Dead End

by R. J. Patterson

  Ivan growled and lumbered down the hallway. After walking a few meters, he glanced back over his shoulder to see if Finn was still there. He was, staring a hole through Ivan.

  I swear I’ll beat him to a bloody pulp if he ever does that to me again.

  Ivan shoved open the double doors and walked up several flights of stairs onto the main concourse. He watched as stadium workers scurried past him. Then he heard a metal rolling door. Turning to look at it, he was shocked to see the door coming down instead of going up. He walked over to the man who’d shuttered the beer kiosk.

  “What is this?” Ivan asked as the man emerged from a door just to the right of the counter. “A game with no beer?”

  “I’m sorry, comrade,” the man said. “Haven’t you heard? There is no game today. Postponed on account of illness. The official report is that both teams are suffering from food poisoning. Neither one can field eleven starters from what I hear. At least, that’s what they’re telling us.”

  Ivan shrugged. “There’s always tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” the man scoffed. “This is Russia. There are no guarantees.”

  “No truer words have ever been spoken.”

  Ivan continued his slow march toward the stadium gate. As he observed the hive of activity swirling around him, he felt satisfied at his pace—both literally and metaphorically speaking. While everyone else scrambled to survive, Ivan was thriving. Life was good. And though he’d experienced a delay in seeing his son reach his dream of playing in the World Cup, the game would go on the next day. After waiting years to see his son reach his quest, Ivan figured he could wait another day.

  As Ivan neared the gate, he noticed the sparse crowd that had gathered outside the stadium to enter first had nearly disappeared. But Ivan knew they’d be back the next day. A small delay would do little to curb their enthusiasm and passion for their country’s team.

  Ivan put his sunglasses on and strode toward the exit, picking up his pace as he went. He soaked up the sun beaming through a patch of clouds and took a deep breath.

  I love my life.

  It was the last thing he thought before a bullet pierced the back of his skull and left a gaping hole as it exited through his face.

  Chapter 34

  CAL STEPPED OUT OF THE SHOWER and walked into his room to select his attire for that afternoon’s match. He’d expected his phone to buzz or the European sports channel he had on in the background to break in with an update about the match being canceled, but nothing. Though disappointed, he dutifully prepared for the Ukrainian-Turkey game as it was scheduled. After he’d slipped on his boxers and a pair of pants, Cal was buttoning a white dress shirt when the television screen flashed with an update. Simultaneously, his phone buzzed with a text from Natalya.

  “Did you see the news?” Natalya asked once he answered. “It worked. We did it.”

  Cal watched the closed captioning in English jut across the top of the screen, breaking the news that an outbreak of food poisoning for both teams resulted in a postponement of the match.

  “That’s great,” Cal said, “but we haven’t really done anything yet—we’ve just delayed it. If we really want to claim a victory, we need to have the stadium scoured for any explosives.”

  “I’ve already set up a meeting with the detective investigating Maksim’s death,” she said. “Inspector Orlov said if it was important to the case, he would listen.”

  “Maksim’s knowledge of the stadium attack is likely the reason he’s dead, but I wouldn’t trust anyone yet.”

  “You are a fast learner. You’ve been in Russia for a week, and you already understand how law enforcement works.”

  Cal chuckled. “It’s not that different in the U.S. I hate to tell you this, but Russia doesn’t have the market cornered when it comes to dirty police officers. It only takes one bad apple to cast dispersions on an entire squad.”

  “And all it takes is one good apple to save the batch.”

  “I’ve never heard that saying before.”

  “It’s old Russian gypsy Yiddish—and I would be shocked if you had.”

  Cal smiled, completely aware that she had concocted that story on the spot. He assumed she was simply trying to put on a good face for a dire situation. But Cal didn’t mind the fib. In a strange way, he believed it, confident that all she had to do was talk to the one honest officer who wasn’t on Sergei Bazarov’s payroll.

  “Well, good luck today. When do you meet with Inspector Orlov?”

  “In about an hour,” she replied. “I’m getting dressed to go down there myself right now. We can’t exactly wait long, can we?”

  “Call me after your meeting,” Cal said.

  NATALYA BLINKED HARD to keep tears from streaking down her face as she stepped into the police station. It was a reflex she was getting used to as the day wore on. In the short time it took her to deliver the meals to the stadium and return home, she experienced a flood of emotions and mostly shoved them down until she could properly deal with them. A billboard here or a sign there, a song playing on the radio or the sound of a bus honking—all with memories tied to Maksim—reminded her of the pain, of his deception, and of her father’s stark words warning her about Maksim. But none of those emotions felt as poignant when she stepped into the same building she went to just hours after she found her father barely alive and desperate to pass along one final message.

  She took a deep breath to gain her composure and approached the man sitting at the front desk. “I’m here to see Inspector Orlov.”

  The man nodded and picked up his phone, dialed Orlov’s number, and then passed along the message that a woman was there to see him.

