“I really don’t know,” he finally said. “It was an anonymous job on the bounty board.”
Vlad pulled the gun from his holster and cocked the hammer with his thumb. “I don’t believe you,” he said, leveling the weapon at Josef.
“Wait,” Josef continued quickly. “I can do better than a client. I can get you the informant. I just need a bit of time.”
Vlad glared at him for several long heartbeats, then lifted the gun and pushed the hammer forward again.
“You and Lin are on the same timeline,” he said.
Stryker opened the glass door, and another chime, this one like some action theme song he didn’t recognize, sounded. He walked past the rows of weapons, everything from pirate blunderbusses to large laser rifles as tall as he was. Across the shop, targets were lined up for customers to select. There were zombies, aliens, and goblins. There was also a section of caricatured world leaders, and Stryker chuckled at some of the more outlandish portrayals. He walked through another door and was greeted by the booming report of automatic weapons, and the smell of gunpowder and ozone.
Durdan was standing at the end of the range, sporting a pair of safety glasses and earmuffs and a sniper rifle that should have knocked him over with every shot.
Stryker frowned as he watched the other man, then looked down and wiggled his fingers over this armor.
He felt his legs shrinking, and the molded armor transformed into a sequin dress. His head grew light, but then he saw a peacock feather dipping into the top of his view.
Durdan rocked back as he sent another round downrange, and Stryker waited until he had emptied the clip to approach.
“How’s it going?” Stryker asked, his voice almost matching Bonnie’s.
The Marine looked over his shoulder at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I can’t just say hello to an old friend?”
“You’ve been ignoring me for weeks,” Durdan said. “And you hate this stuff.”
“I need your help,” Stryker said.
The man’s face remained impassive, but he set the sniper rifle down. “What is it this time?”
“I need the name of the informant from the sting operation on the Heart of Leningrad. The one where that guy got shot.”
Durdan grabbed another magazine and slammed it into the weapon’s receiver.
Stryker’s eyes went wide as he found himself staring down the barrel of another gun.
“Who are you?” Durdan snapped.
“What?”
“Bonnie wouldn’t be looking for the informant,” he said. “Who are you really?”
Josef felt his jaw working as his mind raced through his options.
“What are you talking about?” he said. “It’s me. I just need to know . . .”
He stopped and hoped that Durdan couldn’t see the realization dawning on his face.
Or the fury that was bubbling up and threatening to choke him.
“Well?” Durdan asked impatiently.
Stryker cleared his throat. “Sorry, connection issue. I was saying I just need to know what name you used in the report,” Stryker said. “I’m running another job and need the identity to be the same.”
Durdan’s eyes narrowed, but his finger moved from the trigger to the guard. “What’s the job?”
Stryker forced his shoulders to relax but knew it was a jerky motion that would have raised the detective’s suspicions in the real world.
“I’m still figuring out exactly what it is,” Stryker said. “Just want to make sure I’m laying the groundwork right. But it’ll hurt the Volkags. I promise.”
Durdan lowered the weapon.
“I need to go look it up,” Durdan said. “I’ll be right back.”
He froze in place.
Stryker waved a hand in front of Durdan’s face, but he didn’t blink.
Stryker tapped the control panel on his arm and brought up his contact list.
“What?” Impaler’s voice snapped.
“Bonnie,” Stryker said, teeth gritted. “The informant was Bonnie.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“You want to start a war with the Volkags?” Eric asked, his lips quirked up.
“I want to crush the Volkags,” Josef said. “We play this right, and we break their back on the East Coast.”
“Or just piss them off enough that they decided that we’ve grown big enough to be on their radar.”
The small living room was crowded with three of Miguel’s older lieutenants, Jesús, Al, and Dion. They sat on the couch and kitchen chairs, while Eric had assumed Miguel’s favorite throne-like La-Z-Boy.
Josef stood in the middle of the room. Juan, one of the younger DS enforcers he’d met during his time since his father died, leaned on the side behind him.
“If there is no one to look at the radar,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what shows up on it.”
“Spoken like a young fool who’s had everything handed to him,” Eric snapped.
Josef felt the blood rush to his face.
“While you were here playing gangster,” he said. “Dad and I were fighting real enemies back home. Not the neutered cops that you run away from at the first sign of a traffic ticket.”
“Watch yourself,” Eric growled. “Just because your papi showed you how to handle a gun doesn’t mean you’re better than us.”
“Care to put that theory to the test?”
Eric smirked and looked at the other men in the room. “The idiocy of youth.”
The men chuckled.
Josef’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay calm.
“I may be an idiot,” he said quietly. “But at least I want to do something to avenge Miguel and my dad instead of just sitting in his chair drinking.”
The chuckles died.
Eric stood slowly. He took two steps, so he was nose to nose with Josef.
“You got Miguel killed screwing with these Russian assholes,” he said, jabbing a finger in Josef’s chest. “Don’t talk to me about avenging him.”
