The Hidden Vector: A Spy Thriller

by Mathew Snyder

  He saw headlights appear at the curve of the ramp. Their light arced across the concrete ceiling as a car approached. An older model Range Rover eased onto the floor like a green-skinned reptile. He made out three figures in the glare of another pair of headlights that followed. Another Range Rover, darker than the first, followed closely behind. He couldn’t see how many were inside the second vehicle. He saw no sign of a third vehicle at all.

  He signaled the cars with a flash of his headlights, and they veered toward his parking lot row. The lead SUV pulled close to his Volkswagen’s front bumper and parked crosswise a foot away, blocking his path forward. The other car park behind the first. He glanced to his rearview mirror to gauge an escape. It would take time to shift gear and steer out of the lane.

  He saw them more clearly now through the tinted windows. There were five in all, their faces young and uneasy. The three in the lead vehicle exited the far side doors and he saw the tops of their dark-haired heads wagging as they strutted around the vehicle. The others in the second Range Rover stayed put and watched. He stretched his neck and opened his door as a trio of them stepped between the Range Rovers toward him.

  “Which one of you is Cosmin?” he asked.

  “Zmeu,” said the one in the middle. He wore a leather jacket and a stylish shirt splattered like graffiti and split at the neck, revealing his hairless chest. While his companion lit a cigarette, Cosmin smiled haughtily and revealed the crooked teeth Ethan knew from the photo. He looked older. No, not older. More tired, maybe. Angrier.

  “Is that how you say it? I wondered. I’m Ryan Sawyer.”

  With a flick of his fingers he offered a faded business card. Cosmin looked at the card and scowled before he took it and shoved it in his jacket pocket. He stared at Ethan with eyes almost black.

  “Listen, fellas, I hear you can help me out,” he said.

  “Is that what you heard? I think maybe you hear many things about me,” Cosmin said. “I’m not thinking you heard everything right.”

  Cosmin’s words bounced as he spoke in a heavy accent. Ethan knew it was all show and swagger. Cosmin and his friends performed for an absent audience. These scratchy-faced upstarts were too young for the clothes and the Land Rover. Someone supplied them, and that someone led to Scorpio.

  “Zmeu, I understand you have some very special merchandise. Not my thing, normally. I do electronics. iPads, cell phones, TVs. You know, that kind of thing. But I have an arrangement with a buyer who wants to make a trade.”

  “What kind of trade?”

  “My buyer wants to be discreet, right? Also not my thing, usually. But this is the kind of deal that works in my favor. Our favor. I get him this equipment, he gives me merchandise I can sell easy, and we split the cash.”

  “Sounds like complicated deal,” Cosmin said. His lip curled a little.

  “Well, like I said. It’s not how I prefer to do business. But it’s nothing illegal, right? Just a barter, and we sell the trade. You know how it is. Maybe there is someone else I can talk to if—”

  “No, you talk to me. Only me.” Cosmin’s snarl transformed into a smile.

  “All right, so we’re talking. What now?”

  “Who can say? I’m not sure I like you. When I don’t like you so much, we have a problem. If I like you, we both very happy. We make lots of money.”

  Ethan glanced at the stooge to his right. The dour-faced man said nothing while the other lackey smoked and sneered along with Zmeu. No, the quiet one, he thought. That was the immediate threat. Dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes. One arm hung at his side where his thumb and fingers fidgeted. He hid the other hand in his jacket pocket. Ethan had to make the first move. He gambled that crazy wouldn’t get lost in the translation. Ethan spread a wild-eyed smile on his face and stepped toward the man on the right.

  “I like your style, Zmeu. This guy, though? What’s your problem, asshole? What are you looking at?”

  He approached with his accusing finger extended at the quiet one. The man’s eyes widened, and he raised up his arm to stave off Ethan’s approach. Ethan pressed on steadily until the man leaned back on the Range Rover. Ethan moved slowly. Anything sudden would erupt into violence he couldn’t handle. The gamble paid off only if he kept the man on his heels, uncertain what to do in the negotiation.

  He raised his voice. “Get your hand out of your pocket, man. I don’t work like this.”