  Moments later, Inspector Orlov waddled around the corner; the mere sight of him caught Natalya off guard. He was rotund, a fact he reiterated every few seconds when he gave a slight tug on his belt to hike his pants up higher on his waist. When he wasn’t patrolling his pants, he was pushing up his black horned-rimmed glasses, which seemed to break into a free fall every few seconds. With everything he was doing to keep himself together, Natalya wondered when he ever had any time to ponder the facts of the case. She couldn’t believe how busy a man could appear to be by simply standing still.

  “I’m truly sorry you had to come down here under these circumstances,” Orlov said as he offered her his hand.

  She shook his hand and folded her arms. “Maksim was no angel, but he certainly didn’t deserve to die like he did.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Let’s talk about it in my office, shall we?” He gestured down the hallway.

  Natalya followed his instructions and walked through an array of cubicles full of officers busily working. Some filled out forms and documents; others talked on their phones. In one enclosed office on the corner, she watched one superior berating another. She became anxious while glimpsing the heated exchange.

  “Please, have a seat.” Orlov said, pointing toward a chair in his office.

  “Oh, yes, sorry,” Natalya said, suddenly aware that she’d been so enamored with the dressing down occurring at the end of the hallway that she’d forgotten where she was. She darted inside and sat.

  Orlov meandered slowly into his office, shutting the door behind him. He took a seat across from her and leaned forward onto his desk, hands clasped in front of him.

  “So, Miss Listyev, let me begin again by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”

  She nodded and mumbled a “thank you.”

  “Unfortunately, we must now continue with the investigation into Maksim’s death. I wish there was another way, but . . .”

  His words hung in the air as Natalya looked down. She’d experienced far too much pain in the past few weeks and hours to begin properly grieving. She just wanted to stop the slow assault on the people close to her.

  “Let me ask you a question,” Orlov began. “How much did you know about Maksim’s involvement with Sergei Bazarov?”

  “I knew about it, just not sure if it was a big de
al or not.”

  “Not a big deal? Are you out of your mind?”

  “Well, I—uh . . .”

  “Just say it,” the inspector said.

  “Okay. Here it goes . . .”

  Before she could say another word, a well-built man who appeared to be in his mid-40s interrupted the interview by entering the room.

  “Excuse me, but can I help you?” Orlov asked.

  “I’m agent Oleg Damiecki with the FSB,” the man said. “I’ll be taking over this investigation now.”

  Orlov scowled. “Under whose authority?”

  “Inspector, do I need to remind you that law enforcement is now under federal jurisdiction? The FSB can take over a case at any time for just cause—but I think you already know that.”

  Orlov scooped up his files and stood.

  “You can leave everything right where it is,” Damiecki said as he tapped the table. “I’ll take it from here.”

  Orlov let out an exasperated breath and walked toward the door. “I’m sorry about this,” he said as he looked at Natalya. “I knew nothing about this until now.”

  “Nothing to apologize for, Inspector,” Damiecki said. “Now, run along so I can get to work here.”

  Natalya nodded almost imperceptibly at Orlov and swallowed hard. She turned her focus toward Damiecki.

  “Now, let’s start at the beginning,” Damiecki said. “I understand your father was murdered and now your boyfriend was too, but that you also have some additional information to report.”

  “Why are you taking over this case?” she asked, her voice quaking.

  “The FSB steps in when we feel something warrants a deeper investigation. As I understand it, you have more to tell us about why you think your father and boyfriend were murdered, that perhaps their deaths are connected.”

  “How would you know that?” she asked. “I haven’t told anyone anything about what I know.”

  “I don’t know anything, just going off a hunch,” Damiecki said, trying to play off his awkward question. “Whenever someone experiences murders like this to people close to them, there’s likely something else involved, something that demands a deeper investigation that the FSB is more capable of handling.”

  Natalya wanted to get up and walk out of the room, but she couldn’t. While she was beginning to feel comfortable with Orlov, she felt blindsided by Damiecki’s entrance onto the scene—and he had yet to establish any trust, much less general rapport with her, in the few minutes since they’d met. Damiecki was all business and unapologetically so.

  “It’s my boyfriend,” she said, keeping a straight face to sell her lie. “I think he’s the one who killed my father.”

  “Now that’s an interesting theory,” he said. “And if that’s the case, who do you think killed your boyfriend?”

  “That will likely be the most difficult case to solve as he was hated by many.”

  “Yet, you, a pretty young woman, chose to stay with such a vile man, the same man you believe murdered your father? That seems more puzzling to me.”

  “I was scared,” she said, conjuring up her most fearful memories in an effort to become more believable. “What might happen if I walked away from him? I couldn’t be sure, but I knew whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.”

  Damiecki nodded. “I see. Well, Ms. Listyev, maybe I am looking at your boyfriend’s killer.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. How dare you even suggest such a thing,” she fired back. “I loved Maksim.”

  “Love is fickle. One minute you love him, the next minute you think he’s a dirt bag for leaving his dirty boxers on the bathroom floor.”

  She shifted in her seat and leaned back. “I don’t know how I can convince you otherwise, but I still loved him.”

  Damiecki cleared his throat and leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. “What is it you really came down here to tell Inspector Orlov about regarding your boyfriend and his death?”

