The Truant Officer v5

by Derek Ciccone

  Jessi smiled. She saw where this was going. “So you want me to cover the premiere party, to make sure that the real story is told.”

  “Exactly. And for your trouble you’ll get an exclusive interview with Nick Zellen/Brett Buckley right on the red carpet, where I will expose their contemptible plan on live TV. And by making myself so visible, I will create insurance for my sister and myself. Consider the cell phone a down payment, and if I don’t show up alive at the premiere, then I want you to run with the information I provided you.”

  Holding onto a story like this was against Jessi’s journalistic DNA, but an exclusive interview with the famed fugitive would be worth it.

  Nick grabbed her tightly by the shoulders. “I have to get back to Lilly before she suspects anything. Do you understand what I just told you?”

  Jessi nodded her head, more excited than scared.

  “Good,” he said, “because my life depends on you.”

  Chapter 65

  Darren joined Becks in the cafeteria of the headquarters of the US Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of New York. He had no appetite, and wondered if he ever would again, unable to get the gruesome photos out of his head. Becks, on the other hand, ate for the two of them.

  It was early afternoon on Tuesday. Just thirty-six hours since Darren was in this same city, three thousand miles from home, watching his wife be abducted in what he thought was a local gang initiation. And now such a scenario would be inviting. The women abducted by the gangs were beaten and raped, but with the Russian mob, it seemed like that would just be the appetizer.

  He had to save Lilly. She had betrayed him, he had come to grips with that, but she didn’t deserve to be murdered. And if for no other reason, he had taken vows to protect in good times and bad. Taking a vow still meant something to him, and he planned to live up to his part, no matter the cost.

  He had no idea how he would accomplish this, but two things were clear. First off, Becks mustn’t be involved. He needed to get her home while she still had her sharp tongue. The other was that if he was going to find Lilly, he was going to have to do it himself. After this morning’s events, he had even less faith in the authorities. And frankly, they seemed a little scared of this Sarvydas character.

  After lunch, they were driven back to the airport in a parade of black SUVs, manned by federal marshals. It had the feel of a funeral procession, which perfectly captured the mood, and fit with the gray New York skies. Darren and Becks were led into the airport, this time closely surrounded by the FBI agents, avoiding another shootout at the OK Corral.

  As they moved to the gate area, Becks grabbed Darren’s hand. “Thanks for sticking up for me. It’s nice to know there’s at least one honorable man left in the world.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to lose that tongue. The world would miss your insightful comments,” he said with a grin. She was starting to rub off on him, and he didn’t know if that was good or bad.

  She smiled back at him. “You mean like incite a riot?”

  Darren returned to his serious nature. “You shouldn’t have come. This is dangerous stuff, not a game. To use your term, we are really OOOL here. You have your whole life in front of you, and you’re also too young to be as cynical as you are. I think you’ll find that there are a lot of honorable guys in the world. This Nick...Brett...or whatever his name is, doesn’t deserve you.”

  “I say we combine the names and call him Brick Zuckley, just for clarity,” she said with a chuckle. She then matched his serious demeanor. “And I’m sorry about all the skank and slut comments I made. I was frustrated with the situation and I took it out on her. My emotions get the best of me sometimes.”

  The mention of Lilly glummed Darren’s face.

  Becks took notice. “Don’t you do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Buy into those amateur scare tactics that Eicher dude tried to use on you.”

  “But those killers were on their tail. That’s a fact—he didn’t make up those pictures. And just the thought of that Zubov character near Lilly gives me chills.”

  “Think about it. If Lilly and Brick Zuckley were already caught, why was the Rabbi willing to have a shootout with a bunch of federal agents in front of JFK Airport, and threatening us if we don’t help him out? Brick is an ass, but he’s also smart and savvy, and has these Russian mobsters scared. I can tell by their faces.”

  It was a good pep talk, but it didn’t allay Darren’s fears as they boarded the plane. “Eicher thinks Lilly might be involved.”

