Authors: Quincy J. Allen
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Dystopian
Chemical Burn (6 page)
Without looking I opened a small compartment next to the steering wheel and handed a pair of Oakley’s over my shoulder. Natalia grabbed them and put them on.
“Hop up onto the bow, will you?” I asked. “Just lay on the towel, facing me,” I added, reaching into the bag.
She climbed up, threw down the towel and lay on it, leaning up on her elbows with her ankles crossed. From the bag I pulled out a device that looked like a small white funnel with a gray pencil stuck through the middle. The whole thing was attached to a gray pistol grip with a single button for the trigger. I slid open a small panel on the side of the grip and adjusted the range to one-hundred yards. Closing the panel, I held it out to Natalia.
“Here, take this.”
“What is it?”
“Shotgun mic … sort of.”
“I’ve never seen one this small before.” Natalia gave me a sarcastic look. “I bet you get that a lot, don’t you,” she added.
Smiling, I reached into the bag, pulled out two small ear-buds, and put one in my ear. “Use this,” I said, handing the other one to her. She did so, and it was small enough to disappear almost completely. I increased the throttle a bit and turned the boat into the bay, away from where I knew Nikolov’s boat was moored. I traveled up about a quarter of a mile then turned back down towards the ocean at a diagonal towards the Mason shipyards. As we approached I toggled the ignition and revved the throttle, making it appear as if I was having engine trouble. I stalled it out a few times and, as we approached the pier, turned the boat around, backing it smoothly into the last empty slot furthest from the shore.
“What’s the plan?”
“See that yacht behind me?” I asked without looking. “The big one called the
Georgian Princess
?”
Natalia looked past me. About a hundred yards away she saw the boat with a figure on the top deck sitting at a table. At that range it was difficult, but she picked out the bald head of Pyotr Nikolov.
“I’m going to work on the engines while you languish there in the sun. Just press that button and point it at them. If they go inside, try and point it at the windows.”
“Clever,” she said dryly.
“Sometimes the simplest plans are the best ones,” I said, looking at my watch. It was ten-fifteen, so we had some waiting to do. “Tell me who’s at the meeting other than DiMarco or Nikolov if you recognize them, okay?”
“You got it.”
I headed for the aft section of the boat, lifted both panels and fiddled with the hoses. About ten minutes later a voice came over their ear-buds. It was in Russian, but Natalia translated for me.
“The Italians are here, Mister Nikolov … and you should look at this.” A large man in a gray suit stepped up to Pyotr and hand him something.
Pyotr laughed quietly. “Interesting,” he said in English. Pyotr had a deep voice with a moderate Russian accent.
“Should I do anything about it?” the man asked in English.
“No. It could have its uses later. But maintain an Andropov protocol till the signal clears.”
“Yes, Sir,” the man replied.
“Now, send in those Italian clowns.”
A minute later we heard the shuffling of footsteps and scraping of patio furniture, then their meeting began.
***
Big and Little Fish
“Please, have a seat Mister DiMarco,” Nikolov offered.
“Nikolov,” Gino said, nodding as he sat down. Ricky and Tony-Two-Fingers took up positions standing behind Gino with their hands crossed in front of them. Nikolov sat alone, but there were men in gray suits scattered throughout the ship.
“Have you given any more thought to my proposal?” Nikolov asked.
“We’re still working out how the numbers crunch,” DiMarco offered, his New Jersey accent leaking through. “It’s true that our volume and revenue would increase considerably, especially if we went global, and in spite of the significantly lower rates you quoted us. But a trade secret is a trade secret, know what I mean? And we’re doing pretty well shipping to damn near everywhere west of the Rockies.”
“I understand. Business decisions take time and careful thought.” Nikolov took a sip of iced tea and changed the subject. “I understand you were unable to attend to Miss Voinovich. It was sloppy as well.”
“She got lucky. We’ll get it done,” DiMarco assured him.
“Your first attempt made interesting reading in the L.A. Times, Gino. I prefer a much lower profile when attending to such things. Such mishaps can draw the attention of Federal intervention, and we would not want that, would we? Such a complication could jeopardize our business arrangement.”