  “I just told you,” she said. “You need to look into his death because many people hated him.”

  “I will take your word of caution under advisement. In the meantime, take care of yourself and be careful.”

  “Be careful?” she said as she stood.

  “Yes. Someone just might be looking for you next.”

  She turned to leave and shuddered. She wasn’t sure what it was about Damiecki that made her skin crawl, but his demeanor was unsettling enough. His last comment made her happy she didn’t reveal the truth about what she’d wanted to tell Orlov.

  Once outside, she walked briskly for several blocks, checking over her shoulder periodically. Satisfied she wasn’t being followed, she called Cal.

  “How did it go?” he said after he answered.

  “It was a disaster. Some FSB agent took over the case in the middle of my interview with Inspector Orlov.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “It’s not—it wasn’t. There’s something about him. I just couldn’t tell him. But we still need to tell someone and there’s not much time.”

  “I might have another idea,” Cal said. “It’s a long shot, but at this point, it might be all we’ve got short of trying to remove the devices ourselves. And that’s not exactly what I want to do with my evening.”

  “I agree. Let me know when you find out something.”

  OLEG DAMIECKI WAITED UNTIL Natalya was down the hall before he called Sergei Bazarov.

  “What does she know?” Bazarov asked.

  “She knows, but she’s scared and clueless. I think we’ll be able to control her for the next twenty-four hours. No need to worry. I just intercepted the only contact she trusts at the Samara police station.”

  “Good work. Keep me updated in case anything changes.”

  “Don’t worry. I will,” Damiecki said before he paused. “And if anything goes awry, I’ll take care of her myself—just like I took care of her father.”

  Chapter 35

  CAL DIALED CURT DANIELS’S NUMBER and hoped that the U.S. Senator had some pull with someone high on the chain of command in Russian law enforcement. If not, Cal wasn’t keen on the idea of trying to creatively get into Cosmos Arena and search for explosive devices later that evening, but he’d do it if the situation required it.

  Senator Daniels answered the phone on the third ring. “Cal Murphy,” Daniels began, “how in the world are you? Avoiding the food in Samara, I trust.”

  Cal forced a laugh. “I’m nervous about almost anything I put into my mouth at this point.”

  “Well, two teams getting food poisoning is reason enough to make everyone nervous. I’m already hearing Russian officials are concerned it was injury related.”

  “Injury related? How so?”

  “I figured you would’ve already heard this by now,” Daniels said incredulously.

  “I’ve been a little busy today.”

  “Well, apparently Turkey’s star striker wasn’t quite ready to play in the match today, but he’d be cleared to go if the game was played a day later.”

  Cal smiled, unwilling to reveal the truth to Daniels at the moment. “Sounds like a good theory to me.”

  “FIFA just announced that it was only delaying the game for a day and expected enough players to make a quick enough recovery to play tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, well, about that,” Cal said. “There’s something I need you to look into for me. Do you happen to know anyone high on the chain of command in Russian law enforcement?”

  “I know Mikhail Kimensky. Is that high enough for you?”

  “Kimensky? The Marshal of the Russian Federation?”

  “That’s the one. But you better have a good reason for me to contact him.”

  “Sergei Bazarov is planning an attack on Cosmos Arena tomorrow, and local law enforcement aren’t exactly willing to listen. I’ve been threatened just for wanting to write about this. They think I’m trying to embarrass Russia. Either that or everyone in the local law
enforcement in Samara is in Bazarov’s back pocket.”

  “Probably the latter, but the Russians tend to be a sensitive group and firmly believe the entire world is against them.”

  “That’s not exactly all that far from the truth.”

  Daniels sighed. “You’re probably right, but it does create more tension in our relations during situations like this.”

  “You’ve got my number in case Kimensky or anyone else wants to speak with me about the situation. I just want the stadium swept ahead of the game tomorrow so nobody gets killed, especially me.”

  Daniels paused. “Wait a minute. You didn’t have anything to do with that—?”

  “Stop right there,” Cal said. “Plausible deniability is a powerful thing, Senator. But I think as a politician you already know that.”

  “Good point,” Daniels said. “I’ll make a call.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Cal received a text from Senator Daniels, who suggested the reporter go down to the stadium as there would be plenty to write about as a result. Cal rushed out of the door and arrived at Cosmos Arena several minutes later.

  Once he arrived, Cal took in a scene that overwhelmed his senses. Police vehicles with flashing lights were stationed at all four major gates. A SWAT team sat in a van, checking their weapons. The security guards had been temporarily relieved of their duties and were standing aside as police personnel dictated the terms of entry at the gates. A pair of officers repelled down the side of the building, checking for explosive devices. He was also intrigued by the presence of an ambulance and what appeared to be emergency medical personnel loading a body bag into their vehicle.

  The sun was setting when the bustle died down and the police began to evacuate the premises. Cal meandered near the gates and approached a man, who appeared to be the commander in charge.

  “Can you tell me what happened here today?” Cal asked.

  The man ignored Cal and continued doling out instructions for the breakdown of their remaining equipment.