  He grabbed the man’s arm. From behind, Cosmin and the other man yanked on his shoulders shouting in Romanian. A car door behind him opened. He glanced down and saw the man’s hand emerge from the pocket as it let go of a black handled knife. The other two pulled him back while he fumed and stared at the anxious man.

  “Is okay, Mr. Sawyer. Everyone is cool,” Cosmin shouted. “Is cool. Is okay.”

  He let go of Ethan and waved off his comrades. Cosmin cursed at them as they cowed back like snarling dogs. He straightened his jacket and closed his eyes while his hands ran a practiced course through his greasy dark hair. The smug grin returned before he opened his eyes.

  “Maybe I do like you, Mr. Ryan Sawyer. You are a very crazy man. You have balls. I like this.”

  Ethan panted. He spread his hands and backed away from Cosmin where he could see all of them. He could push no further, but he had set them off kilter just enough to gain some leverage for himself.

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. I don’t need your friends here to lose their shit. You came with a better recommendation than all this tough-guy bullshit.”

  “Not everyone is like you. We have to be very careful men. You understand?”

  “I wouldn’t have made it this far in my line of work if I didn’t.”

  Cosmin laughed. “I think I do like you, Mr. Sawyer. Please, we go for a ride now? We talk your line of work, and make deal. Good?” He gestured at the Range Rover.

  Ethan knew they would want this. Most of the scenarios he worked through in his head involved him getting into their vehicle. They wanted him to ride along where they could control him. Maybe take him to an isolated place from which he would never return. If he stayed, any pretense of a deal with Cosmin was off, and with it any thin chance they had of finding Kamran Khorasani vanished. He wondered if Cosmin had any idea what was really going on. These men were not his assassins. He didn’t doubt that they could kill him and make a mess of it. They could have done it already, but they had other instructions. Going with them meant meeting his real enemy. Someone who knew the real stakes. He had to make the choice.

  “Let me just grab my phone,” he said. He turned toward the Volkswagen. Things would work out if he could signal the team.

  “No phone,” said the one with the knife. He slid around Ethan to block his way, sliding his hand into his jacket pocket. He nudged Ethan toward the Range Rover.

  They hadn’t patted him down yet. He could explain away the gun. But if they saw the radio in the car, they wouldn’t just vanish. They’d leave him bleeding on the concrete beside his car after all. He had to leave the radio behind. Ahead of him, Cosmin revealed his crooked toothed grin again and opened the left side door.

  “After you, my friend,” Cosmin said.

  Ethan climbed into the Range Rover and tugged tight at the hem of his jacket to conceal the pistol at his back. If Cosmin noticed, he showed no sign of it. They left the top floor of the garage and descended the corkscrew ramp.

  “So, Zmeu, what kind of inventory do you have? My buyer has some specific needs.”

  “We talk business later, I am thinking,” Cosmin said. All signs of amusement had left him. He glanced over his shoulder at the Range Rover trailing them.

  Ethan shrugged and waited until the next garage floor to glance back as they spiraled down. The Range Rover trailed close. Behind it he saw a third car that straggled farther behind. He wasn’t sure if it was the third car Wade signaled. It could be anyone. In the front seat, Cosmin’s friends mumbled to each other in uneasy tones. The one with the knife had spiral of tat
toos that crept up his neckline like a ring of spider’s legs. The driver seemed more anxious, answering the other in short whispers while the cigarette smoldered between fingers that clutched the wheel.

  They passed the garage gate and accelerated out into the shaded street where Ethan knew that Russell waited in his car. He scanned the back street and saw no sign of Russell. He couldn’t make out any shape in the car, which sat still with no order from him to pursue. Ethan had to get their attention or the mission would be over before it began. He could signal Wade who roamed the street just ahead.

  He coughed, then coughed again while waving his hand in front of his mouth to dismiss the cigarette smoke. He rubbed his eyes, then patted the headrest in front of him.

  “Hey, man, can you put that cigarette out for now? Don’t you guys know the dangers of second-hand smoke? Jesus.”

  The driver glared at him in the rearview mirror. “Fuck you.”

