Black operator complete.., p.15
Black Operator--Complete Box Set (Books 1-6), page 15
Sverdlov explained it to the man in Moscow, who sounded relieved.
“If you do this right, you have her. Report to me as soon as you have a positive result."
“Yes, Sir.”
He ended the call and waited while Lemkov called the hacker. He arranged for him to visit the lawyer’s office immediately. Less than an hour later, the door opened and he stepped inside. Shambled inside, more like. Yuri Stolypin was a man of about thirty-years-old who weighed around thirty stone. He was a wreck and looked like he'd been sleeping rough for the past three weeks. He grinned at Lemkov and nodded to Sverdlov and his men.
"You guys want me to find someone for you, right?"
The Major stared at him.
How can such a disreputable figure possibly achieve anything worthwhile? Then again, these computer experts are an entirely different breed. Maybe he has a thorough knowledge of his business. He’d better have, if he knows what’s good for him.
"Your friend Lemkov uploaded a woman’s image to your server. She is the woman I want you to find."
He gave them a cheesy grin. "I can find anyone you like, provided they walk past a city CCTV camera. What’s she done?”
“That is of no concern to you. Will this take long?"
A shrug. “It all depends. Could be minutes, could be hours. I’ll get onto it. Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”
He lost it and grabbed a handful of the big man’s shirt. Pulled his face until it was inches from his and snarled, "Why don’t you get on with it now? If I were you, my friend, I'd make this very quick. I'm not a patient man, do you understand what I’m saying?"
The big man nodded, and his multitude of chins wobbled. “I, er… understand, sure. Mister, there’s no need for rough stuff. We’re all civilized here.”
Sergeant Stepashin leered. “Civilized, bullshit. Speak for yourself, comrade. You will not find us civilized if you fail, so don't put it to the test. You would quickly find how very uncivilized we can be, and the experience would be more than unpleasant. Very painful, in fact.”
The man nodded, and his chins shook again. "I’ll make it quick."
Sverdlov patted his sweating face. “You’re very wise.”
Forty minutes later, they had her. Yuri Stolypin had been working in a spare office down the hall, and his big bulk cruised into the lawyer’s office, almost like a ship entering a dry dock in need of urgent repairs and overhaul.
“I found her, picked her up on CCTV. They’re in a silver Chevrolet Malibu, heading toward Streeterville. They…” He stopped and looked at the tablet clutched in his hand as it beeped, “They just stopped at a mall. Give me a minute while I look to see what they’re doing there.”
He cruised in eight minutes later. “This gets interesting. Cris Rhodes withdrew eight hundred and forty dollars from his bank account; pretty well cleaned it out. CCTV has them still heading toward Streeterville, and there’s something else I picked up. A guy named Vasily Tereshkova. He arrived in Chicago last week. Could be a connection.”
Sverdlov looked interested.
“I’ll check this Vasily Tereshkova, see what we have on him.”
Minutes later, he was back. “The ex-husband, but she’s kept his name. He’s in Chicago with his son. Her son.”
Sverdlov snapped his finger. “The address?”
“I’ll have it soon. I’m waiting for a call.”
Ten minutes later, he handed a piece of paper to the Major, and they raced toward the door.
* * *
He drove away in the rented silver-gray Chevrolet. Heading toward the district of Streeterville, an upmarket area of Chicago where Vasily Tereshkova had rented a house. Threading his way through the thick traffic, and when they stopped at a light, he turned to her.
"You know this will have to be a quick visit."
"He's my son, and I haven't seen him for so long. It could be the last time."
"It won't be the last time, but it will be if you stick around for too long. The name Tereshkova is uncommon in Chicago, obviously, and there is a faint possibility they are watching the house. I'll circle the block when we get there and check it out, but even so, we can't take the chance. If he wants his mother to live, it means a quick visit. A long visit could…"
"I know what it means. Very well, I'll be quick."
On the journey, Cris pulled into a mall and left her in the car. "I'll be a few minutes, I'm going to draw some cash."
