Luthecker (33 page)

His first course of action was to talk some sense into the young man. He needed to impress upon him the gravity of the situation. And at the very least get him to tow the line long enough until Brown’s attention was away from them and on to something else.

The sound of a gun barrel carefully rapping on glass made him jump in his seat. He looked out his car window and saw a silhouette in the moonlight of a man standing there, with a 9mm in his hand. It took him half a second to recognize it was Stern. He also took note that at the moment, the gun was not pointed at him. Wolfe motored down the window and spoke.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You ask to meet at ten o’clock at night in a dark alley and you ask what the hell is wrong with me?”

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“Why don’t you get in the car.”

“It’s nicer outside.”

Wolfe examined his partner a moment. It was clear that he had been drinking. It was also clear that he was angry and paranoid, about who knows what. Wolfe’s biggest fear was that Stern’s recent erratic behavior were the beginnings of posttraumatic stress disorder. He had seen it in many soldiers in the past, and it looked a lot like this. And the worst of it was that instead of helping him, Brown wanted him killed for it. He looked at the gun Stern held, saw that it was now vaguely pointed in his direction, and decided it wise to get out of the car.

Stern took a half step back at the sound of the door latch, watching Wolfe closely as he exited the vehicle.

Wolfe leaned against the car, folded his arms across his chest, and looked Stern up and down.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“I didn’t come here to listen to your shit.”

“Have you been to therapy since you returned from combat?”

“You said this had to do with Luthecker.”

Wolfe took a deep breath before responding.

“Brown thinks you’ve gone off the reservation.”

“Fuck Brown.” Stern replied with force. He took a half a quarter step back to keep his balance.

“And fuck you too.”

“You need to come in.”

“I don’t need to do shit. I’m a private citizen now.” He held up a wavering finger. “And I’m no fucking mercenary, either. I’m an honorable Veteran of the United States Marine Corps.” The alcohol caused him to slur his consonants.

“Look, Brown is fucking crazy. But he’s dead serious and very powerful, and that means you have to play.”

“He’s full of shit.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t throw it all away.”

“Fuck you.”

“Put the gun away.”

“Or what?”

“He’s going to fucking have you killed.”

Stern looked at Wolfe, unsure if he heard correctly.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Wolfe made sure to keep the gun within his peripheral vision, ready to act if it in any way moved in his direction.

“Why?”

“Because I told you, he’s fucking crazy. He’s obsessed with Luthecker. Thinks he’s got some sort of ability to fuck people up by screwing with the way that they think, and that somehow the little shit’s gotten in
your
head, and now all of a sudden you’re a threat.”

Stern tried to shake the alcohol from his thinking.

“And he sent you to do me in, didn’t he?”

He raised his 9mm ever so slightly. Wolfe didn’t miss it. He held steady. His thoughts went to his own 9mm holstered at his side, and he checked himself, made sure he made no sudden move towards it.

“Calm down. You’re drunk and not thinking straight. Just come in and see a shrink, for Chrissakes.”

“You think you can do it? You think you can take me out?”

“I was hoping to talk some sense into you instead. If you don’t come in, we both get put down. That puts us both in a bit of a spot, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not coming in.”

He turned his back to Wolfe, and started to walk away.

“Shit.” Wolfe muttered under his breath, as he watched Stern stumble his way towards the alley exit. He had to think fast. He could not just let Stern walk. He had to stop him. He pulled his 9mm free from its holster, pointed it at his partner, and pulled the hammer back, knowing the sound of the trigger lock would stop Stern in his tracks.

It did. At the sound of the pistol hammer locking into place, Stern stopped, stood a moment, and then slowly turned around. His 9mm was still in his hand, and he kept it still and at his side, looking Wolfe in the eye.

“Look at this.” Stern’s voice echoed through the alley. “Look at what
you’re
doing. And
I’m
the threat? You’re worried about who’s gotten into
my
head?”

Wolfe took his finger off the trigger. He lowered the barrel slightly.

