The Truant Officer (28 page)

Now it was Jessi’s turn to count her blessings. The Alexei Sarvydas case had made national headlines. “He was murdered by the son of the famous record producer,” she clarified.

“Viktor Sarvydas is a lot more than a record producer. He is one of the most dangerous organized crime figures in the world. That’s why I was in Arizona as part of the Witness Protection Program.”

“But if you were being protected, I don’t understand why you felt compelled to run.”

“In recent weeks my cover was blown. I had no choice.”

“How was it blown?”

“There’s a leak in the US Attorney’s Office. Someone who works for Sarvydas. And now I have proof.”

He took out a cell phone and handed it to Jessi. “Her name is Dava Lazinski, and she goes by the codename of Kelli. She is the one who coordinated with the McLaughlins to lure me to Sarvydas.”

“When you say McLaughlins, plural, are you saying that Darren McLaughlin is involved in this, too?”

“Take a look at this.” Nick showed her his evidence—photos on the phone of the Dava/Kelli woman he believed to be leaking information. The picture was a group photo in a bar with her arms wrapped around Darren and another man, also wearing a pilot uniform.

“Who is the other guy?” Jessi asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s Lilly’s cell phone. I was just able to snatch it from her purse while I had her distracted. What other reason would she have a picture like that? Plus, she claimed she got rid of the phone in the bags we checked at the airport. I also found a bunch of text messages between Dava and Lilly. I couldn’t figure out how they tracked us everywhere we went—Dantelli’s house, Red Menace, and then to Oklahoma.”

Jessi slipped the phone into her purse. “So what now—do you want me to go live with the story?”

“They’ll kill my sister if this gets exposed—I need to get to New York to secure her safety before you can report any of this. But I want you to keep the phone as insurance. Hopefully Lilly won’t notice it’s gone until we’re off the plane.”

“Tell me how I can help you.”

“Lilly is using my need to get back to my sister against me. She’s acting like I’m leading the way to New York, but I’m really playing into her hands. That’s where Sarvydas’ home base is—Brighton Beach. According to the dialogue between Lilly and Dava, they’re planning to lure me to Natalie Gold’s premiere party at Sarvy’s tonight.”

“That is one of the hottest parties of the year—the place will be crawling with celebrities and media. Not exactly a smart place to harm you.”

“It’s actually the perfect place. They’re going to use my sister as bait, and then make it look like I’m a renegade fugitive looking to avenge the murder of my family. It will look like self-defense on their part, on camera in front of a large group of people, so that there are no accusations leveled at Sarvydas. Read the texts in the phone, they should tell you everything else you need to know—I don’t have time to go into all the details right now.”

Jessi smiled. She saw where this was going. “So you want me to cover the premiere party, to make sure that the real story is told.”

“Exactly. And for your trouble you’ll get an exclusive interview with Nick Zellen/Brett Buckley right on the red carpet, where I will expose their contemptible plan on live TV. And by making myself so visible, I will create insurance for my sister and myself. Consider the cell phone a down payment, and if I don’t show up alive at the premiere, then I want you to run with the information I provided you.”

Holding onto a story like this was against Jessi’s journalistic DNA, but an exclusive interview with the famed fugitive would be worth it.

Nick grabbed her tightly by the shoulders. “I have to get back to Lilly before she suspects anything. Do you understand what I just told you?”

Jessi nodded her head, more excited than scared.

“Good,” he said, “because my life depends on you.”

Chapter 65

Darren joined Becks in the cafeteria of the headquarters of the US Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York. He had no appetite, and wondered if he ever would again, unable to get the gruesome photos out of his head. Becks, on the other hand, ate for the two of them.

It was early afternoon on Tuesday. Just thirty-six hours since Darren was in this same city, three thousand miles from home, watching his wife be abducted in what he thought was a local gang initiation. And now such a scenario would be inviting. The women abducted by the gangs were beaten and raped, but with the Russian mob, it seemed like that would just be the appetizer.

He had to save Lilly. She had betrayed him, he had come to grips with that, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered. And if for no other reason, he had taken vows to protect in good times and bad. Taking a vow still meant something to him, and he planned to live up to his part, no matter the cost.