“Don’t worry, Nikolov. I’ve got enough connections to keep the heat off while we get it done. We’d have to drop a bomb in the city for it to get up to the Feds.”
“I’m trusting you, Gino. For now. Do not let me down. Thus far our relationship has been amicable. It would be a shame if I had to change that.”
“Oh, I agree.”
“I have one more thing to add to your calculations for whether to go into business with us or not,” Nikolov added, his tone changing to a slightly threatening one.
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“I had my organization look into what the chemist was working on for Miss Voinovich.” Nikolov paused again, taking a long sip of iced tea. DiMarco’s face was stoic, but he shifted a bit uncomfortably in his seat. Nikolov didn’t miss the tell.
“It seems Mister Li was not working on fuel as we were led to believe.”
“Really? What was he working on?” Gino was a good enough card player to make it look like he was ignorant.
“Are you sure that your motive for wanting them dead was an unpaid gambling debt?” Nikolov asked.
“Are you kidding me? The two of them were into us for three-hundred grand. They both had a taste for high-stakes poker … they just weren’t very good at it.”
“I see,” Pyotr said. “As to your question, Mister Li happens to have been working on something that could jeopardize your shipping methods with a competitive product. It is an interesting coincidence.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Gino said innocently, keeping up the façade.
“It’s not important,” Nikolov said. “What is important is that were Li’s efforts to come to fruition, your business could be threatened. I tell you this out of friendship. We are, however, looking into his research and should be able to finish it. We would then control whether it saw the light of day or not.”
“I understand, Nikolov,” DiMarco said a bit tensely. Nikolov had threatened him in the nicest possible way without actually holding a gun to DiMarco’s head.
Gino was the kind of mobster perfectly willing to make a deal with the devil if the money was good enough—so long as they stayed partners. If they weren’t partners, it sounded as if Nikolov would have the ability to shut down DiMarco’s production or shipping mechanism, essentially putting him out of business.
“So, based on that addition to your calculations,” Nikolov said easily, “have you come to any last-minute conclusions regarding my proposition?”
“Now that you mention it, I think we could be persuaded to work with you, but we’d need to increase the cost per unit by two percent.”
Based on what I’d read in an email to his assistant, he had been willing to go up three percent if absolutely necessary.
“I believe that my organization could manage one percent over the original figures and still keep our investors satisfied.”
“Deal,” DiMarco said sounding as if he’d achieved a victory. “It’ll take me a few weeks to get everything ramped up and ready for you. Can you wait till then?”
“Of course, Gino. Take as much time as you need. You can contact me when you are ready.”
I heard Gino start to get out of his chair, but Nikolov stopped him.
“There is one other thing, Gino.” Nikolov’s tone had changed from friendly to cold, bordering on dangerous.
“What’s that?” Gino sounded nervous.
“I could forgive the sloppy attempt last night, save for one small matter.” Nikolov sounded like a wolf preparing to pounce.
“And that is?”
“One of my soldiers did not come back to me.” Nikolov paused, his voice turning deadly. “The driver your men killed was one of mine. You owe me one life, Mister DiMarco. And I expect payment in full.”
Gino’s expression bordered on horrified. “You can’t be serious. It was an accident. He got in the way. Besides, we didn’t even know,” DiMarco’s reply a mixture of defiance and thinly veiled fear.
Nikolov’s tone was openly threatening. “I do not kid about such things. Even accidents must be paid for, and unpaid debts of this kind lead to wars.” He stood up. “You could not win a war with me,” he pointed out.
“What? Am I supposed to just hand someone over to you?”
“Precisely. Someone from your organization must be compensation for the debt you owe.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then the full weight of Solntsevskaya will be brought to bear upon your paltry family. Your brothers in New York will not help you, as it would be bad for their international interests. They know the cost. And all for one paltry man. It is a small price to pay for peace and good business. Do you not agree?”
“Can I think about it?” DiMarco said, beaten.
“No. You may not. Have the man delivered to me by sundown. Now go.”
***
Show Time
“Jesus, he’s a tough bastard,” I said quietly as I fiddled with the hoses.