He walked through the crowded mall and reached a row of cash dispensers. Put his card into an ATM and emptied his bank account, eight hundred and forty dollars; leaving only seventy-three cents. He shrugged inwardly. If he didn't pull this off, the amount of money in his bank account would be the last his problems. He was walking back through the mall and happened to glance up at a large television displaying a newsflash. Tereshkova’s face was on the screen. The text beneath the picture explained she was wanted by U.S. Immigration for a number of offences connected with organized crime.
He'd seen enough. He quickened his pace, reached the car, climbed in, and drove away. He explained the new complication.
"I didn't do anything," she protested.
"Technically you're right. It's down to me for getting you out of that place, but they won't see it that way, especially that bastard Griggs. He’ll see it as a personal affront to his macho manhood that a Russian got one over him. I know the type, a vicious bully, and you can bet he'll have told the cops you are armed and dangerous, and shoot to on sight."
She nodded. "In that case, I will make my visit to see Alexander even quicker."
They pulled up outside a substantial townhouse, walked up the steps, and she rang the bell. The man opened the door, flashed her a nervous glance, and looked at Rhodes with raised eyebrows.
"Maria, who is this?"
"He's a friend, Vasily. I only want a minute to see Alexander."
He stood aside and allowed them into the house. "Of course you must see him. I'll make coffee."
They entered a spacious and luxuriously furnished living area, and a young boy rushed at Maria and hugged her. Alexander had the same slim features as his mother, and even at the tender age of six, it was obvious he would one day grow to be a good-looking man.
"Mother, you came. Are you staying?"
She gripped him hard. "I'm sorry, that's not possible. We’re just passing through, and I called in to talk to you for a few minutes. Then we have to leave."
"But you've only just come."
"I know. But soon we’ll be reunited.”
They sat on a couch and chatted quietly. Cris paced around the room, looking at the Impressionist originals on the wall. Whoever had furnished this place had taste and money. Vasily brought in a tray of coffee and placed it on a low table. "Could I get you something to eat? Some cakes, perhaps. You look tired."
He shook his head. “No cakes.”
It’s all taking too long. Coffee and cakes, Jesus Christ, we should have been out of here a couple of minutes ago.
He flashed Maria a hard look, and she closed her eyes momentarily. "Just the coffee, Cris. Please."
Vasily poured him coffee, and he sipped it, although scalding hot. His instinct was to get out of there as fast as possible. Vasily was looking everywhere, except at him and Maria, like a guy with a guilty conscience. Eventually, his unease became too much to bear. Something was badly wrong.
"Maria, we’re going. Say goodbye to Alexander. We’re leaving now." She rose to her feet, but she wouldn't let go of the boy, and he had to almost drag her away. He reached the front door. A few yards behind them, Alexander was crying, "Mother, come back here. I don't want you to go."
"Maria, we’ve been too long already. Move it.”
He opened the door, and three men were standing there. He knew the type, knew the breed. They were hard faced men. Fit, tough, wide shoulders, slim waists, like soldiers from an elite unit. Russians, like Maria and Vasily, that kind of washed out appearance and angular, Slavic features mixed with a hint of the East, like so many Russians, perhaps a throwback to the days of Mongolian occupation. The bulges under their coats were not pocketbooks.
The man in front fixed his eyes on Maria. "Miss Tereshkova, I presume?"
"Who are you?" she flared. But she knew, and Cris saw her flinch. He knew, too and dove a hand inside his coat, but another man, the biggest of them, built like a pillbox, snarled, "Don't even think about it."
In a split second a gun had appeared in his hand. The first man was already pushing through the door.
"Mr. Rhodes, I'm sure you'll want to invite us in. My name is Major Sverdlov, and we've come a long way to meet you."
The third man entered the house, and the door shut. It sounded like someone hammering the coffin lid closed. Maria glared at Sverdlov.