  “Eicher was totally CYA’ing, and if you haven’t forgot, he also thought you were involved. He couldn’t even figure out if the Rabbi was working with Sarvydas, or if he set up his son, yet he had the gall to blame the federal marshal who was in charge of Brick.”

  Darren nodded. “You’re pretty smart for a high school kid.”

  “I have good instincts when it comes to people. I sat in your wife’s class every day for three months and I got to observe her. I know her better than Eicher ever will. And while she might not be an innocent victim, she isn’t working with the Russian mob.”

  “I hope your instincts are right.”

  “I was right about you,” she said with a smile. She then gave him a glomp, which she explained was a non-sexual hug, but more for a friend than a hug with your grandparents, and veered toward her seat in coach.

  Darren was escorted to the cockpit. He was looking forward to returning home, where he would figure out a strategy to find Lilly.

  The entire flight crew was present, except for one—Treadwell. Darren figured that he was still out with Kelli, and would soon return to regale them with tales of how he “buzzed her tower.”

  Darren almost smiled to himself—who would’ve ever thought he would have a more eventful day than Treadwell? Who was the boring one now? A secret meeting with the FBI, a shootout in front of the airport, and a van ride from hell with a couple of psychotic Russian mobsters. And Treadwell could never again say that Darren never went to any of the hip clubs—he couldn’t wait to tell him of his VIP trip to Sarvy’s.

  Minutes turned into a half-hour, and Treadwell continued to be AWOL. Darren grew apprehensive, as did the passengers. A fight was about to break out because someone had occupied the bathroom for the duration of the delay.

  Screams suddenly filled the cabin. They were the type of primal screams usually reserved for strong turbulence or when the plane experienced a sharp drop in altitude. Darren ran to the back, pushing through the crowded aisle. The passengers were evacuating toward the front of the plane like a hurricane warning had been issued for the rear.

  Darren fought his way through the crowd to the lavatory. The door had been wedged open, allowing him a perfect view of what was inside.

  Ron Treadwell’s lifeless body was propped onto the toilet with a butcher knife jammed between his eyes. Connected to the knife handle was a note that read:

  I thought I told you not to talk to the feds, McLaughlin.

  Chapter 66

  Dava got off the plane in New York, non-stop from Oklahoma City. With the Mays’ untimely passing, they were unable to sign-off on the exhumation. The US Attorney’s Office was sending a team of lawyers to Oklahoma, but it would take weeks to get through the red tape. So on orders from Eicher, Dava returned home.

  LaPoint stayed behind to head the murder investigation of Reverend Mays and his wife. The initial analysis of the coroner was that they were suffocated to death. Dantelli and Bachynsky were dead, Nick was on the run, and now they wouldn’t be able to get to the mystery of Rachel Grant’s hands. For Dava, it was a job well done.

  The moment her plane touched down on the tarmac, she checked her messages. The first one was from Eicher. Alexei’s lawyers had filed a motion to have his case thrown out of court and he didn’t sound hopeful.

  LaPoint had sent her numerous messages from Oklahoma. He had gotten a search warrant for Kovalenko’s plane that was parked overnight in Dallas—the same
airport Nick and Lilly had been traced to. They found him and his pilot tied-up and gagged in the luggage compartment.

  Kovalenko didn’t claim to be simply traveling on business, or play the ignorance card, as he normally did when questioned by the feds. According to LaPoint, he concocted a story that Lilly McLaughlin and Nick had come to his restaurant in Denver, seeking him out. He claimed that Lilly shot Bachynsky and forced him at gunpoint to fly them to Dallas. LaPoint was skeptical, to say the least.

  Dava wanted to blow off his messages, but it was a crucial time for her—nothing could seem out of the norm. Dava always promptly returned messages. So she called him, planning to play to his ego by agreeing with his theory. But he blindsided her with a new twist.

