Skills to Kill

by Brian Drake

  The writer also did not like Cross’s ties with the Central Intelligence Agency, where he’d been Director of Central Intelligence for a number of years. It was an old gripe, but the other side never let it go.

  He cast another glance at Savelev and his younger companion.

  Savelev was dressed for casual business in light-colored clothes and dark shoes, his hair a typical close-cropped military cut. The younger man looked like a Wall Streeter with too much money, an obvious Saville Row suit fit to his trim body, but there were no muscles under the fabric. A Rolex Sea Dweller was on the younger man’s left wrist. They stood and went out. Dane waited thirty seconds, about as long as it took to close the paper and roll it into a tube, and followed. He carried no firearm and had a feeling about Savelev’s phone call. Even a makeshift weapon was better than no weapon at all, so he tucked the newspaper under his left arm.

  He’d been following them for most of the morning, not bothering with any of the typical shadowing tactics meant to conceal. He wanted to get caught. That was the whole point. But throughout the morning, Savelev and his apprentice appeared not to notice him. Until, that is, they entered the coffee shop.

  The two men continued talking, Savelev using his hands a lot. Was he Russian or Italian? What was it with people using their hands to talk with? How hard was it to keep the damn things still? Foolish question. The movement of hands when talking served a unique purpose. It kept some people from going insane.

  Savelev made what looked like a hand signal as they passed the mouth of an alley. Dane stepped closer to the curb, using a chatting couple for cover, and walked by the alley. The two men who emerged made the mistake of looking right at him. Amateurs. They fell in step behind him. They were young like Savelev’s companion but dressed for the street.

  Dane moved to the middle of the sidewalk and clutched the newspaper a little tighter.

  At the next alley, he turned and sprinted a short distance to a Dumpster, stood behind it, and listened to the hurried footsteps of the pair coming after him. He emerged from cover, and the two men stopped short. Steve Dane grinned. He said:

  “Class is in session.”

  One of them dug under his coat. Dane whipped the newspaper up and back down, delivering a stinging double blow to Number One’s face. As the wannabe gunfighter recoiled back, Dane swung a backspin kick into Number Two’s midsection. Two flew back into the wall, dropped. Dane closed in on One, who had his gun out, and smacked his wrist with the paper, then punched him in the jaw. As One fell, the gun clattered to the pavement and Dane kicked it under the Dumpster.

  Number One was out cold; Number Two was groaning. Dane knelt beside Number Two and removed a pistol and tossed it. He checked the man’s pockets and found a cell phone, which he slipped into his own pocket.

  “Wow,” said a new arrival.

  Dane looked behind him and saw a homeless man rising from a shelter further down the alley. “Better than TV!”

  “Glad you liked it.”

  “They got any money?”

  Dane stood. “Go ahead and look. But be done when they wake up.”

  The bum laughed and shuffled toward Dane. “Nuts. I can take ’em.”

  Dane waved and left the alley. So far so good. The phone was a real coup. He had a surefire way of contacting Savelev now.

  Dane found a bus stop and sat on the side of the metal bench that did not have bird crap on it, and scrolled through the names on the cell and clicked on Savelev’s number.

  The Russian answered. His accent wasn’t thick. “Success?”

  “Sorry. Your people need to learn that carrying a gun doesn’t mean they’re invincible.”

  A moment of silence, then Dane heard a car horn and a man yelling something in the background. “I will keep that top of mind. Who are you?”

  “Never mind. I have something you want. Something your boss wants.”

  “Which is?”

  “An M5205.”

  “Nobody has one of those.”

  “Check your sources. One was hijacked a few days ago.”

  “Whoever you are—”

  “You check and call me at this number.”

  Dane turned off the phone. He called McConn on his own phone. Todd had been trailing Dane but would not have hung around waiting to see if Dane needed backup. He knew as well as Dane that the two goons weren’t serious trouble, and had kept trailing the Russian.

  McConn said, “They’re still walking.”

  “Did they spot you?”

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t think Nina’s old boss is very sharp. He’s working with a bunch of nobodies.”

  “I saw the thugs in the alley, yeah.”

  “I guess we’ll see just how dumb he is soon enough.”

  Alek Savelev paced the thick carpet in the den of his top-level apartment in the East 40s. He didn’t wear shoes. The soft carpet felt good on the bottoms of his feet, a major contrast after walking on the sidewalk most of the morning.

  He had a large place. Aside from the den, there was a spacious kitchen and living room, and a patio on the roof that offered an exclusive view of New York City that only he and his guests ever saw.

  He said into the telephone, “I’ve confirmed with three sources that an M5205 was stolen, Angelica. No doubt.”

  “What do they say happened?” said the woman on the other end of the line. The Duchess.

  “There were two trucks carrying about a dozen weapons total. They were delivering to the Special Warfare Center at Fort Bragg. Halfway there an armed group blocked the road, shot out the tires of each truck and took one of the crates.”

  “Any of the drivers shot?”

  “No.”

  “And this guy just happened to find you?”

