died on his lips as cold steel jammed against his temple with an ominous click.
“We have some unfinished business, you and I.” Hienz leaned over the seat, close enough to see the surprise and fear enter Sokolov’s eyes.
“You survived.” The police captain’s eyes shifted right. “I wondered. We did not find a body. Still, I’d hoped you’d merely crawled out into the open somewhere and expired from exposure.”
“Sorry to dash all your hope, asshole.”
“How did you find me? Who’s helping you?” Sokolov’s left hand lowered.
Heinz wrapped his left arm around the man’s thick neck and pulled backwards, cutting off his air as he tapped Sokolov’s head painfully with the Sig’s barrel. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Captain. How I found you is not important. What is important is that you answer my questions.”
Both hands lifted, resting on the steering wheel. “And if I don’t?”
An evil smirk curled Heinz’s lip. “If you don’t, I’ll put a bullet in your head where you sit, and no one will be the wiser.”
“My people will find you, Herr Lintz.” Sokolov threatened.
A chuckle escaped Heinz. “Herr Lintz does not exist...or haven’t you figured that out yet? And here I thought being a police captain meant you were a smart man. No?” The man clamped his mouth shut. Heinz continued. “Yes, I know all about you, your connection to Brezhnev, your corruption. You’re a disgrace to law enforcement, Sokolov. You’re a paid thug for an evil bastard who kidnaps children and traffics them to perverts, rapists and criminals!”
Heinz’s voice rose heatedly with every word. Sokolov sputtered, “You don’t understand. It’s not what I wanted—”
“Shut up! You sold out, you pig! I don’t want to hear your excuses. You are the law! It’s your job to fight criminals, not work for them. You are weak, and your weakness allows little girls to be taken from their homes and raped over and over again until they are no longer young and beautiful. They are strung out on drugs, beaten, molested, gang-banged! And then they are killed. You have children of your own, Zakhar Sokolov. Is even one of them a daughter?” Heinz drilled the man mercilessly.
“Yes,” he choked out. “I have a daughter, damn you! Why do you think I complied? That bastard threatened my Cristina. When I tried refusing, he took her! I couldn’t find her for days.”
A look of surprise crossed Heinz’s face. Still, he was skeptical. “Are you lying to me?”
“No! I couldn’t find her. During that time, Brezhnev told me I had seventy-two hours to decide if her life was worth my defiance. I did it for her. Have been doing it since. He holds the cards. Has all the connections. The police cannot touch him anymore.”
“If that’s true, why does he still need you?”
Sokolov shrugged. “He still needs someone else to do his dirty work for him now and again. Someone with legitimacy.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Legitimacy, ha!” Heinz pushed the gun into the man’s temple. “And what about your daughter? What happened to her? How does Brezhnev still have a hold over you?”
Sokolov slumped. �
�He still has her, sort of.” The defeat in the man’s voice was genuine. “He sent my Cristina to boarding school in Vienna. He pays for her education. She has no idea, of course, and explaining this to her mother,” he sighed, “she knows. My wife, Daka, she knows, but not completely.”
Heinz had not expected any of this. He felt some of the wind go out of his sails, but his resolve bolstered. Sokolov was still dangerous to him. The man was beholden to the Butcher and would do anything to clean up the mess Heinz being alive now presented. Sokolov would kill him to protect his daughter’s life. The captain was a cornered animal, and cornered animals were deadly.
“I understand but understand this. I came here for a reason, to find a missing girl.”
“Your daughter. I know, I was told.” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
Heinz did not feel it necessary to divest the white lie. As far as he was concerned, Marlessa was part of his family, his own Ingrid’s best friend, and that made her his responsibility. “Then you know what I am going to ask. Man to man, Sokolov, father to father.”
“What is her name?”
“Marlessa Schubert.”
“And how long ago?”
“Eight years.”
