For Everything a Reason (26 page)

And, in the next second, he
was back in the light.

***

Carter hammered against Joseph’s chest again, his fist
now numb from his repeated attempts. Below his fist, Joseph lay grey and
motionless. Carter leaned over to breathe into Joseph’s mouth, filling his
lungs, forcing his chest to rise.

“C’mon – goddamn you!” he
cursed.

Joseph’s shirt had been ripped
away to expose his chest. Three angry bruises had turned his dark skin to
deepest black. Two were spreading out around his abdomen, growing with every
minute; the third, directly over his heart, black and circular, like an extra
nipple. Tossed to one side lay the bullet-proof vest that he’d been wearing –
something Detective Tyler had insisted he use.

The third bullet – the one that
Yurius had fired whilst standing over Joseph – had stopped his heart dead.
Carter understood this without question. He could find no pulse. No wisp of
breath. He hammered Joseph’s chest again in an attempt to restart his heart.
Joseph lay there, limp and lifeless.

“C’mon Joseph – work with me,”
Carter said.

The detective returned to
Joseph’s mouth. He filled his lungs again, and then hit him with his fist
directly over the breastbone.

A gasp came from Joseph. Then a
clicking noise sounded from somewhere at the back of his throat. His eyes
opened and he looked around with terror before the face above came into focus.

“Jake?” he croaked. “Did I get
him out?”

Carter looked puzzled for a
second. Of course, he thought then. Out of the car – the trunk – that’s what he
meant.

“Yes, Joseph, you got him out.”

Joseph’s eyes swam under a film
of tears. “Is he alive?”

Carter took Joseph’s hand and
said, “Yes, Joseph, he’s alive…”

Chapter
Fifty-One

Joseph was back in the hospital room. This time, though,
he was here as a concerned visitor – not the patient. Jake occupied the bed,
his small face poking out from the above the sheet. Sitting opposite him was
Marianna. She looked away from Jake and fixed Joseph with her deep brown eyes.

“I love you,” she said, softly.
Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Hey,” Joseph soothed. He
reached over Jake to take her hand. “We’re all safe now. Jake’s fine, and I’m
gonna be okay.”

She nodded. Earlier, one of the
other detectives had brought her here, and they’d arrived outside the main
foyer in time to meet the ambulance. Both Joseph and Carter had stepped out;
concern etched into their features and they had helped lower the gantry before
rushing Jake inside.

After a couple of basic tests
Doctor Greenwood had explained that a sedative had been used on Jake, a simple
anaesthetic that would soon work itself out of the boy’s bloodstream. Joseph
and Marianna had collapsed into each other’s arms, weeping with relief.

Now, they were simply waiting
it out.

The door to the room opened
slightly and Detective Carter popped his head inside.

“Joseph, can I have a word?” he
asked quietly.

Marianna looked back concerned.

Carter’s hand rose. “Nothing to
worry about,” he added quickly.

Joseph stood. He bent over Jake
to kiss his forehead. Then he allowed his fingers to brush gently over
Marianna’s cheek. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Marianna smiled. “Don’t be
long.”

“I won’t.” He turned away from
them and slipped outside.

In the hallway, Carter’s face
went from concern to elation instantly. His eyes were on fire, burning with
excitement. “Got a copy!” he declared, holding up the New York
Times
.

“Front cover!” Joseph said.

Carter spun full circle looking
for a suitable place to rest the paper, finally settling on the chair that the
uniformed officer had used, and spread it out over his lap. In the right-hand
corner of the first page, an article started with the headline:
Russian
Mafia Supergrass Found Slaughtered!

Carter took a moment to read
the paragraph of text. The article continued on page 5, but the detective simply
folded the paper in half before placing it at his feet.

“I’ll be damned,” he said,
shaking his head. “This is impossible.”

“It’s there in black and
white,” Joseph replied.

“I know – but … still.”