  Ethan rolled the window down halfway and turned to the opening for fresh air. They were about to make the first turn near the electric rail tracks. Wade should be there, and for once he was glad his friend would be easy to spot. He had to get his attention. Where was he, damn it? He had to recognize the three vehicles from earlier.

  They rounded the corner when he saw Wade leaning against a wall watching a crowd of commuters exit a glossy white tram. He stood alert, and Ethan could see his eyes fix on the Range Rovers. Ethan couldn’t signal, but he knew Wade had spotted him just before the tram car blocked his view. Wade would set everyone in motion. Tereza’s car was just ahead on the crossing boulevard.

  Ethan looked away from the window. Then he saw the gun. Cosmin pointed a CZ automatic at his rib cage. The tiny pistol barely fit his spindly hands. One finger curled around the trigger.

  “Merge!” Cosmin said. Drive.

  The vehicle lurched forward. Ethan fell back into his seat. He watched Cosmin’s gun and how awkwardly it fit in his hand. Any sudden move, any bump and Cosmin’s crooked finger would send a shot into his gut. Reaching for his own weapon might have the same deadly result. He had to play along and give the operation a chance to work.

  He held up his hands and focused back on Cosmin’s face, trying to read the man’s intentions.

  “What the hell is this, Zmeu? This isn’t how I treat my friends.”

  The man in the front answered instead. This time he revealed the knife and pointed it at Ethan.

  “Mânca-mi-ai pula.”

  “Shut up,” Cosmin said to the tattooed man. He turned to Ethan. “As for friends, we will see. We go for a ride to a place and see about deal. Maybe no one follows us, yes?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  Cosmin turned to look out the rear window. Ethan took the moment to turn himself and watch for Tereza’s Renault. They were headed west, just past her position. As the second Range Rover passed, he saw her veer into traffic. Cosmin cursed and shouted at the driver again.

  They turned north into Old Town, weaving in and out of the morning traffic. They wove left, then right around smaller cars, perilously close to a line of steel posts along the roadside. The driver sped through the thoroughfare using the wide lanes to steer around yellow taxis. Outside, the old buildings blurred by. The other Range Rover swerved behind them. For a moment, Ethan caught sight of the Renault’s grill maneuvering around the slower traffic. Tereza followed, but she’d need help.

  They blew past a wide side street where a car stopped short of clipping Cosmin’s passenger door. A horn blared. He jerked instinctively and cursed as it blew past. Ethan ignored the noise and focused his eyes on the gun.

  Ahead the road broadened into a wide roundabout. They careened around the flowered circle at the center when the Range Rover struck a car to the right. The side mirror collapsed inward and the Romanians again shouted and cursed one another over the bleating of car horns. The driver kept his speed as they barreled along the main roadway. Cosmin glanced behind them repeatedly, snapping directions at the driver who huffed out smoke as he drove.

  Without a glance, the driver swerved left onto a side street. Ethan looked to his window where a black sedan overtook the trailing Range Rover. He recognized Russell’s car. It veered hard left with them, swerving sharply to cut off the lead Range Rover. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, but he found relief in the faces of Wade and Russell trailing.

  They turned right again quickly. Where the hell is Tereza? They were blown. He dropped his left hand onto his thigh and slowly began reaching behind him for the Glock. They were running out of options.

  The side street narrowed, crowded by buildings on both sides. Pedestrians leapt away from the roadside as Russell’s car forced the Range Rover to the road’s edge. Russell surged alongside the Range Rover as they sped on north. The passenger window opened, and Wade leveled a black barreled carbine at the Ranger Rover’s rear tire. With another command from Cosmin, the Range Rover slammed into the sedan. Ethan felt the collision in his teeth. Cosmin pressed up against him. He grunted. Ethan reached for Cosmin’s pistol.

  “Nenorocitule!”

  Cosmin pulled back, but Ethan had hold of the gun. He twisted forward, wrenching Cosmin’s finger in the trigger guard. Cosmin howled while Ethan pressed harder, trying to keep the barrel pointed toward the car door. Cosmin rolled his arm and left the gun in Ethan’s hand. It felt light in his hand. Too light—it was an empty bluff. Cosmin punched him twice in the face. He felt a wave of pain next to his ear and motes of light danced in his eyelids. Dazed, he focused again on the glinting tip of the knife from the man in the front seat.