The captain’s eyes turned sympathetic. “Herr Lintz, whatever your name is, I’m terribly sorry, but,” the tone of his voice lowered, softening, “they never last that long.” He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“But you must know something! Anything! Where was she taken to? For how long? When did she...” Raw emotion colored Heinz’s words.
“What did she look like?”
“Blonde hair, long blonde hair, and blue eyes. Five and a half feet tall, petite. She had a birth mark on her right shoulder. It was shaped like a heart.”
Sokolov’s eyes widened. “A birthmark, you say?”
Heinz noticed. “Yes, why? She’s alive? Where?”
“No, no. I have not seen her, but...”
“But what? Spit it out, or so help me!”
“There’s a child, one of the whores that works in the house, Valentina, she takes care of a little girl. She’s three. I always thought it strange, what with all that goes on in that house.”
“A child? Inside that house?” Heinz’s mind began running amok. “What about this child?”
“The birthmark. She has a birthmark like you described, it’s on her right shoulder. I’ve seen it, during the summer when she was running around in a sundress. Brezhnev picked her up and showed her off. He said, look at my little Cupid. She wears her heart on her sleeve all the time. He called her Nikola.”
Heinz forgot to breathe. A child! “What happened to her mother?”
“I guess she died. I’ve never met the mother, only Valentina takes care of her.”
“What does she look like?”
“She has curly blonde hair, and blue eyes, I think.”
It was a lot to process. It was also more than Heinz expected to learn. He’d hoped to discover, by some miracle, that Marlessa was still alive, but if nothing else, he hoped to get some closure even if he discovered she’d died, but a child was nowhere in his thinking. A child was a miracle in itself, and if it was her child, he had to save her.
“Sokolov, you’re going to help me.”
“I don’t think I can,” the man began.
“Of course you can.”
“No, you don’t understand. It’s too late.” He cast his eyes in the rearview.
“What are you doing? What are you talking about?” Heinz looked in the mirror, and then turned to stare out the back window through the open garage door.
In the driveway sat two black sedans. The passenger doors of the closest one were open. Standing on either side of the Lada Priora’s back doors, with guns pointed at his head, were two large men, each with telling tattoos on their hands and faces.
“They keep me under surveillance. You were doomed the moment you got into this car. I am sorry, Herr Lintz. Much like your name, soon, you will no longer exist.” Sokolov reached up, lifting Heinz’s arm from around his neck. He stepped out of the car, moving out of the way of the Butcher’s men.
Chapter Twenty
THE PHONE ON THE DASH pinged. Faust picked it up, reading the text.
“It’s his house.”
Elsa looked at him. They’d been sitting outside of this house all night, watching and waiting. She was cold, tired, and needed to pee. When they’d arrived yesterday evening, the limo pulled through a wrought iron gate, and up to a large manor where the occupants exited, entering through the grand double doors. The second produce truck that followed them drove around to the back, out of sight. Faust pulled over down the block, just within sight. After that, he fired off a series of texts to HackTwice to investigate who owned the home listed at these coordinates, not that they didn’t already have an inkling. They were hoping for a little more information than just confirmation the home belonged to the Butcher.
“Is that all?” Elsa chewed a handful of peanuts.
“No, actually.” He shifted in his seat. “The address is also listed as a satellite office for the FSB. That’s very interesting.”
“So he has connections within the Kremlin itself?” Elsa’s eyes darted around the vacant lot near where they were parked. Several bushes lined one side, and a copse of thick pine trees created a wall of cover between the car and the bushes. “Herman, if I don’t relieve my bladder, I’m going to piss all over the seat.” She looked back toward the house. “No one is up and about. I won’t be but a minute.”
Faust nodded. “Be quick. I need to as well, but I can just go behind the car. No one cares about an old man walking.”