He had no idea how he would accomplish this, but two things were clear. First off, Becks mustn’t be involved. He needed to get her home while she still had her sharp tongue. The other was that if he was going to find Lilly, he was going to have to do it himself. After this morning’s events, he had even less faith in the authorities. And frankly, they seemed a little scared of this Sarvydas character.

After lunch, they were driven back to the airport in a parade of black SUVs, manned by federal marshals. It had the feel of a funeral procession, which perfectly captured the mood, and fit with the gray New York skies. Darren and Becks were led into the airport, this time closely surrounded by the FBI agents, avoiding another shootout at the OK Corral.

As they moved to the gate area, Becks grabbed Darren’s hand. “Thanks for sticking up for me. It’s nice to know there’s at least one honorable man left in the world.”

“I wouldn’t want you to lose that tongue. The world would miss your insightful comments,” he said with a grin. She was starting to rub off on him, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad.

She smiled back at him. “You mean like
incite
a riot?”

Darren returned to his serious nature. “You shouldn’t have come. This is dangerous stuff, not a game. To use your term, we are really OOOL here. You have your whole life in front of you, and you’re also too young to be as cynical as you are. I think you’ll find that there are a lot of honorable guys in the world. This Nick...Brett...or whatever his name is, doesn’t deserve you.”

“I say we combine the names and call him Brick Zuckley, just for clarity,” she said with a chuckle. She then matched his serious demeanor. “And I’m sorry about all the skank and slut comments I made. I was frustrated with the situation and I took it out on her. My emotions get the best of me sometimes.”

The mention of Lilly glummed Darren’s face.

Becks took notice. “Don’t you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Buy into those amateur scare tactics that Eicher dude tried to use on you.”

“But those killers were on their tail. That’s a fact—he didn’t make up those pictures. And just the thought of that Zubov character near Lilly gives me chills.”

“Think about it. If Lilly and Brick Zuckley were already caught, why was the Rabbi willing to have a shootout with a bunch of federal agents in front of JFK Airport, and threatening us if we don’t help him out? Brick is an ass, but he’s also smart and savvy, and has these Russian mobsters scared. I can tell by their faces.”

It was a good pep talk, but it didn’t allay Darren’s fears as they boarded the plane. “Eicher thinks Lilly might be involved.”

“Eicher was totally CYA’ing, and if you haven’t forgot, he also thought you were involved. He couldn’t even figure out if the Rabbi was working with Sarvydas, or if he set up his son, yet he had the gall to blame the federal marshal who was in charge of Brick.”

Darren nodded. “You’re pretty smart for a high school kid.”

“I have good instincts when it comes to people. I sat in your wife’s class every day for three months and I got to observe her. I know her better than Eicher ever will. And while she might not be an innocent victim, she isn’t working with the Russian mob.”

“I hope your instincts are right.”

“I was right about you,” she said with a smile. She then gave him a glomp, which she explained was a non-sexual hug, but more for a friend than a hug with your grandparents, and veered toward her seat in coach.

Darren was escorted to the cockpit. He was looking forward to returning home, where he would figure out a strategy to find Lilly.

The entire flight crew was present, except for one—Treadwell. Darren figured that he was still out with Kelli, and would soon return to regale them with tales of how he “buzzed her tower.”

Darren almost smiled to himself—who would’ve ever thought he would have a more eventful day than Treadwell? Who was the boring one now? A secret meeting with the FBI, a shootout in front of the airport, and a van ride from hell with a couple of psychotic Russian mobsters. And Treadwell could never again say that Darren never went to any of the hip clubs—he couldn’t wait to tell him of his VIP trip to Sarvy’s.

Minutes turned into a half-hour, and Treadwell continued to be AWOL. Darren grew apprehensive, as did the passengers. A fight was about to break out because someone had occupied the bathroom for the duration of the delay.

Screams suddenly filled the cabin. They were the type of primal screams usually reserved for strong turbulence or when the plane experienced a sharp drop in altitude. Darren ran to the back, pushing through the crowded aisle. The passengers were evacuating toward the front of the plane like a hurricane warning had been issued for the rear.