“What do you want from us?” She wasn’t afraid. She was angry, and when he didn’t reply, she continued, “Whatever it is, my son is nothing to do with this. Leave him alone.”
“I cannot do that. He is your son. Therefore he is involved.”
“So what happens next?”
“Next? You die.”
Chapter Four
“We’ve got them, Sir.”
Griggs answered the call as they were driving to the location of the cashpoint machine where Rhodes had drawn money. He knew they’d probably have left already, but there was always the possibility they’d still be around. Spending some of that cash he’d drawn.
“You mean they’re still in the mall? We’re less than two minutes away.”
“No, Sir, they’ve moved on from there. Our computers show a Vasily Tereshkova staying in Streeterville. He took a short-term rental on a house.”
“Tereshkova? The same name, it’s something of a coincidence.”
“There’s more, Sir. Chicago PD traffic cameras picked up the car these fugitives are driving, the silver Chevrolet Malibu, and you’ll never guess which direction they’re heading in.”
“Streeterville.”
“Yessir.”
“Gimme the address. We’re on the way. Henderson, turn around. Head for Streeterville. We've got them.”
* * *
He was helpless under the guns of the three Russian killers. The big man had a Czech Skorpion aimed at his belly, and the other a Stechkin with a sound suppressor fitted to the end of the barrel. All he could do was wait for a chance to tackle one of the Russians and grab his gun. Which was unlikely to happen. These men were professionals, and killing was their business. Sverdlov looked at the big man with the Skorpion, said something in Russian, and Maria paled.
“He told him to take Vasily outside and kill him.”
She looked at the Major. “Please, don’t do this.”
He ignored her and nodded at the big man to get on with it.
“Da.”
He grabbed her former husband and dragged him toward the rear of the house. They heard the soft 'thunk' of a silent shot, and he re-entered the room. Nodded an affirmative. “It's done."
"Excellent, let’s go."
The big man went behind Cris, wrapped a massive arm around his neck, and held him in a vicious lock. With the Skorpion pushed into his back, he was helpless. The man with the Stechkin did the same to Maria. Sverdlov grabbed the boy's arm and led the way to the front door. He opened it and went outside. They made it to the sidewalk and were walking toward the Russian vehicle when a voice rang out.
"This is the United States Immigration Service. Put down your weapons. You are all under arrest."
A bunch of uniformed men had appeared, and he recognized Griggs, the burly Immigration Agent who'd arrested Maria in Manitowoc. He had five other men, all with guns drawn and aimed at them. Each of them wore an armored vest, with U.S. Immigration Service emblazoned on the front. The Russians didn't hesitate, dove to the ground, took aim, and opened fire.
The Skorpion chattered, and the immigration men dove for cover. One flinched when several 9mm rounds punched into his vest, and another went down. A bullet from the Stechkin had torn into his head. The Russians were unarmored, and Griggs and his men returned fire. Bullets peppered the area, and he heard Sverdlov shout an order to his men.
They crawled away, sneaking between the parked vehicles for cover, and moments later they'd disappeared. Briggs approached Rhodes and Tereshkova warily. His men were careful, searching for the Russians up and down street, poking behind the vehicles with anxious fingers on triggers, but without success. One shouted, "We're clear. They've gone.”
Griggs nodded, relaxed a fraction, and looked at Maria, his eyes filled with hate.
“The boy is yours, he’s Russian?” She nodded, "You're both going into custody, lady. This time I'll put you somewhere so secure you’ll disappear until it's time to get you and that kid on a plane back to where you belong. Russia is welcome to you. As for you, Mister, you'll be going down for a long time."
Cris kept his glance calm. “What’s the charge?”
“Charge?” The fleshy, bullying face stared at him, “The charge is whatever I decide to make it. For starters, I don’t like your fucking face. That’s good for five years in the pen.”
One of his agents chuckled, and he scowled. "Shut the fuck up and bring up the truck."