They stared at each other, both
hoping the other could offer an explanation – anything that would shine some
light on the baffling development that had transpired. The real Edward Jones
had been murdered the day earlier, leaving both Joseph and Carter unable to
guess who the guy posing as Jones really was. 

Carter looked towards both ends
of the corridor. A pair of armed cops could be seen at each.

He said, “I don’t know what to
believe. First Henry Jones, then you and Jake, plus Presley Perkins, and now
the FBI..?”

“FBI?”

Carter looked concerned. “They
had us all duped – that’s for sure. Thing is, they all checked out. Captain
Mendoza ran their IDs personally. All involved were either registered FBI or
FSB agents – and all actively working in the field.”

“Can’t the real Bureau arrest
them?” Joseph asked.

Carter smiled ruefully.
“They’re all dead.”

“What?” Joseph gawped.

“They were using IDs taken from
dead agents – recently dead agents. A simple click of a button and it would be
easy to reactivate an agent, giving credibility to those masquerading as one.”

“Who would have access to such
a thing?”

“Someone seriously connected,”
Carter responded.

Joseph shook his head. “What
kind of motives must someone have to risk taking such a chance?”

“Strong, powerful ones,” Carter
replied.

Joseph grunted a short
concurrence. “What about the letter?”

The detective shrugged. “I
guess that’s for Viktor to worry about. Not us.”

“Yeah – I guess you’re right.”
Joseph felt uneasy still, unsure if it was right to feel safe now, or remain on
guard. He huffed slightly, almost in defeat, deciding that he would have to
rely on those around him to protect both him and his family. “Tyler? How’s she
doing?” he asked finally.

“She’s fine. Took one in the
leg – it’s just a scratch really. Doc says she’ll be up and about in no time at
all.”

“And you?” Joseph asked.

“Me?”

“Yeah – how are you holding
up?”

Carter shuffled awkwardly for a
second, looking down at his feet, uncomfortable at being on the end of Joseph’s
curiosity.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled finally.

“C’mon Detective, level with
me.”

The detective offered him a
weary sigh. “Guess justice was served – one way or another.”

“So what are you gonna do now?”
Joseph asked, understanding that Carter’s life had been on hold for the last
three months.

“Get busy living, I guess,”
Carter said. “Perkins got his just deserts. Maybe now I can start grieving
Billy’s loss. Take some time off, even.”

Joseph reached out to lay his
hand on Carter’s shoulder. “My door is always open. You want to talk some – you
come over anytime. I got plenty of time on my hands, now that I’m retired.
Could use the company, too.”

Carter nodded with gratitude.
“Thanks. I will.”

“Hey,” Joseph began, “we ain’t
out of the water just yet.”

“Viktor and Yurius?”

“Yeah.”

The detective’s face clouded
over. “Yeah – we still need to tread with caution. At least until the real FEDs
have brought them in.”

“You think they got Edward
Jones’ letter?” Joseph asked.

“Edward Jones?”

“Whoever he may have been?”
Joseph said.

“Possibly…” Carter replied.

“You think they’ll like what
they find inside?”

“Possibly not.” Carter
concluded.

They stood silent for a moment,
wondering what ramifications the mysterious letter may have on the Russian
criminal kingpin and his hitman brother. Finally, Joseph took the detective’s
hand. He shook it gently. “Thank you, Thomas. For everything.”

Carter was momentarily lost for
words. Then, with a slight nod, he said, “For everything a reason – I guess.”

Joseph smiled slightly. He
couldn’t argue that nothing good had come from this, even with the terrible
loss of his old friend and coach, Profit. Two killers had been taken off the
streets today, with two more to follow shortly, in Viktor and Yurius – if they
had not already met their fates. And now, although Carter had many months of
sadness still ahead of him, he could finally begin the grieving process, and
then, just maybe, rejoin the rest of the living.

“For everything a reason,”
Joseph repeated, finally understanding. 

The detective nodded, and then
slipped past Joseph, ready to continue with his investigation, eager to bring
an end to this whole affair.