“Just come in. Please…”

Stern looked Wolfe in the eye nearly a full minute longer before turning around, and walking clear of the alley.

Wolfe carefully reset the hammer on his 9mm and lowered the weapon. He stood there in the alley unsure what to do next. He heard a buzzing sound, like that of a large bee, zip by his head, and he barely saw what looked like a hummingbird zip through the alley and into the night.

He knew it was no bird. The blood drained from his face. He pulled the hammer back again on his 9mm, swallowed hard, and started after Stern. He hustled around the alley corner and caught the butt of a gun square in the face.

• • •

Nikki stood there in shock, unable to process what had just happened. It felt as if time had slowed down. She felt a burning sensation on her left ear, and instinctively reached for it. She pulled back a hand covered with blood.

She remembered hearing the sound of glass breaking immediately followed by Michael’s head exploding, spraying blood along the floor and far wall. She had recoiled instinctively, felt a sharp sting on her earlobe, and then watched as Philip Miller was knocked off his feet, by what sounded like a sickening hammer blow to the chest before he dropped to the floor, dead, less than a second later. Somewhere in that short time frame she also remembered screaming.

Someone had shot them. She repeated that conclusion to herself in her head, over and over again in a panicked frenzy until she realized, that whoever did this, probably wanted her dead as well. And he was still out there. Her heart spiked her to reality as she suddenly became aware that she was in extreme danger and had to act, and act quickly. She knew that this would all be over before any 911 responder could arrive, so she would have to deal with the threat on her own. She spotted the butt of Miller’s standard issue police revolver, sticking out from under his jacket. Her hands shook as she bent down, rolled him over, grimacing in repulsion at her act as she pulled his revolver free from its holster.

Her brother was the next thought that came into her mind. She had to protect him. During the last ten seconds when both Kittner and Miller had been shot, he had not stirred. There had been no sound from the gunfire, only that from window shattering and her brief scream. She decided that she would check on him and then take guard in the doorway to his bedroom.

“Come and get me, you Son of a Bitch,” was her last thought before she killed all the lights in the apartment.

“Fuck.” The gunman swore out loud, louder than he intended. Someone else was there. The intelligence file had made no mention of this. The first target went down easy enough, but when she recoiled back in reaction, he saw another figure, and it threw him, just as he squeezed the trigger for the second shot. She was still alive, he knew it, and now he was going to have to go in there and finish the job. He placed the SV-99 on the floor of the van, and opened the small metal case that held his Glock 9mm. He pulled the weapon free and quickly screwed a suppressor into the barrel rifling before chambering a round. He checked the streets-- Still all clear. He looked at the apartment. No movement, but now the lights were out. She knew he was still out there, and she knew he was coming. To turn out the lights was futile and panic motivated. He searched through his backpack and grabbed his night vision goggles, slipping them onto his forehead right above his eyes. He carefully opened the rear door of the van, and stepped outside onto the street. He moved quick and silent across the street, stopping under the first window of the apartment, the one he shot through. He crouched below view. He heard no sound from inside. She was probably in the bedroom, hiding. There was no rear exit to the apartment. He had her trapped. The variables were minimal. He was going to try the front door, and if locked, he’d kick it in and simply shoot anything that moved, sort it out from there. He slipped his night vision goggles in place. The world turned bright green with hard lit angles on everything. He stayed low, approached the front door and tried the doorknob. He smiled when he found it unlocked. He carefully opened the door.

Nikki shot until all six rounds in the spindle of the revolver were spent. She had hit the door just above the knob, splintering it, as well as the walls on both sides, but two of the bullets managed to hit the intruder, and now everything was silent and motionless.

Her plan had been simple. Lay on the floor in the doorway to her brother’s bedroom with detective Miller’s revolver pointed at the front door. Watch the windows and the front door, the only entry points into her brother’s apartment, and wait until she saw something move, and be ready to shoot. When she heard the doorknob turn, she held her breath until she saw the door open a crack, and then she grit her teeth and shot until she ran out of ammo.