“It was Miguel’s choice to screw with the Russian assholes,” Josef countered. “You saying he was an idiot too?”
“Maybe,” Eric said. “He should have been smarter.”
Josef saw Dion and Al frown, while Jesús shot Eric a glare behind his back.
Eric seemed to sense the shift, and he started to turn to the older men.
“He gave his life, so Francesca and I had a chance to live,” Josef said. “That sounds like the kind of man I want to be. But you’re scared to show the Volkags DS is full of those men?”
“I didn’t say that,” Eric said, focusing back on Josef.
“Could have fooled me,” Jesús said.
“We’re going to make them pay,” Eric said. “But we need to pick our moment.”
“Punishment deferred is no punishment at all,” Al said.
Eric stared at the other men. “We’ll hit one of their warehouses,” he said. “Just like they did ours.”
Josef snorted, earning him a glare from Eric.
“You’re thinking so small,” Josef said. “We could be the kings of the East Coast.”
“A king is nothing if he loses his crown.”
“Then make sure we don’t lose it,” Josef said. “Isn’t that why we’re all here? To take what’s ours? Get rich?”
The other men were looking at him with thoughtful frowns.
“You talk a good game,” Eric said. “But executing it is a different story.”
“That’s the easy part,” Josef said, a smile spreading across his face. “We don’t have to do anything but let Haley do her thing.”
“What’s she going to do?” Al asked.
“Bring the Volkags down,” Josef said.
“I got that,” Al said. “How?”
“We’ve already got a mole on the inside,” he said. “We’ll find out where their safe houses and supply drops are and pass some info to the cops. Hand this new DA a huge w
in by busting up the biggest gang on the East Coast so he’ll move on to other things and take the heat off us. Then we swoop in and take the drugs, guns, and money at the places we didn’t tell the cops about.”
Al and Dion nodded.
“And how does this help Miguel rest easier?” Jesus said.
“It doesn’t,” Eric sneered. “He’s just trying to capitalize on your loyalty to make a quick buck.”
“The leader of the Volkags,” Josef said, ignoring Eric, “and the one that personally led the attack on the farm will be at one of the locations we don’t give the police. In fact, I’ve already started planning a little surprise party to get him.”
Jesus smiled. “We can take our sweet time with him.”
Josef nodded. “And one more thing to sweeten the deal,” he continued. “After we eliminate the Volkags, we’ll pose as them and take possession of all their shipments coming in. We’ll get drugs, guns, maybe some girls . . .”
“There’s no way,” Dion said. “They’re not that stupid.”
“I’ve already got a guy working on the fake papers we’ll need,” Josef said. “All it takes is a bit of swagger and a signature. As long as the paperwork lines up, they’ll let anyone take delivery.
“This is insane,” Eric said. “Even if you manage to pull this off, the Volkags are bigger than this city. They will retaliate.”
“With what?” Josef spat. “Are they going to fly in an army to fight us?”
This time, the other men laughed with Josef.
“I like the kid’s plan,” Dion said. “It’s got cajones.”
“Miguel deserves it,” Jesús said.
“This isn’t a democracy,” Eric snarled. “This is my decision. We can’t take on the Volkags.”
“You’re scared,” Josef said.
“I’m sane.”
“Sounds scared,” Dion said.
Eric turned on the man.
Josef looked to the other two, who were also frowning at Eric. He glanced over his shoulder at Juan, who nodded.
“I’m not scared,” Eric said. “There’s no reason fo—”
Eric’s face exploded as the gunshot rang through the small house.
Eric’s body fell forward into the La-Z-Boy, which was now speckled with red and covered with bits of flesh.
Josef lowered the Glock and looked at the others.
“Vote of no confidence,” he said. “All in favor?”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Got your message,” Clyde said as he took a seat at the bar.
A massive alien with a hundred arms and fifty heads was pouring drinks and slinging glasses behind the bar. He ordered an Old Fashioned and watched uncertainly as the alien reached for a bottle of blue liquor.
“Surprised you decided to show,” Durdan said.
“Makes two of us,” Clyde said. “May still change my mind. You said this was important?”
Durdan nodded. “The Volkags are working with a hacker group that’s a front for the FSB.”
“Snuggly Bear?”
“You know them?”
“I know of them,” Clyde replied. The alien bartender set a glass of foaming blue liquid in front of him, and he picked it up and examined it uncertainly. He took a cautious sip, then straightened in surprise. “Wasn’t expecting that,” he muttered.
“What do you know about Snuggly Bear?” Durdan pressed.
“Pretty much what you just said. They’re a front for the FSB, they’ve written some nasty code, and they don’t pull any punches. Once they’re in, they like to go scorched earth.”
“Do you know anything about an operation called ‘Petusky’?”
Clyde shook his head. “Not that I can remember,” he said. “But there’s about a million new bits of malware coming out every day. What does this have to do with us?”
“They’re working with the Volkags—”
“You said that,” Clyde interrupted. “But the Volkags are a big racket. And the FSB wouldn’t care about us. So why am I here?”