Joseph watched him go. As the
detective rounded the corner, the starched lab coat of Doctor Greenwood
replaced him. The physician looked excited and was taking long strides to reach
room 2b. He was carrying a thin folder underneath his arm. He looked up to see
Joseph waiting for him.

Greenwood broke into a pleased
smile. “Mr. Ruebins, I have great news!” He held up the folder and said, “Got
your results back from the MRI scan…”

Chapter
Fifty-Two

Viktor checked the time again. He fidgeted awkwardly, now
becoming worried about the morning’s events. Yurius’s call had been abruptly
cut off, and Pyotr Krylov had not called to tell him what had happened. The
bank of TV screens at his side flashed hypnotically, the sound down to its
lowest, and mute faces talked – conspired – together in silent whispers. Even
Nikolay could not be found at his normal place of work. Viktor had the whole
place to himself. And he didn’t like it one bit.

A loud hammering from the rear
of the building jolted him almost out of his skin. He jumped to his feet,
turning towards the noise, and then back to the corridor that led to the main
doorway.

“Nikolay..!” he called,
checking to see if the old doorman was around.

No reply came.

The thump, thump for attention
came again.

Viktor pulled the pistol from
his waistband. The weapon was identical to Dirty Harry’s – a gleaming .44
Magnum – and tipped downwards slightly, due to Viktor’s inability to hold it
correctly.

“Nikolay…” he called again, but
in a forced whisper this time. Now, he was fearful of revealing his presence.

The old Russian was nowhere to
be seen. Viktor checked the time. 9:45AM. He wasn’t expecting any deliveries,
and it was too early for his working girls to arrive. The thumping continued,
and Viktor’s heart beat harder with every rap.

He moved towards the rear, his
Magnum weighing heavily in his hand. He stopped at the doorway. A thin shaft of
light, like a laser beam, shone from the eyehole. Viktor moved forward to look
outside. He stopped. What if someone was standing outside just waiting for the
eyehole to blink out? Ready to fire into the door at point-blank range. He
hesitated then. 

“Viktor!” someone called.

Yurius, the Russian boss
realised.

“Let me in,” Yurius demanded.

Viktor swapped the Magnum to
his other hand, then reached out to slide the heavy-duty deadbolt free. He
pulled the door open to find his brother standing before him. Yurius looked
uncharacteristically shaken.

“What?” Viktor asked.

Yurius pushed his way inside.
He headed quickly into the main room. Viktor slammed the door shut, fixed the
bolt back in place, and then followed his brother.

Yurius was pacing up and down.
He turned, opened his mouth to speak, shook his head, and then sat heavily on
the sofa.

Viktor walked around to stand
before his brother. “What happened? I haven’t heard from Krylov, yet. Where is
he?”

Yurius sighed. “He didn’t make
it.”

“Make what?”

“You know – dead.”

“What?”

“Not coming back alive.”

Viktor seemed as if he was
going to pass out. His shoulders dropped and he looked deflated. “How..?”

“He took one in the head,”
Yurius explained.

Viktor just gawped back. “Uh?”

The younger brother stood.
“He’s dead – dead as a dodo.”

“What happened?” Viktor asked,
swapping places with his brother. Now, Viktor sat on the sofa, leaning
forwards, his face expectant.

“Everything went to hell. Heard
it on the police scanner. They killed Krylov and then chased down Perkins on
the train tracks. Guy definitely got a one-way ticket out of here.” “What of
Ruebins – you tied up  loose end?”

For the first time since his
arrival, Yurius broke into a slight grin. He nodded, and said, “Put three into
him, last one at point-blank range into his heart.”

“So this business is finished
then? Both Ruebins and Perkins are out of the picture. Okay, losing Krylov is
unfortunate, but we can handle that. So what has you so spooked, Yurius?”

Yurius stood still. Fear had
taken up residence on his features. “This,” he said, withdrawing the letter.