“You have no idea,” Natalia replied. “He’s ruthless … and brilliant. He runs their U.S. operations for a reason, and I doubt he’ll be satisfied with that.” Natalia looked around the bay, checking out the passing ships. “I think we can go now.”
“Let’s wait a few minutes. I don’t want us leaving the moment their conversation is over. Someone might have seen us pull up.”
“Good point,” she agreed.
We stayed put another ten minutes as I awkwardly hung half out of the engine compartment and Natalia languished in the sunshine. She seemed to be enjoying it. I suspected that her work didn’t allow for much relaxation, so enjoying a few stolen minutes sunbathing made sense.
I closed the two hatches, moved to the cockpit, and started up the engines as she got off of the bow and sat in the seat next to me. I pulled the boat out slowly, throttled up and headed across the bay. She surprised the hell out of me with what she wanted to do next.
“Listen, I’ve got to get back to my house.” Natalia’s face was a mask, but I saw controlled fear and unwavering resolve in her eyes. She knew what she was asking.
I gave her an incredulous look. She was completely out of her mind. “DiMarco’s probably got your place staked out,” I said, putting it as lightly as I could, which wasn’t much.
“Yes. Most certainly.” She struggled with some internal decision and then sighed. “Look, Case, the uncomfortable truth is that I have little choice. I have to trust you with more than the rules allow, more than I would ever feel comfortable with under normal circumstances. Xen said you could be trusted, and that I could never ask for a better man to be in my corner.”
“He said that, did he? That must have been hard for you to say,” I smiled gently.
“You have no idea.” She didn’t look at me.
“They almost got you last night,” I added, showing genuine concern.
“Yes, but they didn’t, and it’s because of you.”
“And going to your house is important enough to risk us both getting shot?” I asked. “I hate getting shot, you know.”
“I’m not all that happy about risking a bullet wound either, but I’m afraid I have no choice. You are my only option. I have to trust you.”
“I’m the most trustworthy creature on the planet,” I said seriously. “No joke. And we’re still after the same thing … the people who killed Xen.” A flicker of pain danced across her face, but it quickly vanished.
“We are,” she said coldly.
“Now we know who it was, but we still don’t really know why.”
“True,” she said, looking into my eyes and struggling with what she wanted to say. “You seem to be a good man, Justin. Xen spoke very highly of you … often … and I don’t think you’re a threat to me.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m not what I appear to be,” she added almost in a whisper.
“Don’t worry. I know,” I smiled kindly. I wanted to ease her mind, so I changed the subject to the task at hand. “Venice Beach, right?” I asked, referring to her house.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Damn, that’s convenient,” I said, laying the geography out in my head. I had seen her address when I looked up her data, but I hadn’t really put it all together. “It’s just down the road a ways. Like a mile or so.”
“I didn’t pick the house. SolCon did,” she said matter-of-factly.
I’m sure an ‘
a-ha
’ look crossed my face, because she gave me a curious expression.
“Did they, now?” I looked at her, and gears turned in my head … about whatever was on the device Nikolov’s assistant had mentioned … and that Andropov protocol.
“I had originally been set up in a condo off Malibu beach, but they told me to move here about three months ago.”
I did a quick calculation. I’d given the chemical data to Xen four months ago, so the timing would be about right.
The gears clicked into place as I thought about her pistol, Nikolov’s protocol, and where her condo was located. “Can I see the Glock?” I asked.
“What for?”
“Something Nikolov said.” I held out my hand as she reached behind her back and handed it over. I pulled the slide back and locked it, catching the round in my cupped hand. Then I ejected the clip and inspected both closely. I emptied the clip into my hand. Reaching into a pocket where my coat was draped, I dug through a number of tools until I felt the one I wanted. I extracted a long pair of slim, heavy tweezers that appeared to be made of glass. Pressing a button on the side, the tips glowed with bright light. I used them to push down the spring return inside the clip to see inside. As the return went down, I exposed a thin strip of black and silver metal that had the faint pattern of micro-circuitry on it.
A tracer.
“Damn, I’m good,” I said, chuckling.
