Trojan
Page 6
The men looked up, startled, and, for a second, they hesitated.
Then the inmates came around the corner, and the full force of their shouts hit the guards.
The two men went wide-eyed, and one quickly produced a key and swung the gate open.
Vlad and Gil sprinted through, not attempting to slow until they were halfway down the hall.
When they looked back, the two guards had pulled the gate shut and had their batons out, smashing hands that reached through the bars and yelling at inmates to get back.
“We need to report in,” Gil yelled down the hallway. “Lost our radios back there.”
“Go,” one of the men said. “Cameras are down. Captain will want a report on how it looks in there.”
Gil gave the man a thumbs up, then they headed away.
“I can’t believe that worked,” Vlad muttered.
Gil smiled, still trying to catch his breath.
“It’s a straight shot to the parking lot now,” he said. “Internal door locks will be disabled in this section. They figure everyone here is a guard. And then we need some new clothes.”
Bradley rolled over, fumbling for his phone on the nightstand. He knocked over his watch charger and stopped short of the water glass.
He managed to grab the phone before it stopped ringing. He squinted to protect his eyes against the bright screen, then frowned as he recognized the number.
Dana groaned and rolled over next to him.
“Turn that thing off,” she mumbled.
“It’s Gettis,” he said.
He pressed accept.
“Captain?”
“Need you here,” Gettis said. “Kloshov escaped.”
Chapter Eleven
Even at six am, Full Moon Coffee was slammed. Haley had arrived thirty minutes before with her laptop and barely managed to get a small table near the back. Dana had been lucky enough to get there as someone was leaving, but the line was already up to the door, and she doubted it would get any shorter before they left. Jazz music drifted through the shop, and sunlight poured in through large windows along the three exterior walls that formed a U around the counter.
Haley took another sip of her coffee, watching the information on the screen scroll past in a flurry.
“You sure this is the place?” Dana asked from her perch by the pickup counter, a Bluetooth in her ear.
“Closest Full Moon to his office,” Haley replied. “Unless he’s screwing a barista at another location too, he should be here.”
Haley’s ears were assaulted by the roar of a sports car, and she saw a bright-red Porsche pull into a parking space.
“Score one for Haley,” Dana muttered.
Haley smiled and tapped a few keys.
“I’m amping up the broadcast,” she said. “Here we go . . .”
The smell of roasted coffee beans was replaced by ozone, the windows darkened, and the lights changed from the warm orange to a muted blue. Jazz music drifted through the air, but instead of speakers, it came from four-piece band standing on the bar.
Two baristas stood behind the marble counter. One stood at the register and took orders, passing them along to the other who was making drinks before handing them back to the girl at the register, who then gave it to the customers.
Both wore the blue aprons of their real-world counterparts, and their blonde hair was pulled back in ponytails that poked through the tops of their blue visors. They were pretty and identical, with one notable exception.
The girl at the register had a thick goatee of dark black hair.
Bonnie stepped up to the counter and leaned over the register.
“Why don’t you go outside and make sure the newest customer sees you first?”
The girl nodded and walked around the counter and out the door. Bonnie watched as she crossed the parking lot and stopped next to the red sports car.
The door swung open, and Hamills stepped out. His light-brown hair hung loosely around his shoulders, barely contained by a camo trucker hat. He wore a bright-orange hunting vest, and two rifles were strapped to his back, the barrels poking up over each shoulder. His jaw was sharper and more square, and Bonnie thought he stood a few inches taller.
She watched as the barista shook his hand, and her earpiece chirped as he connected.
“Welcome back, Mr. Hamills,” the barista said. “What can I get for you this morning?”
“Check my email, send a text to Jeff telling him I need to reschedule the three o’clock with the DC Rifle Club, and get me the latest stock prices for my personal portfolio.”
“Of course, if you’ll take a seat inside, I’ll get those right up.”
She held the door for him, and they walked in together. The barista walked back around the counter and repeated the order to the other girl.
“Alright, go with the email,” Bonnie said.
Rogue walked in the door dressed in a crisp business suit, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. A gold name tag practically glowed on her lapel.
Rogue waited by the counter until the barista with the goatee came around with a tray of drinks. Together, they walked over to where Hamills sat, playing on his phone.
“Here is confirmation of the text sent to Jeff and the stock prices,” the barista said, setting the tray down in front of him. She pointed at Rogue. “This was the only email you currently have. Can I get you anything else?”
Hamills looked up, briefly taken aback by Rogue’s presence.
“Who are you?”
“Mr. Hamills, we’ve detected suspicious activity for your account. We’d recommend you change your password immediately.”
Hamill’s eyes went wide.
“What kind of suspicious activity?”
“Logins from outside the country,” Rogue said. “Like I said, we recommend changing your password immediately. You can do so here.”
She handed him a slip of paper. He took it and skimmed it quickly.
“Come here,” he said to the barista.