  “We just got word of two airline tickets purchased with a credit card we’ve connected to Rob Bachynsky. The flight originated in Dallas, stopped for a brief layover in Chicago, and should be arriving at JFK any minute. I have confirmed that a couple matching the description of Nick and Lilly is on the flight—it sure as hell isn’t Bachynsky. I think it’s time we had a little talk with our favorite runaways.”

  Before signing off, LaPoint provided her their gate information. Nick would be arriving any minute—at the very airport she stood in. Could this day fall into place any better? She would have him on a plane heading for a meeting with Viktor by the end of the day.

  She tried to reach Eicher, but he was still hung up in court. So she took matters into her own hands, hurrying toward Nick’s gate, flashing her US Attorney’s badge to clear the way. She pictured the look on his face when he saw her waiting for him.

  But as she neared the gate, an NYPD captain, flanked by a posse of airport security, approached her. She was surrounded. Had something gone wrong? Was LaPoint onto her and sent her to the gate to set her up?

  “Attorney Lazinski?” the police captain named Ziegler addressed her.

  “Yes,” she answered, heart racing. She was carrying a weapon, but she would never get out of the airport alive. And being arrested would be a worse option than dying in a hail of bullets—Viktor and his son couldn’t afford to risk her talking, so it would be a death sentence. Just more painful.

  “Could you come with us? We have an important matter we need your assistance on,” Ziegler said, a hint of urgency in his voice. The whole place seemed on edge.

  Assistance sounded non-threatening, but they could be deceiving her to avoid a public conflict. “What does this matter pertain to?” she asked, holding her voice steady.

  “There has been a murder on an airliner. A pilot. Your office believes it might be connected to a trial you are working and gave us a heads-up that you had just arrived.”

  “Why do they think it’s related to my case?”

  “If you come with us, we think it will be very clear to you.”

  Dava let out a sigh of relief as she trailed the men to the crime scene. She couldn’t risk turning them down, but she had one eye locked on the gate where Nick would be arriving shortly. She needed to make this fast and get back to him.

  The plane had been evacuated. The authorities in the gate area were questioning the passengers. Ziegler led her back to the rear lavatory and showed her Ron Treadwell—Darren McLaughlin’s best friend—who had a butcher knife lodged in his head.

  They handed her the note: I thought I told you not to talk to the feds, McLaughlin.

  Dava moved to the body and appeared to be examining it. “Looks like the work of the Russians, no doubt.”

  “Ron Treadwell, forty years old from Chandler, Arizona. He was the pilot. No criminal record. Not sure how he relates to the Russian mob,” Ziegler stated curiously.

  “There are confidential items I can’t discuss, due to witness protection,” Dava deflected, but she was concentrating more on the pocket of Treadwell’s jacket. She removed his cell phone and stealthily slipped it into her jacket pocket. The phone contained the pictures and messages from Kelli. She couldn’t help but to feel like someone was watching over her today.

  Now she needed to get to Nick. She complimented Ziegler on how he had things so fabulously under control, and explained that she needed to leave for important business, but they would touch base later in the afternoon. They shook hands and she was off.

  The place was now swarming with federal agents—many were Dava’s colleagues. She greeted a few of them as she tried to pass through the gate area, but while getting to Nick and Lilly was top priority, it was more important not to arouse suspicion. She would catch up with them soon enough, and she was confident she would beat Parmalov to them. Although, she had to admit that this strike on Treadwell was an impressive move by Parmalov and his people. It was acting as the perfect distraction, throwing her off the main goal—to get to Nick.

  Suddenly phones began ringing and beepers started going off. It was an emergency of some sort. She couldn’t help but wonder if the commotion was because they had learned of a double-agent named Dava Lazinski, who worked for the Sarvydas family.

  Chapter 67

  “It’s Zubov,” shouted an FBI agent. “He’s in the airport.”

  Dava held back a sigh of relief.