“What?” she asked, perplexed.
Grasping the strip with the tweezers, I pulled it out and lay it on the dashboard. “It seems that Nikolov is a cooler customer than I thought. He knew you were here. He’s been keeping a very close eye on your whereabouts, but the range of these is a matter of miles. Hence the condo only a few miles from his yacht.”
“Oh my god,” she gasped.
I handed her the bullets and clip, and she started reloading it. Then I inspected the Glock. Looking inside the clip receiver revealed nothing, so I removed the slide. Stuck to the inside of the slide, hidden in a groove, was another tracer. I pulled it off and stuck it to the one on the dashboard. I inspected the rest of the Glock thoroughly, making sure there were no other tracers. I put the pistol together and handed it back to her, a thoughtful look on my face.
“How did you know?” she asked, sliding the clip back into the pistol and chambering a round.
“Nikolov mentioned the Andropov protocol. It’s something Yvgenny told me about a few years back.”
“Yvgenny?”
“Hmmm?” I asked. “Oh, he’s a violin player I know. Anyway, he said the Russian mob uses the Andropov protocol when they think there might be a snitch in the mix. When Nikolov said it, I thought he meant someone in DiMarco’s crew. But when you mentioned how close your place was and who picked it out, it occurred to me it might be something else. He knew we … well,
you
were nearby. The only thing you had left from last night was the Glock.”
She popped the clip and put the last round back in so she had a full load. “That son-of-a-bitch.”
“What I can’t figure is why he let us listen in. Shit,” I muttered as I stood up. “Go change,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want to meet up with DiMarco’s crew looking like that.”
“You’re right,” she gazed down at her tanned skin and covered it up with the towel, prompting a disappointed look from me.
“Although, that outfit might distract them
considerably
,” I pointed out.
“Cretin,” she accused, feigning offense.
“Not at all,” I said innocently. “Thinking tactically.” With a lascivious smile, I pulled the earpiece out of my ear, dropped it in the bag and handed it to her. She removed hers, dropped the microphone after it, and pulled the drawstring tight. Without another word she headed down into the cabin.
I pulled the throttle back and got the boat moving at a slow crawl. Then I opened up one of the benches and pulled out a fishing pole and a role of electrical tape from the tackle-box. The line already had a brightly colored lure. Unhooking it, I let out some of the line and sat back down at the controls. I grabbed the two tracking devices, wrapped them around the line just above the lure, and taped them down. With a mischievous grin, I cast the lure into the water behind the boat and let it trail behind us. If I was really lucky, I’d catch something that stayed close to shore.
Natalia came up after a couple of minutes, and I felt her eyes boring into my back.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Goin’ fishin,’” I replied, turning my head and winking at her.
“Are you mental?”
I thought about it for a second, replying, “Yeah, but that has nothing to do with this. Look at the dashboard.”
She did and noticed that the tracking devices were gone. She laughing lightly just as the fishing line went taught. I got a big smile, reached into the tackle box and pulled out a scaling knife. With a quick flick, I cut the line and watched it disappear into the water.
“We’ll see if we can’t send Nikolov on a wild fish chase,” I said as I put the pole away. “Now let’s get over to your place.” I sat down at the controls and throttled up.
We crossed the bay in silence, ocean air and slapping waves providing a few brief minutes of serenity. All too soon for Natalia’s taste, I’m sure, I pulled the boat in and cut the engines. I grabbed my coat, put it on quickly, and got the mooring lines tied down just as she appeared, wearing the clothes she had come in.
“Ready?” I asked.
“As I’m going to be,” she said a bit doubtfully.
We walked down the pier, returned to the truck and got in. I fired it up and drove out of the marina. When we got to Washington Avenue, I pointed to the left, “This leads to the Venice Fishing Pier, right?”
“Yeah, straight down,” she confirmed. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing … just a thought,” I said and turned on the radio. I hit one of the selector buttons and turned up the volume on Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again.” I turned right onto Washington.