When she bent down, he whispered in her ear. Then she nodded and stood, heading back to the bar.
“New password for user MHamills is Sh00tFirst,” she said as she passed Bonnie.
Bonnie slammed the stack of papers down on the card table hard enough to make the whole thing shake. The Brit looked up in surprise.
“What’s this?”
“Leverage,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him. “Hamills sold about a hundred AR-15s to the Homeland Defense Force.”
“He is one of its leaders.”
“But he also made six sales of a mix of pistols and rifles to known fronts for the DS-13 Gang.”
“He’ll just say he didn’t know it was a front,” the man said.
“Not when you see the emails we also got,” Bonnie said. “Where he rips one of the store owners for letting the guns get confiscated in a police raid last month, after they got in a shoot-out with the HDF. He specifically calls them out for working DS-13 and says he’ll cut off future shipments if they get caught again.”
The man leaned back and crossed his arms.
“That might work,” he said.
Bonnie waited for him to continue.
“Very well, this meets our criteria.”
He pulled a briefcase from the floor and popped the latches. A golden glow illuminated his chest and face as he lifted the lid. Reaching in, he took a handful of coins and tossed them in the air.
The coins flipped and spun like they were in low gravity. Bonnie held her bag open, and they slowly funneled through the opening, like they were drawn by a magnet.
Bonnie counted them as they passed and nodded in satisfaction as the last one clinked into the bottom.
The man took the stack of papers and slipped them into the briefcase.
“Pleasure,” he said. Then he faded away.
Bonnie stood and walked across the gym to where Rogue and Morpheus were waiting.
“Did they take it?” Morpheus said.
> Haley tossed the satchel at him.
He staggered back as it hit him in the chest.
“I’ve got to go make dinner for Jacob,” she said. “Tell the Tailor to start working.”
Chapter Twelve
Vlad pulled the ball cap down and flipped the jacket’s collar up. It was impossible to hide his size, but at least the rain gave him an excuse to make it a bit harder for anyone watching to get a positive ID.
Gilbert led the way up the brownstone steps and knocked twice. Then three times.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” someone yelled from inside.
Vlad raised an eyebrow at Gil.
“This is his place,” Gil said. “Trust me.”
Before Vlad could say anything, the deadbolt was flipped, and the door opened. An old man in a stained T-shirt stretched over a beer belly decades in the making and gym shorts that would make Larry Bird blush eyed them through the metal screen door.
“What?”
“Tell Danny Gil’s here.”
“There’s no Danny here,” the man growled.
“Sure there isn’t,” Gil said. “Just go get your boss.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, I’m the boss of this house.”
Gil rolled his eyes.
“No, Danny lets you live here for free so that nosy neighbors see him as a good guy who works from home to take care of his aging father,” he said. “And when someone gives you the code word, you let them in. What is it this week? Forerunner? Prophet? Warthog?”
The man blinked several times, clearly unused to someone pushing back.
“Just go get your him.”
The man closed the door, grumbling, and they heard footsteps walking away.
“That went well,” Vlad said.
“I’m not surprised,” Gil said. “Danny’s always been a bit cautious.”
“What happens if you’re wrong?”
Gil shrugged.
“We figure out another way to get new faces.”
They waited outside for another minute before they heard footsteps behind the door and the locks sliding back again.
Gil smiled at Vlad but when the door opened he had to jump back as the metal screen swung toward his face. He didn’t have time to recover before a black blur flew across the threshold and tackled him. Together, Gil and the black-clad figure rolled down the steps.
They rolled to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the other man straddling Gil and raining blows toward his face.
To his credit, Gil had managed to bring his elbows up to shield his face, but the man changed tactics and started taking body shots.
Vlad started down the stairs to help, but a hand on his arm stopped him.
“Let them go,” the old man who’d come to the door initially said. “Sometimes you just got to fight it out.”
Vlad glanced back at the two grown men grappling in the middle of the sidewalk. Gil had managed to wriggle free enough to grab the other man’s head and pull him close so he couldn’t get enough leverage for a more severe blow.
Several people had stopped a dozen yards away, umbrellas shielding raised cell phones from the rain.
Vlad growled and shrugged the man’s hand off. He jumped down the stairs and bear-hugged the man on, lifting him off Gil.
The man squealed in surprise, then started squirming. But his arms were pinned, and Vlad wasn’t letting go.
“Stop,” Vlad hissed. “You’re making a scene. Gil, get up and come inside.”
The man started cussing as Vlad walked up the stairs. The old man held the door open, and Vlad heard Gil blow his nose and follow.
The brownstone’s interior was more modern than Vlad had expected. The walls were gray; white couches and a black metal coffee table stood in the center of the living room, and a shiny white marble fireplace with a few pictures in gold frames on the mantel.
Vlad dropped the man on the couch, then put one knee on his chest and a hand at his throat.
