“Lobachevsky would be proud,” Black said quietly to himself. “Here’s to you, big man. The world will miss you.”
Black took a deep breath as tears welled up in the corner of his eyes. He’d been so focused on escaping the FSB that he’d pushed aside the fact that one of his friends was dead, someone who Black appreciated more than just as a colleague.
Kozlov stirred and Black dried his eyes. He stood as Kozlov sat bolt upright.
“How long was I out for?” Kozlov asked.
“Almost two hours.”
Kozlov stretched and then stood. He sauntered over to the window and noticed that darkness was drawing near.
“We’ll get you some food soon,” Black said. “And then we’re getting the hell out of here.”
The two men inspected the IDs and then discussed their plan for getting to St. Petersburg to meet with the woman Kozlov insisted knew the whereabouts of DarkNite. Once they settled all the details, the sky was pitch black. The streets were now illuminated only by automobile headlights and pale street lamps leaning over the sidewalk.
“You still hungry?” Black asked.
“How do you say it in your country? Hungry enough to eat a horse?”
Black chuckled. Kozlov’s command of American idioms was impressive, especially since he seemed to use them at the proper time.
“That’s how we say it,” Black said.
The two men donned disguises and headed to the lobby in search of dinner. Black wore a stocking cap with glasses and a jet black wig that was about shoulder length. Kozlov wore a coat and tie and carried a leather briefcase. He also wore a goatee, altering his appearance considerably.
“Are you sure this is sufficient?” Kozlov asked.
“It should be,” Black said. “Just pray I’m not wrong.”
They descended to the lobby in the elevator and quickly grabbed a table in the hotel restaurant. After an uneventful meal, they were walking through the lobby when Black noticed a small crowd of men gathered near one of the large televisions. He peered over their heads to see what had arrested their attention.
When he watched the news footage of Boris Lobachevsky’s office in total disarray, Black had to restrain himself from gasping. But when he saw the images of his friend dead in his chair, Black decided he’d seen enough.
“What is it?” Kozlov asked.
“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”
Black tried to act casual as he ambled toward the elevators. However, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a concierge watching him before picking up the phone and dialing a number. Throughout the man’s conversation, he never lost eye contact with Black.
“When we get back to the room, we’re grabbing all our stuff and getting the hell out of here,” Black said in a hushed tone to Kozlov. “You understand me?”
“What did you see?”
“It’s what I'm seeing right now that’s making me the most nervous.”
When Black entered the elevator, he spun around and noticed the man on the phone still staring at him and speaking. They rode up without saying a word. But when they reached their floor, they darted down the hallway and started to gather up everything they had with them.
“What did you see?” Kozlov said. “Please tell me what’s making you so anxious right now.”
“Only one of us at a time needs to be anxious,” Black said, collecting all the materials he’d taken from Lobachevsky’s office. “And it’s my turn.”
Kozlov tossed everything else he had into his bag and announced that he was ready to leave.
Black zipped up his backpack and jumped to his feet. “In that case, let’s go.”
As Black strode toward the door, he heard a sound that made him freeze. A lump formed in his throat before he took a deep breath and removed his weapon from the back of his belt.
Someone was knocking on the door.
“Who is it?” Kozlov whispered.
Black shrugged before inching up to the door and peering through the peephole.
It was a man dressed in a suit and tie, the same man he’d seen in the alleyway earlier that day.
Black placed his gun behind his back and cursed under his breath.
CHAPTER 12
Montgomery, Alabama
J.D. BLUNT LUMBERED up the mound of dirt on the construction site, carrying an envelope in one hand and tightening his hard hat with the other. Behind him, the area hummed with activity. Machines beeped and roared, men shouted instructions at one another, trucks kicked up dust as they transported supplies from one location to another. And overlooking it all was Earl Cunningham, like a king overseeing his kingdom.
Cunningham kept his gaze fixed on the scene before him, avoiding eye contact with Blunt as he approached. The developer worked over a plug of chewing tobacco, a hard scowl across his face.
“What’s this gonna be?” Blunt asked as he neared Cunningham.
Cunningham shot a quick glance at his visitor. “Luxury living for those who can afford it.”
Blunt chuckled. “High rent condos in Montgomery? I definitely got into the wrong business.”
“Politics is always the wrong choice if you want to keep your soul,” Cunningham said, his eyes fixed once again on the site.
Blunt’s eyes widened. “So, you know who I am?”
“Spotting thieving politicians is a special talent I possess.”
“Well, perhaps your radar is malfunctioning because I was never a thieving politician and am no longer in politics.”
Cunningham grunted. “Once a politician, always a politician. Now, what can I do you for, Senator Blunt?”
“Like I said, I’m no longer a senator. You can call me J.D.”
“Like I said, what can I do you for, Senator Blunt? I’m a busy man and I like to cut to the chase.”
For a fleeting moment, Blunt wondered if he could hit the burly developer hard enough to make him tumble down the mound of dirt. He let the thought pass without acting on it and decided to keep the visit as brief as possible.
“I believe you’re familiar with Congresswoman Dixon, are you not?” Blunt asked.