She slowly got to her feet as her brother stumbled up from behind her.

“What the hell is going on?” He yelled as he stopped beside her, trying to shake off the disorientation of deep sleep and pain sedatives.

“Stay in your room.” She told him, her voice surprisingly steady as she stood there, gun still smoking in her hand. She finally hit the kitchen light.

“Oh my God.” He said in response to what he saw.

On the floor lying at awkward angles were Kittner and Miller. The bullet-ridden front door was open, the mud-encrusted soles of the assassin’s black boots visible, the rest of the body lying still and prone on the front step.

“Nikki, are you okay?” Ben asked.

She didn’t answer. Still on adrenaline edge from what she had done, she just stared at the man she shot as he lay just outside the apartment.

Whoever it was who lay dead on the front step may have come here to kill Michael, but he had also come here to kill her, she thought. Maybe it had something to do with Michael and the people he was now in business with, the ones that had wanted her involvement so badly. And she would bet everything she ever learned studying trends and patterns in the marketplace that it also had something to do with Alex Luthecker.

• • •

Stern quickly dragged an unconscious Wolfe back into the alley and behind his car and out of view.

He knew Wolfe would follow him. If what he said about Brown wanting him dead were in fact true, he would have no choice. He didn’t want to kill his partner, but he didn’t want to be killed by him either. He knew his partner was combat-soft, so he waited just outside the alley, and pistol-whipped him across the face as hard as he could as soon as he stepped around the corner.

The altercation had sobered him up a bit. Wolfe never saw it coming and thus took the strike hard-- He was completely out, his face bloody from a broken nose. He had possibly sustained a fractured cheekbone, and he more than likely suffered a concussion. It would hurt for some time and may even require surgery, but it was better than being dead, Stern thought.

He dropped Wolfe in a heap before getting inside the vehicle and popped the glove box. He found several zip-tie restraints, knowing they would be there because he had been the one who put them there, and grabbed a couple of them. He zip-tied Wolfe’s feet together, and then his hands together behind his back, before going through his pockets, jacket linings, checking for any possible surveillance or recording devices. The last thing he did was remove the sim card from Wolfe’s cell phone and pocket it before wiping everything down to clear his prints.

“Sorry asshole.” He said to Wolfe, before he cleared the alley, and walked calmly but quickly down the street.

He knew he was on the run now. He had to put together a survival plan quickly. Richard Brown would send others to kill him, and he had to find out why. He had done nothing wrong or illegal, he’d merely asked questions. This all had to do with Alex Luthecker, he knew that for sure now. The man had knowledge of things he shouldn’t, and caused chaos wherever he went. He had to find out what it was about this particular individual that would cause Brown to readily and without hesitation issue a kill order against one of his own.

He knew where Luthecker was being held, and at some point, he was going to pay the man a visit. He couldn’t right away, because Brown would expect that and be ready. So instead he would do some reconnaissance first. He would track down the captured fugitive’s friends, and brace them. But before that he would find the young woman from the nightclub, the one who had inadvertently led him to Luthecker that fateful evening, and who had subsequently paid Luthecker a visit at the police precinct. There had to be a connection. He knew there was more to the story than she and the overprotective cop were saying, and he would get it out of them. He had every intention of finding out exactly who, or what, Alex Luthecker was.

VIDEO CLIPS

“W
hat do you see?”
The electronically scrambled voice from the walls asked.

“A Chinese man, in his late sixties.” Alex answered, as he sat on the couch, staring at the HDTV in his cell. He felt a spike of pain in his head; a reminder of the headaches watching electronically created imagery caused him.

The screen showed a diplomatic press photo of a regal looking man wearing a dark blue suit jacket and matching tie.

“Don’t play games. His name is General Deng Zemin. He is the Chairman of Central Military Commission of China. He is one of the most powerful men in the world.”
The electronic voice continued, and Alex knew right away exactly whom it was that was speaking to him— Suspect Zero, the man who arranged his capture in the desert.