The man grabbed his wrist and tried to wrench himself free. But Vlad tightened his grip, and the man’s eyes bulged.
“Calm down,” Vlad said. “For someone who goes to such lengths to keep the neighbors away, you made one hell of a scene.”
The man’s nostrils flared, and his brown eyes darted from Vlad’s face to Gil, who was still standing in the doorway, one hand trying to stem the waterfall of blood coming from his nose.
“I’m assuming you’re Danny?” Vlad said. “The Tailor?”
The man looked back at Vlad and nodded, his dark-chestnut hair sending droplets of water over Vlad’s hand.
“You done beating the crap out of him?” Vlad nodded to Gil, who was in the kitchen rummaging through the freezer.
“He deserved it,” Danny said.
“For what?” Gil yelled.
“You know damn well.”
“Oh, come on,” Gil said as he slammed the freezer door. “Give it up.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Would you two please shut up,” Vlad said. “I don’t really give a damn what happened. We need new identities.”
He held up a finger as Danny started to protest.
“And I’ll pay you your normal fee and a half.”
Danny’s mouth clicked shut.
“Cash only,” he said after a moment.
“Well, damn, I was hoping to pay with my Amex,” Gil said. He was holding a bag of frozen peas to his eye, which was already starting to swell.
Danny’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, cash is fine,” Vlad said. “How long will it take?”
“Two days.”
“Any chance you could make it faster?”
“No,” Danny said. “I have other clients.”
Vlad glanced at Gil, then sighed.
“Alright, let’s get started.”
Danny stood and led them down to the basement. Vlad’s eyes went wide when Danny flipped a light on.
Against the far wall was a full green screen with studio photography lights. To the left of the camera were racks of clothes with boxes of wigs, glasses, and makeup on shelves above them. When Vlad turned around, he saw a large desk with two high-resolution monitors.
“Pick out what you want you to want to wear,” Danny said, waving at the clothes. “We’ll take your picture and get you out of here.”
Vlad and Gil went to the rack and started rifling through. Vlad selected the biggest button-down he could find, which was still a bit tight across the chest, and Gil chose a black T-shirt.
“We’ll do the thief first,” Danny said.
“Is that going to be a problem?” Vlad said, pointing at Gil’s swollen eye.
“I’ll fix it in post,” Danny said.
He grabbed a camera from the desk and reached around one of the monitors to grab a memory card. When he pulled it from the socket, one of the screens came to life. A woman and a young boy were on the monitor, her face photoshopped into a California driver’s license and his into a pre-school graduation picture.
Vlad’s eyes went wide.
He nearly asked Danny who she was, but he bit his tongue and thought better of it.
“How do we get the final product?” he asked instead.
“I’ll give you instructions where to drop the cash before you leave,” Danny said. “Once I get it, you’ll get another message with a locker number in Union Station.”
Vlad nodded.
“Are there any other places we could meet you?” he said. “That’s a bit out of our way.”
“Sure,” Danny said. “At the corner of No Way and Screw You Lane.”
“Chill dude,” Gil said.
“You want to work with me?” Danny snapped. “You do things how I do things. I’m not going to get pinched because you may have to find a new place to get your morning latte.”
“Its fine,” Vlad said, cutting his eyes at the Gil. “If Union Station is where you always go, that works perfectly for us.”
Chapter Thirteen
The morning commuters hustled off in a thousand directions. A few headed down side passages to other trains, but Haley joined the majority that headed up the stairs toward the central station.
The station was filled with shadows cast by the light that reflected off the vaulted ceiling, and the loud buzz of hundreds of conversations, high heels on marble floors, and the hisses and squeals of trains. The smell of sweat and perfume mixed with steaming coffee and fresh bagels.
She walked through the station and headed toward the lockers. She tried to look casual, but her heart was doing its best to crack a rib. Her eyes swept through the crowd, lingering on any towering, hulking figure to make sure it wasn’t an oversized Russian gangster.
Not seeing anything, she headed across the station’s atrium and toward the lockers.
“You’re sure the old man was there this morning?” Vlad said, one hand covering the Bluetooth earpiece.
He could practically hear Gil roll his eyes through the phone.
“I followed him all the way to Union Station. He had an envelope when he went in and a gym bag when he came out.”
“And you have the picture I gave you?”
“Jesus, would you calm down?”
“There isn’t any more room for error,” Vlad said.
“You have no more room for error,” Gil said. “I can walk away right now if I want to.”
“But you won’t,” Vlad said.
Gil was quiet, and Vlad didn’t press any further. There was a difference between being overbearing and being an ass. It was a fine line, and one that Vlad usually wouldn’t be upset about stepping across, but Gil was also right.
He was about to apologize when Gil spoke again.
“I think I see her,” he said. “She just came up from the Red Line.”
Vlad opened the car door and started for the entrance.
“Heading to the lockers?”
“Looks like it,” Gil said. “I’ll follow her.”