Minutes later the U.S. Immigration Service vehicle pulled up. The same truck they'd used up in Manitowoc. They pushed him, Maria, and Alexander inside, locking them into a tiny cell. The Immigration agents waited for the ambulance to arrive and attend to the man shot through the head. The paramedics pronounced him dead within the first few seconds. No surprise when the victim’s brains are visible and splattered over the sidewalk.
The truck moved off, with one agent sitting in the back. He covered them with his 9mm Glock pointed at them, his finger on the trigger. Saying nothing, but his expression made it clear he'd be more than happy to put a bullet into either of them. Preferably both. With a sick sense of failure, Cris could think of no way to reassure her as they drove toward their final destination, and a spell behind bars. For Maria, deportation to Russia, and death. He’d promised to take care of her, and he’d failed.
The truck accelerated, and they left the outskirts of the city, to continue the journey to whichever jail Griggs was taking them to. Rhodes thought through every option to escape the clutches of the Immigration Service, and he drew a blank. When he looked at Maria, she was staring at him intently.
“We’re finished, aren’t we? We’ll never get out of this.”
He shook his head. “Think about it. When Sverdlov and his goons had us, and were going to kill us, you’d have said the same. Immigration rescued us.”
She grimaced. “Some rescue.” She lowered his eyes to Alexander, who she’d cradled in her arms, “At least he’s still alive.”
“Yes he is, and we’ll get out of this. Somehow.”
“How?”
He opened his mouth to reply. To tell her he was still working on it, and it was like an earthquake hit them. The vehicle shook like it had been rammed by something heavy, like a semi-rig, and they held on grimly while it tilted over and teetered on two wheels. Still racing along the highway, still going over, past the point of no return. The side of the body hit the tarmac and continued the long slide. An unending, grinding, cacophony of tortured metal, and it ended when they came to a stop. The guard was groaning, favoring his head where he’d cut it colliding with the metal body.
Someone wrenched the rear doors open, and men in black one-piece suits, wearing Kevlar helmets over ski masks and body armor, raced inside the truck. The leader went to the semi-conscious guard and wrenched his gun from his hand.
“Stay still, and don’t move if you want to live.”
He didn’t move. They opened the cell doors, and one man signaled for them to follow. The assault rifle he held in his hands suggested it wasn’t a request. Rhodes picked Alexander up and took Maria's hand. Squeezed it to reassure her. Her smile was wan.
“I don’t think you can get us out of this one, Cris. This is the end.”
He didn’t reply. How could he give her any hope for the future? There was no hope. The Russians had won. They’d got them. Somehow, they'd mounted an ambush at short notice. They would take them away and kill them. The man with the rifle shepherded them toward a big, armored truck, like they used to transport cash to banks. Painted dark blue, anonymous, and unlettered. Griggs and his two men were sitting at the curbside, their hands raised. Held under the guns of more men in ski masks. Then they were inside the armored truck. Two of the masked men joined them, the door slammed shut, and the vehicle sped away.
Presumably one of the two would be Sverdlov. So far, they hadn’t spoken. If it was Sverdlov, they were already dead. The man wouldn’t screw up again. Not after taking this amount of trouble. He stared at the ski mask nearest to him.
"Are you taking us someplace to kill us, or will you do it in here?"
The man stared at him for a moment, removed his helmet, and pulled off the ski mask. Jeff March grinned at him.
“Rhodes, we're the good guys. We did this to get you away from Immigration. How’s the kid?”
Maria answered. “He’s fine, just shaken. How did you know where we were?”
As she asked the question, Cris began to wonder.
How did the Russians know about Vasily Tereshkova’s house?
March grinned. “The wonder of computers. As soon as Immigration flagged your location, we knew what would happen. Then we heard about those other guys already in the house. We didn’t know they’d get to you before we did. We were just lucky it worked out. I guess they were our Russian friends.”
“Yes. They killed my ex-husband, Vasily. Alexander’s father.”
His eyes closed momentarily. “I’m sorry. But at least your son is alive. And you’re alive.”