  “Don’t fucking move again or I stab you,” the tattooed man said.

  The vehicle lurched again as Russell’s car ground against them. Ethan’s head snapped to the side from the force of it. In his ringing ears he heard Cosmin shouting again as though from far away. The driver slammed on the brakes. Russell’s car flew past, and he lost sight of Wade. They swerved hard right down an alley barely wide enough for the Range Rover. A crackle of sparks popped up by his window. The other side mirror buckled and fell to the asphalt behind them.

  The turn put them back on to the main thoroughfare. Ethan let go of the pistol, and it fell to the floor mat where Cosmin retrieved it and put it back into his pocket. He fumed at Ethan, muttering under his breath with his hands still balled into bony fists.

  “You really need bullets to have the whole bad guy with a gun thing work for you,” Ethan said. He rubbed his sore jaw.

  The knife waved again in his face from the front seat.

  “Not for mine.”

  The driver looked at the street to his right as he cruised down the E60, weaving between the broad lanes and the compact cars that seemed to crawl around them. Pedestrians gawked at their speeding vehicle that looked like it had been clawed and chewed by a rabid bear.

  “Lose them. Turn here. We go another way,” Cosmin said.

  Ethan took a last look down the boulevard for any sign of his team. Hope faded. No sign of Tereza’s Renault trailed. Russell had missed the turn. For the moment, the entire team had lost track of him. Russell and Wade could catch up. The Range Rover would be hard to miss now.

  They entered a large plaza, an expanse of blacktop as wide as an entire block where seven arteries of the northern side of the city entered in a complicated jumble of curves and lanes. The driver barreled through halted traffic and veered northwest on a narrower street surrounded by a city park. Behind them, Cosmin caught sight of Russell’s sedan still another block from entering the plaza.

  “Did they see us?” Cosmin said, more to himself than his comrades in front. “Go, go. Băga-mi-aş pula.”

  They passed through the park and stately streets where the trees blurred by in a rush of brown and green. Few cars blocked their way, and they neared an expo grounds where trucks and bright tarps blanketed a vast open market lot.

  “Acolo este,” the driver said. There he is.

  He slowed the Range Rover past the expo gro
unds and pulled under a wide rail overpass where a white van had parked under the concrete bridge. A man awaited them near the van. He signaled at them to stop far from his vehicle, then motioned them to back up several yards. The driver complied and then let the engine idle as the others argued with one another in their staccato Romanian.

  Ethan squinted at the man at the van who stood maybe thirty yards away waiting for them to approach. He wore wiry glasses that shaded his eyes and a dull gray jumpsuit. He was thin, his face pale and sunken. He was no delivery man. Something about the way he moved betrayed him. He motioned with one hand in quick motions, his hand darting toward the Range Rover impatiently. The other hand he kept concealed behind his back for some other purpose.

  Cosmin shoved Ethan from the vehicle. Ethan stood on the pavement looking over the shoulder of the driver at the man in coveralls. His neck tingled. His instincts alive with the realization that this was no go between. This was the assassin he’d feared, which meant he was also the link to Scorpio. He could stall until Russell and Wade caught up with them. Cosmin and his friends weren’t armed, but the man ahead of him definitely was. If anything happened, Ethan would have to shoot the pale man first.

  “We brought him,” Cosmin said. “As agreed, yes?”

  The pale man spoke then, his accent thick. Not quite Russian, Ethan thought. Not Ukrainian. There was a subtlety to it he couldn’t identify.

  “As agreed. Have you checked him?”

  The three men eyed one another like guilty schoolboys, and the pale man spit on the ground, disgusted. He waved them closer. They crowded around Ethan then and shoved him while they kept a wary eye on his hands.

  Ethan stood before the pale man, just paces apart. His head had been shaved recently, and the wiry, bleached stubble stood on end. He had a sallow face, though he wasn’t quite sickly. Ethan saw the cords of wiry muscle at his neck and the alert pinpoints of his dark eyes beneath the tinted glasses. He recognized him then, a face he had seen so many times since Georgia. He stared at the sixth man from the hijacking. Seda Alaskhanova’s lover.