Cunningham nodded. “I guess you could say we’re more than just casual acquaintances.”
“That might be an understatement, given your past record of donations to her campaign and how you’ve hosted multiple fundraiser dinners for her.”
“Get to the point, Senator.”
Blunt opened the envelope and slid out a copy of Dixon’s blackmail pictures, which had black bars placed over the naughty bits.
“Hey, Senator, I’m a married man and this is a family-friendly work environment,” Cunningham said as he glanced at the photos. “What are you trying to do here?”
“I’m trying to find out who’s blackmailing Congresswoman Dixon, who happens to be a good friend of mine,” Blunt said.
“I would never stoop so low as to hire a private investigator to capture pictures like that in an effort to strong-arm someone.”
Blunt furrowed his brow. “Really? Is that why you confessed to doing that exact thing to Ron Villanueva when you were trying to acquire some property in Birmingham?”
Cunningham shrugged. “That was a long time ago. I’m a changed man.”
“A leopard never changes its spots.”
“I resent that remark,” Cunningham said before spewing a stream of tobacco out of his mouth that landed just inches away from Blunt’s shoes.
“It’d be almost impossible to gobble up half of Alabama’s prime real estate without utilizing some underhanded tactics. So, forgive me for calling it like I see it.”
“It’s not so hard when you have financial backing, Senator. Everybody likes money, especially all you money-grubbing thieves in Washington.”
“Fine,” Blunt said. “Suppose I take your word for it. Do you know anyone who might have reason to blackmail Congresswoman Dixon?”
“Hell if I know. She’s got a special knack for making enemies out of people. You should ask her.
”
“I did,” Blunt said. “That’s why I’m here.”
Cunningham glared at Blunt before turning and spitting. A wry grin leaked across the developer’s face. “Well, Sherlock, if I did send them, I sure wouldn’t tell you. But I can promise you that I had nothing to do with catching her in a compromising situation and trying to leverage that for financial gain.”
“Who said anything about catching her? These images were Photoshopped.”
Cunningham took the photos out of Blunt’s hand and studied them more closely. “Nah, she’s pulling a fast one on you. There’s nothing Photoshopped about these pictures.”
“What makes you say that?” Blunt asked.
“There is no doubt that’s her,” Cunningham said with a wink. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
Blunt took the images from Cunningham and returned them to the envelope. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Cunningham.”
Cunningham chuckled. “I’m glad I could be of some service to you.”
“Who said you were?” Blunt asked before turning and walking down the mound of dirt.
Blunt heard Cunningham shout something to a worker. The developer had likely already forgotten the conversation. But Blunt fumed over the exchange.
He’d offered to help Dixon, who hadn’t been completely honest with him about her dealings with Cunningham. Had they been lovers at some point? Blunt couldn’t escape the uneasy feeling that Dixon was lying to him. At best, she’d left out some details that would’ve been helpful for him to know in crafting his line of questioning.
And if Cunningham was right about the photos, Blunt would be all the more furious.
He still had plenty of questions—and he was going to get them answered one way or another.
CHAPTER 13
Kazan, Russia
BLACK SCANNED THE ROOM, his eyes searching for a way out. He hustled over to the window and inspected it. After a few seconds, he pushed up on the glass, but it didn’t budge. Then he stuck his head in the bathroom, searching for anything that might give him an advantage when it came to surprising the FSB agent standing in the hallway.
Nothing.
“Come on, Agent Black,” the man said. “I know you’re in there. Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”
“What’s going on?” Kozlov asked. “Is it FSB?”
Black nodded.
Fear swept over Kozlov’s face. “They will kill me too just for being with you.”
“Hide in the closet,” Black said as he rummaged through his backpack and then produced a roll of duct tape. “Use this to bind and gag yourself. By the time they find you, you can claim that you were with me unwillingly and—”
“This is your last chance, Agent Black, or you’re about to be swarmed upon by armed FSB agents. I just want to talk.”
“Go,” Black said. “It’s your best chance.”
“What are you going to do?” Kozlov asked.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably be dead in a few minutes anyway. Just get in the closet now.”
Black ushered a bewildered Kozlov toward the closet and shut the door.
“I’m giving you to the count of three,” the agent shouted from the hall. “One, two—”
Black opened the door with his hands raised in the air. He’d realized there was no chance he could shoot his way out of the situation, especially with FSB agents crawling all over Kazan. The best way to get a most unpleasant stay in Lefortovo—if there even was any other type—was to murder a Russian agent. If Black played nice, he might get some leniency, as slight as it might be.
“Come in,” he said, nodding at the agent, who was in the hallway alone.
“Agent Black, it’s nice to finally meet you,” the Russian said. “I’m Agent Petrov. You probably don’t remember me, but I remember you.”
“We’ve met then?” Black asked, lines creasing his forehead.
“Yes, perhaps you will remember the occasion not that long ago on the Kamchatka Peninsula?”
“Kamchatka,” Black said, shaking his head. “Remind me where that is? Is it in the north of the Kara Sea?”
“Don’t be so coy. I know you remember, but I doubt you have any idea the pain and destruction you caused to my life.”