“I’d argue that, but it will have to wait.” Elsa slipped out of the car quietly, and dashed across the lot, gaining the trees. She made her way from there ducking under branches laden with thick snow. The cold did not help. As she arrived at the wall of bushes, she picked out an opening. As she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, she heard the car door open and close softly. Herman would do his business, and she would manage hers. She’d barely squatted down before she let loose. The relief was intense. Still, it was freezing, and she was afraid if she didn’t hurry, she’d have icicles hanging off her ass.
She stood, pulling up her pants, and was just buttoning them when a click alerted her she wasn’t alone.
“Turn around slowly, Greta Zimmerman.”
Elsa heard the unfamiliar Russian words but recognized her faux name. She raised her hands, moving with caution. She came face to face with the business end of a Lugar, pointed at her by Konstantin Petrovich.
She blinked, then smiled. “Well, hallo!” She played it dumb.
“Quiet!” He did not take the bait.
Elsa muttered to herself. “I guess you’re still sore over my knee slamming your balls.”
Neither understood the other, but the intent was clear. She’d been caught. Her mind raced, thinking of Faust.
“March!” He indicated she should step forward and walk ahead of him. When she did, he moved in close behind her, shoving the gun into her back.
At the street, she saw the other thug Petrovich had been with at the warehouse, the slightly shorter one with a bald head. The man was bursting with muscles, and he had Herman bent over the boot of the car with his arm shoved up behind his back. Faust looked pained, but his eyes contained resolve. He was trying to remain calm for her, she knew.
When they drew near, Faust said, “They’ve made us, as you can see.”
“I figured that out, thanks. Are you okay?”
“Shut up!” The bald one barked the order.
“They want us to be quiet,” Faust translated.
“Walk. This way!” Petrovich pushed Elsa forward. The other thug pulled Faust upright and followed.
“They’re taking us to him,” Faust whispered.
“What do we do, Herman?” Elsa asked, unafraid to speak despite her worry.
“For now, we have no choice. Don�
�t worry. I’m working on Plan B.”
Elsa bit her lip. If this new Plan B was anything like the others, they were in for far more trouble.
Petrovich kept the gun at her back as Elsa navigated the icy street. At the gate, the guard let them in. He barely glanced their way, keeping his eyes averted as he returned to the small enclosure where he kept watch over the entryway. It was a long walk up the icy driveway.
Elsa noted they were taken in through a side door and guided down a narrow hallway before being pushed roughly inside a luxuriously appointed office. The walls were covered in cherry wood. Crown molding topped those walls, and plush crimson carpeting softened the floors. There was a large, masculine desk of dark red oak in front of the wide, multi-paned window. Sitting behind that desk was a man wearing a bronze colored silk robe with gold quilted lapels. Even in pajamas, the Butcher still projected an aura of menace mixed with the casual elegance of the rich and powerful. He looked up from the newspaper he was reading, a barely perceptible look of surprise flashing in his eyes. It was masked quickly. His lips spread into a thin smile.
“Please have a seat.” He spoke in near-perfect German and pointed to the two tufted leather chairs facing the desk.
Petrovich nudged Elsa who moved forward, taking a seat. Faust was also pushed into motion, but he waited until she was seated before taking his own.
“Frau Zimmerman, just what are you doing here, and so early in the morning?” Brezhnev’s deceptively soft tone belied the danger lurking in his cold, blue eyes.
Elsa began to answer when Faust spoke up. “It’s my fault. We got a little lost...”
Blue eyes zeroed in on Faust. “I don’t believe I asked you.” He turned back to Elsa. “Are you now going to tell me this is the ‘boyfriend’ you were looking for at the dock?”
“No, of course not. This is my father.” She kept her answer simple, sticking to their aliases.
“I see.” Brezhnev sat back, staring steadily at the red-haired woman. “And you and your father just happened to get yourselves lost across the street from my home.” It was a statement, not a question, so she didn’t answer. “How convenient.” Brezhnev stood, coming around to the side of the desk. He held his hand out to her. “Come with me. There’s something I think you should see. I believe you may be able to shed some light on it for me.”
The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set Page 61