  “Logos must have—”

  “This is why he’s dead. What do you think, Alek?”

  “It won’t hurt to have a conversation. But with the trouble we’ve had—”

  “I know.”

  Savelev stopped pacing and looked out the window. A group of pigeons lined the edge of the roof. They were always there. He could shoo them away, but they always returned.

  He said nothing more. Nobody disturbed the Duchess when she was thinking.

  “Make the call,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “And Alek? If your protégés are truly going to be useful, they will have to do better.”

  20

  Poppy

  The cell phone rang. It wasn’t a normal ring but an obvious pop tune Dane did not recognize. The caller ID said Alek, so Dane said, “Here we go,” and as Nina and McConn scooted closer he answered.

  “Yes?”

  “When can we talk?” Savelev said.

  “We leave tonight, so it has to be now.”

  “We?”

  “I’m not alone.”

  “Be at my place in one hour.” Savelev rattled off the address. Dane hung up.

  Dane and Nina left the hotel in a cab, with McConn following behind in a second cab, and they pulled up in front of Savelev’s brownstone right on time. McConn’s cab dropped him off half a block away, and he found an alley from which to watch.

  The young buck Dane had seen at the coffee shop greeted him and Nina at the door; he introduced himself as Joe Bradley. Dane decided he could only have been WASP-ier if his last name had been Smith or Jones. He wore the same suit, but the cuffs on his sleeves were rolled back. The Rolex gleamed.

  He led them through the tiled hallway without a pat-down, giving Dane’s briefcase only a cursory glance.

  Joe stopped at the open double doors of a den. Alek Savelev rose from behind his desk. “Thank you, Joe,” he said, and froze when he saw Nina.

  “Nina?”

  “Hello, Alek.”

  “It’s been, my goodness, it’s been ages.”

  “Only a few years, really.”

  “Feels like longer. Are you with him?”

  “I’m the brains of the outfit.”

 
Dane laughed.

  Savelev said, “You always were.” He crossed the room to them and hugged Nina, but her return embrace held no enthusiasm. To Dane he said, “My apologies for earlier.”

  “Forget it. It hurt them more than me.”

  “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Dane. Steve Dane.”

  “Let’s have a drink before we talk business.” He gestured to Dane’s briefcase. “Is that the weapon?” And he laughed .

  Savelev poured vodka for Nina without asking, but he did ask Dane for a request. Dane pointed at a bottle of Crown Royal and asked for a double.

  Drinks in hand, they sat on a couch while Savelev occupied a seat on Dane’s right. The couch and the cushions were wrapped in soft black leather. Dane let his body sink into them and crossed his legs.

  Savelev said, “I’m impressed with your work.”

  “You mean the people I hire?” Dane said.

  “Of course. Maybe you can teach my team a thing or two.”

  “What are you up to these days, Alek?” Nina said.

  “This and that.”

  “Stop. You’re a spymaster surrounded by young people, and Americans, no less. This can’t be an official job. Are you working for yourself now?”

  “Much like you, I am operating on the fringes.”

  “So tell me,” Nina said. “I’d love to hear about it. Maybe we can help each other further.”

  Savelev dropped his eyes and grinned into his glass.

  “He doesn’t want to talk about it.” Dane put his glass on the table before him, lifted the briefcase to his lap and opened the case. He handed Savelev the photos inside, the pictures taken of the M5205 being tested.

  “Ah, you’re one of those,” the Russian said.

  “What?”

  “A dinosaur that refuses to succumb to the digital age. Just like me.”

  Savelev put his drink down and examined the photos. They showed only Dane holding the weapon, shooting it, and the truck on fire in the background. The pics had been snapped after the first test shot.

  “This could be faked,” Savelev said. He cocked an eye at Dane.

  Dane shrugged. “It’s up to you if we go forward.”

  Savelev examined the photos a second time. Dane and Nina remained quiet and uninterested.

  “When can I see it?”

  “It can be here in two days.”

  Savelev handed back the pictures. “Then in two days we will talk again.”

  “Come on, Alek,” Nina said. “We can have a lot of fun in two days. Don’t be a pimple.”

  Savelev laughed. “Always had a way with words. Where are you staying?”

  “The Ritz,” she said.

  “Of course, where else?” To Dane, “She drove accounting nuts. Never could stay in a normal place. It had to be top of the heap.”

  Dane smiled. “That’s why I have to steal so much.”

  “There’s a lot to steal in New York,” Savelev said, “but sometimes the best way to steal is to let people, I don’t know, give things to you.”

  “Let me see if I can figure this out,” Nina said. “You’ve got a bunch of young bucks working with you…”

  Savelev didn’t bat an eye.

  “And New York is full of diplomats…”

  Savelev started to smile.

  “Could what these people give you be information? You’re using these kids to spy on diplomats so you can sell the information?”

  “Not just diplomats,” Savelev said. “There are a lot of industrial secrets to trade, too.”

  “So they collect it and bring it to you, and you determine the value.”