Durdan tapped the bar top, and a red folder rose out of the smooth metal. He picked it up and held it out to Clyde.
“I think this is bigger than some software,” Durdan said. “I think Petusky has more real-world implications.”
Clyde took the file hesitantly, then held it up to the light, turned it over suspiciously, and licked it.
“I didn’t put anything on the file,” Durdan said. “Just open it.”
“Don’t trust a cop,” Clyde said. “No offense.”
“Some taken,” Durdan said. “Now, can we please?”
Clyde opened the file, and his eyes scanned through quickly. “How did you get this?” he asked, his voice a bit higher than normal.
“I’ve got friends in high places,” Durdan said. “What do you think?”
“This can’t be right,” Clyde said. “Someone wants identities for Volkags and DS thugs?”
“I got it straight from the source. It’s solid.”
“Those two hate one another,” Clyde said. “We’ve been using that.”
“But now someone is planning to use both sides. I was hoping you’d know who.”
Clyde shook his head slowly, then took a long sip of his drink. Setting the file down, he pulled two sets of IDs out and held them up to the light.
“The IDs are for the same people,” he said. “The names are different, but the pictures are the same. Only reason you’d need that is if you were trying to impersonate someone.”
“Or take over their life,” Durdan said. “It’s not uncommon for grifters to find someone who just died and try to swindle a few bucks using a fake ID.”
“That works?”
“Sometimes, but there are plenty of places where they don’t look that closely. When you sign for a shipment, for example.”
“This is really a fascinating theoretical exercise,” Clyde said. “But I still don’t know what this has to do with the national security issue you mentioned.”
“I don’t know if it does,” Durdan admitted. “But I think that this may be the opening move in starting something. If Petusky is the name of a campaign rather than a one-off attack, we could nip it in the bud if we stop a gang war from starting.”
“And you want me to . . . what, exactly?”
“Just help me figure out who is pulling the strings,” Durdan said. “My source is supposed to make the delivery later today. If you can help me track down the buyer, I can end Petusky before it begins.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The alarm went off far too early, and Haley slapped at it wildly to try to turn it off before Jacob woke up. She yawned and sat up slowly, her back protesting with every inch.
Dana’s guest bedroom hadn’t changed much in the months since she and Bradley had first come to investigate Jacob’s disappearance, with the exception that there was now a twin daybed instead of the crib. Jacob was little more than a lump under the thick comforter. Two heads poked out from the dark blue blanket, but in the dark room, Haley couldn’t tell which was Jacob and which was the stupidly large teddy bear that Dana had given him.
Haley got out of bed quietly, swiped her phone off the charger on the bedside table and padded across the carpet to the door. She cracked it open enough to slip through but paused as the hallway light spilled across the room to the daybed. For a moment, she was able to make out Jacob’s tiny head, brown curls creeping up the pillow like dark vines on a marble wall.
She watched him sleep for a few seconds, then shut the door silently and started down the stairs.
Dana was leaning against the sink, a cup of coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. Haley’s laptop was still plugged in on the kitchen island where she’d left it the night before, the stock images of English castles, icebergs, and desert sand dunes scrolling across the screen. Dana looked up as Haley walked in.
“Morning,” Haley said.
“Barely,” Dana replied. “Thought I was going to have to send in the Ran
gers to get you.”
“If they’re all as good looking as Bradley I wouldn’t complain.”
Dana’s smile faltered for an instant.
“I think he was a Marine.”
“Send those too next time,” Haley said. She opened the cabinet and pulled a ceramic mug out. “But make sure they’re armed appropriately.”
Dana shook her head but took the mug.
“Now that you’ve gotten some sleep, any idea what’s next?”
“Kill everyone not bringing me coffee?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Haley said. “I don’t think you appreciate how hard it is to avoid bashing my head into the keyboard when I’ve slept three hours in the last three days.”
Dana handed her the mug. “Was it worth it at least?”
Haley took a tentative sip. The coffee was black and bitter, but it wasn’t hot enough to burn, she hoped, so she took a larger gulp.
“I’ve got a backup plan.”
“What are we on now,” Dana asked. “Plan G?”
“Plan F wasn’t a complete loss,” Haley said.
Dana shook her head and refilled her own cup.
“If you really believe that, I picked a bad week to stop drinking,” she said. “Have you heard from Hector?” she asked.
Haley shook her head. “He’s probably off trying to come up with some Mission Impossible–style hack to save the world and cure cancer.”
“Hey, if it works . . .”
Haley chuckled and was about to say something when her email dinged. Opening her mail program, she found the new message.
“Huh.”
“What?” Dana asked.
“Josef sent me an apology,” she said. “That was quick.”
“Not every teenager is as obstinate as you were,” Dana said.
“Good thing I grew out of that.”
Dana snorted. She reached for the creamer, carefully measured some out, and poured it into her cup.
“He’s claiming he found a way to take down the Volkags but needs help.”
“Already?” Dana said. “He just got into their good graces.”
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