Wincing at the volume of the music, Natalia pointed up ahead, “There, turn left on Wilson. It’ll be a quick left onto Harbor.” She had to speak up to be heard over the blaring country staple as I made the turn. “It’s Frey Street, the one right after Cloy. My house is half way up on the left.” I slowed down to turn at the alley after Cloy.
“No, it’s the next one,” she corrected.
“Trust me,” I said, smiling.
As I turned down the alley, we both spotted a black SUV parked in the alley. It was identical to the ones that had attacked us the night before.
“Get down,” I ordered. Without hesitation, she leaned over and put her head in my lap. I looked down and enjoyed a fleeting but exceedingly naughty thought—or two—and then pictured Rachel again, feeling a strange sense of guilt. A man in a black suit, tie, and sunglasses stood in front of the SUV. He had the telltale bulge of a pistol under his arm. He leaned against the hood while another man, similarly dressed, sat behind the wheel, having a conversation on a walkie-talkie. “Why do all goombahs look alike?” I asked.
Natalia remained silent, assuming correctly that it was a rhetorical question … albeit a good one.
“Howdy,” I said with a southern drawl as I drove slowly by the SUV, nodding my head at the leaning goombah. I pointed at Natalia’s head and winked. The man leaning against the hood saw Natalia’s back and assumed the worst … or the best as the case may be.
“Atta boy!” He flashed me a thumbs-up and smiled.
I grinned back wickedly and kept on driving. The driver was too engrossed in the walkie-talkie exchange to notice. I turned left and headed towards Frey.
“Did they see me?”
“One did, but he couldn’t recognize you with your head in my lap.” I started chuckling. “I think he might have gotten the wrong idea,” I added.
I felt Natalia stiffen at the suggestion. She pinched my thigh …
hard.
“Owww! It’s not my fault! Well … not completely,” I admitted, laughing even harder. “And I think you can get up now.”
Natalia sat up and slapped my arm.
“I guess I had that coming,” I said. I looked behind us to make sure it was clear then stopped the truck in the middle of the street.
“How did you know they’d be there?” she asked.
I turned professional in an instant. “Because these guys are hired help, DiMarco sent them, DiMarco lives southwest of Washington street, they’re lazy, and their way to your house would have been the closest alley along the way that wasn’t right next door.”
“Isn’t that kind of a reach?”
“Not really. How else would I have known they’d be parked there?”
“I want to argue with you, but I can’t,” she said. “And it bothers me. A lot.” I shrugged at her with a
what-can-I-say
look and checked behind us again to make sure there was no one there.
“You know they’re in there, right?” I said calmly.
“Yes.”
“There’s going to be between two and four guys, probably four. I’m also guessing that there’s only one vehicle, but it’s possible there are two. We’ll have to risk it.”
“Are we just going to walk up to the front door?”
“Do you have a door in the back?”
“Yes, and a patio on the second floor.”
“Then no. We’re going in the back. Does your back door have a window, and are there any other windows facing the alley?”
“A small window in the door, one over the kitchen sink and lots upstairs.”
“Okay. If they see you at all, they won’t till you get out of the truck. If they recognize you—and they probably won’t with the wig—they’ll be scrambling to get into position. If not … well, I have a plan to get in that should work. One question …”
“What?”
“Are you
absolutely certain
you need what’s in there?” I had done this sort of thing before, and I was good at it, but I generally did it alone. Things like this usually got a little loud and messy, well, a
lot
loud and messy, and I’d prefer a different approach if I could find one.
“Absolutely.” She showed concrete resolve.
“I meant two questions,”
“What’s the other one?”
“Does your life depend upon it?” I was deadly serious.
“Yes.”
“Okay … By the way, I lied. I meant to say three questions.”
“What is it?” she said exasperated.
“What are you after in there?”
“My laptop.”
I paused for a few seconds, pondering the answer. “Oh, okay,” I said, satisfied. I looked at her sideways a moment later, a look of concern on my face. “We’re not risking our lives for your music library, are we?” I found myself on the business end of one of the dirtiest looks I’d ever seen, and I’d had plenty thrown my way over the years. “I’ll take that as a no,” I concluded. “Could I just go in and get it myself? No need to risk both of us unnecessarily,” I offered, smiling.