  They now had their number one suspect in Treadwell’s murder. But once again, they were thinking on the surface, in direct contrast to the Russian Mafiya. Viktor had often told her that the FBI was playing checkers, while the Russians were mastering chess. They had the wrong guy...again.

  Dava followed. Not doing so would be deemed peculiar behavior, especially since this was obviously connected to her case. She took one last look at Nick’s empty gate, feeling conflicted.

  They spotted Zubov just outside of a Hudson News in a wheelchair, wearing a wig of long hair and the look of a homeless man. “Freeze,” yelled the FBI leader.

  Zubov, always the contrarian, began wheeling away with impressive speed. Dava assumed the wheelchair was a prop, but she couldn’t imagine him going any faster on foot. He bowled over travelers and cut corners like a speed skater. He expertly maneuvered the chair down an escalator, and wheeled toward the baggage claim. Where he was headed was anybody’s guess.

  Crowds continued to clear. Taking a shot at him was a near impossibility. He was swerving left and right at high speed and used the crowds as cover. The FBI looked like bullies chasing a handicapped man.

  Zubov plowed past security. He was heading toward international flights. Dava now understood. It was brilliant.

  Zubov continued toward an Air Israel flight that was deplaning. This plane carried Israeli pop star Natalie Gold—the latest protégée of Viktor Sarvydas.

  They all came to a stop at the ropes that were set up to wall off the slobbering media, along with clashing fans and protestors. Zubov was able to use the mob of spectators as a blocker to move safely to the gate area.

  Natalie Gold exited her plane, surrounded by a halo of charisma. She was also encircled by a cluster of men wearing military fatigues, and carrying assault rifles—not something normally seen in the United States. If Zubov planned to harm the pop star then it was up to these sharpshooters to protect her. The FBI could do nothing now.

  But there would be no confrontation. Natalie headed right toward Zubov. She bent down and hugged him as he remained in his chair, a large smile on her face. She sings, she dances, she hugs the handicapped!

  Their joyful reunion was short-lived. The FBI moved in and took Zubov into custody. Dava would join the federal team in interrogating Zubov.

  Nick and Lilly would have to wait. She would catch up with them later.

  Chapter 68

  Eicher met Dava outside the interrogation room deep beneath JFK Airport. Even though their case was looking hopeless, it was still nice to see a friendly face. He hadn’t seen her since yesterday afternoon, and since they had spent practically every working day together for the past year, he was feeling a little separation anxiety.

  He’d come straight from court. The defense made a motion to drop the case, based on the whole rigmarole of the last co
uple of days. The judge said he would take the motion under advisement and have a ruling in the near future. Based on the stern lecture Eicher received about the “reckless circus atmosphere” the judge believed he was responsible for, he wasn’t feeling confident.

  After he informed Dava of the latest undoing, she filled him in on everything from Oklahoma to Ron Treadwell’s murder, and the Zubov wheelchair race through the airport.

  Eicher bounced his theory off Dava, the one about Parmalov trying to take control of the Sarvydas Empire.

  Dava didn’t seem so sure. “Then Zubov wouldn’t be a suspect in the Treadwell murder, unless he swapped sides. And if he did, it wouldn’t make sense for him to kill Dantelli, because Parmalov would want a trial to put Alexei away, and Dantelli would need to be alive to testify at it. Plus, Zubov picked up Natalie Gold, who is Sarvydas’ latest protégé, and word would have trickled back to Sarvydas by now if he’d switched teams. So the only possibility with your theory is that Zubov didn’t kill Treadwell, and that doesn’t seem to add up.”

  Eicher nodded, soaking in her words. He hated it when she was so logical. And right!

  They walked into the interrogation room and were greeted by Ziegler from the NYPD. A couple of FBI agents were also present.

  Eicher scanned the room. He first noticed Natalie Gold, who lived up to expectations, at least physically. Even the long flight from Israel didn’t diminish her beauty or wrinkle her miniscule dress. A singer must have good lungs, and she sure had those too.