“Since this is our first meeting, I’d have to say you’re right,” Black said with a shrug. “I have no idea who you are or what I could’ve possibly done to you.”
“I was the general over prison security that night when you stormed the prison and set off chaos,” Petrov said as he dug out a cigarette and ignited it. “You escaped with the American pilot, but others managed to make it out as well. A total of eight prisoners, all of whom had committed unimaginable crimes against our country, freed in an instant.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you. If you promise not to illegally imprison our soldiers ever again, I will vow never to initiate a riot that leads to a prison break. How’s that?”
Petrov smiled. “I like you, Agent Black. Even in the face of great danger, you stand as a principled man. But I must say that I’m not mad at you. I was desperate to get out of that assignment, not to mention marriage. And when military leaders chose me as their scapegoat to avoid Putin’s wrath, I got my wish. No more job. No more marriage. Fortunately, I had a friend who was willing to bring me on as an agent with the FSB.”
“And now you have a chance at revenge, don’t you?” Black quipped. “Funny how things work out that way.”
“There’s nothing funny about it,” Petrov said. “From the moment I joined the FSB, I made it clear under no uncertain terms that I wanted to catch the great Agent Black and make him pay for what he did to me and to this country. But in no way do I want either my marriage or my job back.”
“Looks like you got what you wanted,” Black said.
“I’m only getting started, Agent Black.”
Petrov knelt and peeked beneath the bed skirt. He stood again and then trained his weapon in front of him as he opened the closet door. Kozlov, bound and gagged with duct tape, threw his hands in the air and mumbled something.
“What is this?” Petrov asked as he shot a sideways glance at Black. “While I applaud the effort, this isn’t fooling anyone.”
“Sergei is my prisoner,” Black said.
“No, he’s not,” Petrov said. “We know the two of you are working together. But I do like your creativity.”
Petrov yanked Kozlov to his feet and ripped the piece of tape off his mouth.
“Now, what I should do is either shoot you as a spy and a traitor,” Petrov said. “I’d be awarded medals of commendation for my bravery in defense of my country. But that’s, how do you say, low-hanging fruit?”
“What do you want?” Black asked.
Petrov smiled as he tossed a pair of handcuffs each to Black and Kozlov. “I want you to put those on and come with me.”
Black complied while scanning the room for an opportunity to turn the tables on the Russian. But every idea Black came up with, he realized the likely outcome was a bullet in his head. He secured the cuffs and stood, awaiting further instructions from Petrov, who found Black’s gun lying on the floor underneath the bed.
“You won’t be needing this again,” Petrov said as he shoved the weapon into the back of his pants.
Black shook his head, realizing his mission—and his life—was about to be over.
Shields, I sure hope you’re listening.
CHAPTER 14
Washington, D.C.
J.D. BLUNT CRAMMED a bagel into his mouth before slinging his golf clubs onto the back of his cart. He enjoyed his monthly outing with Louisiana senator Bernard Fontenot. Both men were competitive on the course and had developed a friendly rivalry over the years.
Fontenot inspected Blunt’s attire, which consisted of a pair of khaki pants and an untucked polo shirt.
“Between that getup and the cream cheese still on your face, you look more like a caddy than a serious threat to my game,�
� Fontenot said. “You wouldn’t last two minutes dressed like that in the bayou.”
Blunt wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then grunted. “Good thing we’re in Washington then. Besides, you think I give a damn what people think about my golfing outfit either here or in the bayou? I’m just happy to be on the course and swinging the right end of the club.”
“You’re in a fun mood today,” Fontenot said. “Interested in doubling our wager?”
“Are you trying to take advantage of me? As you’ll recall, I play better when I’m angry.”
“Oh, so you’re angry? About what?”
“We could play three rounds before I finish telling you all the things that have me heated right now,” Blunt said. “Why don’t we tee off before I start to tell you what’s stickin’ in my craw these days?”
“Of course,” Fontenot said with a grin. “Age before beauty.”
Blunt stopped and shook a finger at Fontenot. “You leave the cart girls alone today. I’ve got a niece who drives the drink cart at a country club, and she’s told me about some awful things men have said to her.”
“You know I’m always a perfect gentleman, J.D. There’s no need to tell me that.”
“I’m not sure which word you used to describe yourself makes me laugh harder—perfect or gentleman?”
“I won’t be so gentle on the course against you today.”
Blunt chuckled and was about to deliver his own zinger when he heard someone shouting his name. He groaned when he looked up to see Brady Hawk hustling toward him.
“What is it, Hawk?” Blunt asked, shaking his head. “You know this is my sanctuary, the one chance I get every month to escape all the madness that is Washington, and here you are.”
“I’m truly sorry, sir,” Hawk said. “I couldn’t reach you and—”
“That's because my phone’s turned off, which should make you realize I don’t want to be found.”
“I understand, but I wanted to give you a heads up about something before you spoke to the president again.”
Blunt looked at Fontenot. “If you’ll excuse me, Bernard, I have to take care of this, but I’ll be right back.”
Power Play (Titus Black Thriller series Book 7) Page 7