“What is that?” Viktor quizzed.

“I do not know.”

Viktor stood again. The letter
looked like any other. Simple envelope, brown and sealed, and its thickness
hinted at just a single sheet inside. “Where did that come from?”

“Ruebins.”

Viktor’s hand stopped short,
his fingers just a few inches from taking the letter. “Ruebins?” He looked
toward his brother for an explanation.

Yurius didn’t have one. He
stepped a little closer and pushed the envelope into Viktor’s hand. The Russian
boss took the offering, cautiously, and then seated himself back down.

“What could this be?” he asked
himself, turning the letter over. There was no address, name, postal stamp, or
other distinguishable markings written anywhere on its surface. “You think
they’re trying to plant evidence?” he asked, turning his attention away from
the letter.

Again, Yurius shrugged.
“Strange, if you ask me. I was just about to kill him, and he pulled that from
his pocket and started telling me to take it.” 

“It would be entrapment if they
tried to plant something,” Viktor stated.

“Open it.”

Viktor nodded. Just a simple
letter, right? What harm could a letter do anyway? He pushed his thumb
underneath one corner and then ran it along the length of the envelope. The
flap came away in a tattered and torn mess.

Viktor peered inside. A single
sheet of folded paper was tucked inside, blank white and offering no hint of
its purpose. Viktor paused. Should he go get a pair of gloves or tweezers, or
something to help him extract the letter? Yurius drew nearer, expectant, and
the Russian boss felt his brother’s eagerness. Viktor took a breath and then
simply pulled the sheet of paper free.

He turned it over in his hand
to examine each side: Blank both front and back.

“Open it,” Yurius pushed.

Viktor nodded. He pulled the
sheet open using delicate fingers. No text or pictures came into view. Just a
small amount of white powder had gathered within the fold that split the sheet
into two halves.

Cocaine.

“Is this a joke?” Viktor
quizzed, looking towards his brother.

Yurius shook his head. “That’s
what Big Bear gave me. Insisted I take it.”

A frown creased Viktor’s brow.
Were the authorities seriously trying to plant evidence? What good would that
do? Curious now, he licked the tip of his finger and dabbed at the small pile
of powder. The tip of his finger came away with a speck of residue fixed to it.
Yurius leaned closer. His brother licked tentatively at the white substance.
Viktor’s face scrunched tightly in a show of disgust. He shook his head and
then sneezed violently, blowing the powder off the paper, turning it into a
cloud of white dust.

Yurius caught most of it in his
lungs. He expected the smell and taste of ammonia, clear indication of cocaine
powder, but his chest went tight and the back of his throat contracted
instantly. He retched and his eyes filled with tears.

Viktor sneezed again and, as he
drew a deep breath, he too inhaled the dispersing cloud. He had just enough
time to register pain, before his body went into spasms.

The strychnine, the most deadly
toxin known to man, filled his lungs and was then instantly absorbed into the
bloodstream. It took just seconds for the poison to reach his brain, where the
toxin shut down all the nerve signals to his muscles. His arms and legs turned
rigid, back arching off the sofa, and his face turned into a ghastly mask of
agony. Jaw muscles clenched together in a cast-iron grin.

The Russian’s brother fell to
the floor, his body twisting itself into a horrible contortion, his back bent
all the way until his head touched the heels of his shoes. A desperate clucking
noise left his throat.

Viktor began to choke. He tried
to fill his lungs with air, but they refused to obey his command. Instead, he
slipped sideways off the sofa to join his brother on the floor. There, they
bucked and thrashed, until the strychnine stopped all respiratory input,
leaving them brain dead within minutes of each other. The strychnine fell
gently to the floor like a light fluttering of winter snow.  

In an hour or so, an anonymous
call would notify the authorities of the two bodies, warning of the potential
dangers. And, before the two brothers had grown cold, a team of experts wearing
biosuits would enter to find the pair locked together in rigid embrace.