  Savelev stood up. “Want a refill?” Nina handed him her glass. While his back was to them, Nina winked at Dane.

  Savelev brought back Nina’s drink and returned to his seat. “Actually I don’t have much time,” he said. “I have to meet one of my people tonight. Why don’t you two come along? Dinner’s on me. Or, my boss, really. But she won’t mind.”

  “There was a time you didn’t want women anywhere in the field. You told me you’d make an exception. Now you’re working for one?”

  “I’ve matured,” Savelev said. He smiled.

  “Or she pays you enough not to care.”

  Dane said, “Finish your drink, dear.” To Savelev, “We’d be delighted to join you. Thank you for the offer.”

  “I only do business with friends,” the Russian said. “A toast to friendship?”

  They clinked glasses.

  Poppy August painted her lips red to match her hair and flashed a white smile at the image in the glass. Her curled hair already looked great; its color, length and sheen never failed to attract the male attention she wanted, though it also brought plenty of attention she didn’t want from guys she’d never in a million years consider.

  She had dressed to kill tonight. Black boots, black stockings, a tight strapless cocktail dress that showed off her carefully maintained curves. The dress was cut low enough to be tantalizing but not so low as to reveal any major image of the twins. She wasn’t a tart, after all. Con artist, thief, yes, but never a whore, despite the premium she could have charged. Why did men go so bonkers over redheads, anyway?

  She’d been working for Savelev for the past year after spending more years than she cared to remember working on her own. Meeting him had been a lucky break. Fate smiling at her and all that. She’d hit a dry spell as far as cons went, and a partner she’d made some good money with had checked into the nuthouse. While waiting for a new thing to turn up, she’d taken to picking pockets in Times Square. One night she picked Savelev’s pocket, only he caught her, using such a powerful vice grip on her wrist that she actually cried out. But instead of calling the cops, he’d bought her coffee and interviewed her. She told him a little about her life. He had charm, and displayed the signs of a kindred spirit. It took a con artist to know a con artist. At the end of their chat, Savelev said: “Join me and you can do more than make money. You can change the course of the world.”

  Well, there was no way to refuse a line like that!

  She grabbed her coat and purse, locked the apartment and walked down the hall.

  A stop-and-go cab ride took her to The Tipsy Cow, a popular new nightspot. She paid the fare, tipping with only a smile, and swished inside like she owned the place. A wall of music and noise and stuffy air struck her like a fierce wind; she powered through. Blasting past the greeter with another smile, Poppy paused when she saw Savelev at a corner table with a man and a woman she did not recognize. Savelev stood, waved her over. She took the chair Savelev offered.

  “Hi,” she said to the new pair. No smile this time.

  Savelev said, “This is a great opportunity for you, my dear. May I present Mr. Steve Dane and Miss Nina Talikova.”

  Poppy finally smiled at Dane and he held her eyes, but her smile faded fast. He did not react to her. No flush up his neck or any indication that she had any effect on him. The other woman, maybe ten years older than her and with the soft lines to prove it, wore a disapproving look. The kind Mother always had even though she hadn’t seen the witch since she was fifteen.

  Savelev said, “Nina and I worked together in Moscow. She is what you can be.”

  Old and useless? “Oh,” Poppy said.

  The other woman winked. Poppy dropped her eyes to the table.

  “When does your connection show up?” Savelev said.

  Poppy turned her attention to her mentor’s approving eyes. “Any minute,” she said. “Gotta run,” and she scooted from the table and relocated to the bar, where she ordered an Appletini, found an empty stool, and waited for her contact.

  Nina leaned across the table to Savelev. “That girl is reckless.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She has that look in her eyes, Alek. She’s not in this for you or your money. She likes the kicks.”

  “If Poppy getting kicks helps me and my employer, that is not a bad thing.”

  �
��She’ll get somebody killed before this is over,” Nina said. “Or get killed herself.”

  “Steve? Your thoughts?”

  Dane chewed some ice, swallowed. “I could use another drink,” he said. What he didn’t say was that he wanted to see what Poppy’s contact was peddling, and fast. This was the first hint that the Duchess had more in mind than selling weapons. Their waitress returned, and Dane bought the next round; his eyes were never far from Poppy August.

  Poppy drank some of her Appletini, scanning the crowd, blowing off two Wall Streeters who hit on her. When she saw her contact, Luke, cut through the crowd, she waved at him, bracelets tinkling like wind chimes, not that anybody could hear them over the crowd noise. He wasn’t in a suit like the first time they’d met; he wore a blue button-down shirt and black slacks and leather shoes this time. The combo combined with his surfer haircut made him adorable. He hadn’t worn his hair that way the first time they met, either.

  She smiled at him, said, “Hey, cutie,” and kissed his cheek. His body stiffened, and she frowned.

  “What the hell, baby?”

  He grabbed her wrists, but there was no warmth in his hands. “We gotta get out of here. I’m being followed.”

  “You are?”

  “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Luke, relax, I got people all over. You think I’m doing this by myself? Come and dance first.” She pulled him toward the floor.