Darren fought his way through the crowd to the lavatory. The door had been wedged open, allowing him a perfect view of what was inside.

Ron Treadwell’s lifeless body was propped onto the toilet with a butcher knife jammed between his eyes. Connected to the knife handle was a note that read:

I thought I told you not to talk to the feds, McLaughlin.

Chapter 66

Dava got off the plane in New York, non-stop from Oklahoma City. With the Mays’ untimely passing, they were unable to sign-off on the exhumation. The US Attorney’s Office was sending a team of lawyers to Oklahoma, but it would take weeks to get through the red tape. So on orders from Eicher, Dava returned home.

LaPoint stayed behind to head the murder investigation of Reverend Mays and his wife. The initial analysis of the coroner was that they were suffocated to death. Dantelli and Bachynsky were dead, Nick was on the run, and now they wouldn’t be able to get to the mystery of Rachel Grant’s hands. For Dava, it was a job well done.

The moment her plane touched down on the tarmac, she checked her messages. The first one was from Eicher. Alexei’s lawyers had filed a motion to have his case thrown out of court and he didn’t sound hopeful.

LaPoint had sent her numerous messages from Oklahoma. He had gotten a search warrant for Kovalenko’s plane that was parked overnight in Dallas—the same airport Nick and Lilly had been traced to. They found him and his pilot tied-up and gagged in the luggage compartment.

Kovalenko didn’t claim to be simply traveling on business, or play the ignorance card, as he normally did when questioned by the feds. According to LaPoint, he concocted a story that Lilly McLaughlin and Nick had come to his restaurant in Denver, seeking him out. He claimed that Lilly shot Bachynsky and forced him at gunpoint to fly them to Dallas. LaPoint was skeptical, to say the least.

Dava wanted to blow off his messages, but it was a crucial time for her—nothing could seem out of the norm. Dava always promptly returned messages. So she called him, planning to play to his ego by agreeing with his theory. But he blindsided her with a new twist.

“We just got word of two airline tickets purchased with a credit card we’ve connected to Rob Bachynsky. The flight originated in Dallas, stopped for a brief layover in Chicago, and should be arriving at JFK any minute. I have confirmed that a couple matching the description of Nick and Lilly is on the flight—it sure as hell isn’t Bachynsky. I think it’s time we had a little talk with our favorite runaways.”

Before signing off, LaPoint provided her their gate information. Nick would be arriving any minute—at the very airport she stood in.
Could this day fall into place any better?
She would have him on a plane heading for a meeting with Viktor by the end of the day.

She tried to reach Eicher, but he was still hung up in court. So she took matters into her own hands, hurrying toward Nick’s gate, flashing her US Attorney’s badge to clear the way. She pictured the look on his face when he saw her waiting for him.

But as she neared the gate, an NYPD captain, flanked by a posse of airport security, approached her. She was surrounded.
Had something gone wrong? Was LaPoint onto her and sent her to the gate to set her up?

“Attorney Lazinski?” the police captain named Ziegler addressed her.

“Yes,” she answered, heart racing. She was carrying a weapon, but she would never get out of the airport alive. And being arrested would be a worse option than dying in a hail of bullets—Viktor and his son couldn’t afford to risk her talking, so it would be a death sentence. Just more painful.

“Could you come with us? We have an important matter we need your assistance on,” Ziegler said, a hint of urgency in his voice. The whole place seemed on edge.

Assistance sounded non-threatening, but they could be deceiving her to avoid a public conflict. “What does this matter pertain to?” she asked, holding her voice steady.

“There has been a murder on an airliner. A pilot. Your office believes it might be connected to a trial you are working and gave us a heads-up that you had just arrived.”

“Why do they think it’s related to my case?”

“If you come with us, we think it will be very clear to you.”

Dava let out a sigh of relief as she trailed the men to the crime scene. She couldn’t risk turning them down, but she had one eye locked on the gate where Nick would be arriving shortly. She needed to make this fast and get back to him.