by S. L. Jones
For the time being, he had the advantage. Nobody knew his mother was dead. The hackers all lived in fear knowing the Bratva might be tracking their every move. As far as he could tell, the Bratva only tracked their movements by their cell phones and the video surveillance in and around the apartment building where they all stayed. The complex was owned by Kozlov, so he never felt comfortable there.
“What’s going on?” Zander heard one of the guards ask Mikhail.
“Dimitri is sifting through the logs trying to figure out who put the senator’s son in the queue,” Mikhail said.
The queue was what they called the list of hackers who were good enough to install their bots without getting caught. Zander knew Soller wasn’t a skilled hacker, and that was one of the main reasons he chose him. Maximillian Soller II was a time bomb he hoped would eventually go off. Zander was purposely sloppy when deleting the communications between him and Soller. He was equally as careless with the messages between the other hacker recruits. The more opportunities he left for the authorities to uncover something untoward, the more chances of the Bratva being exposed.
He was concerned about the length of time it would take Sokov to work through the logs to figure out who had done the deed. He decided he only had a couple of hours before they would come after him. The hackers had been put on lock-down before, so he needed to move fast to make sure he wasn’t trapped in The Dungeon.
Zander had never been so thankful for a dentist appointment in his life. He walked over to the guard and submitted himself to the routine search. When they were finished, he rushed through the dank catacombs of the building and out to the street. He took the bus straight to his apartment, knowing he wouldn’t need a dentist if he didn’t hurry.
Chapter 29
Woodley Park, Washington, DC
THE BENIGN CLOUDS above had delivered night early. Smells swirled through the air of the nation’s capital and propelled summer into full swing. Plants were in bloom, and a light breeze delivered hints of culinary creations from a line of restaurants up ahead.
Trent Turner cautiously walked down Connecticut Avenue toward the Marriott Wardman Park. Out of habit, he would take a detour into a store, this time a Starbucks, to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He decided it would be a good idea to double back through a neighborhood before making his final approach to the hotel.
Turner hailed a taxi outside the coffee shop and directed the driver to take Cathedral Avenue and then head down Woodley Road toward the Marriott. A cab was his best option to go in unnoticed. Just before turning into the hotel driveway, he noted the gray Chrysler 300 parked on the street. There was a black scrape down the front driver’s-side quarter panel. He sized up the damage with his rental car in mind and knew the car’s owner was somehow connected to his brother’s death. He wasn’t a man that believed in coincidences, so he began to run the possible scenarios for Millar’s pickup through his head. It was an extremely busy hotel, and he would never risk involving innocent people.
As the cab approached the lobby entrance, the operative instructed the driver to slow down. He wanted to make sure the bellhop was busy with another arrival when he exited the vehicle. He paid the cabbie as he scanned the area. A small family was exiting the sliding glass doors from the lobby, the concierge was going over a map with a tourist, and a thin man with a Washington Nationals baseball cap was leaning against the building. He used reflections to confirm no cars had followed him and headed inside.
The hotel lobby was posh and bustling with Friday-night activity. He made his way to the bank of elevators and walked toward the ding that signaled one had just arrived. The doors slid open.
“What’s wrong, mister?” a little boy asked as he exited the lift.
It had been a long time since Turner had spent time around children. He marveled at how astute their observations were. A child’s earnest concern and innocent, sometimes brutal honesty represented hope. In another life he would have enjoyed being a father, but he had made his choice, and fatherhood wasn’t in the cards. Any relationship he entered was bound to end in disaster; Ryan’s death had only underscored that point. He could live with his decision. What he did, the big picture of things, provided plenty of motivation for his work.
He made a mental note. The young boy had picked up an air of concern about him, which was significant. It confirmed he wasn’t on top of his game.
Turner put on a big smile and said, “Nothing that a young man like yourself can’t fix when you grow up.”
“I like fixing things,” the boy said as he held up his toy car with pride. “My name is Liam.”
Turner watched Liam’s embarrassed parents briskly escort him away.
“Nice to meet you, Liam,” Turner said quietly as the elevator door shut.
He wore an amused smirk as he rose to the sixth floor. When the door opened, he stepped out and listened intently. The corridor was filled with sounds of people gearing up for a night on the town. He pulled a card key from his pocket and tested it on a room next to some of the louder occupants on the floor. The swipe emitted a beep as the LED on the lock flashed green. He turned the handle to gauge the effort and noise involved. He repeated the task two more times and realized there would be no surprise entrance. He quickly headed down the hall toward Millar’s room.
Turner made a quick check to confirm none of the hotel’s occupants were in the hallway. He drew his pistol and screwed on the suppressor as he considered the reaction the beeping sound from the door might bring. There was no doubt the man who drove the Chrysler 300 would have made it to the room first. He didn’t know what the intentions of Petrov’s assassin were toward Millar, so he needed to take care of business fast. If the assassin was there to kill the hacker, this could already be over.
With one swift motion, he unlocked the door and swung it open. He quickly scanned the room for threats and sprinted to the other side to clear the bathroom. He spun back around to the door and checked the space behind the bed. The only thing left inside the hotel room was a dark blue backpack that sat on the bed. It had the words “United States Senate” embroidered on it, along with the Maryland state seal. There were no signs of a major struggle. That was a good thing. The cigarette smoke streaming out of the ashtray was also a good sign.
He ran down the hallway and through a door that led to the stairs and began his descent. He navigated his way down, taking several steps at a time. When he reached the first floor, he slowed to a brisk walk and made his way through the lobby. His eyes worked double-time, taking in everything as he strained for a glimpse of Etzy Millar. He could just make out the hacker’s lanky form though the glass doors. He was being guided firmly into a cab by an assassin. Several cabs were waiting at the curb, so Turner jumped into the first one in line.
“Follow that cab,” he directed the driver. “But don’t get too close.”
Chapter 30
Soller Residence, Potomac, Maryland
SHE WAS ANXIOUSLY awaiting a message from her boyfriend. The couple had been secretly dating for almost a year, and her mother was the only other person who knew about their relationship.
Maria Soller was confused, lovesick, and mourning her brother’s death all at once. She had overheard one of her father’s conversations about her brother’s investigation, and it weighed heavily on her conscience. She wasn’t used to being an emotional wreck and could normally keep her act together no matter the circumstances, like her parents. Her phone hadn’t left her hand since she’d heard the news.
The text message arrived with the simultaneous beep and vibration of her iPhone. She looked down at the device and saw the message was from a number she didn’t recognize. Her pulse quickened. She slid her thumb across the display and unlocked the device with trepidation. Her iPhone launched into the message, and she began reading. Tears streamed down her face, and her hands started to tremble.
“Mom…oh my God. Mom. Mom!” she yelled with increasing urgency. She ran up the stairs to the kitchen.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
“It’s him! He just sent me a text. He’s in trouble,” she blurted out.
She handed the phone to her mother so she could read the message for herself.
m, i’m so sorry about max—i hope to explain later in person, but i had nothing to do with it, you have to know that. the guy who killed him is outside my door right now and says he has melody. he said he’ll kill her if i don’t go with him. pls check on her and make sure she’s ok. i’m going with him…i have no choice. pls text me back as soon as u find out if she’s safe. i love u! /etc
Matilde Soller’s eyes narrowed after reading the text. “Dear God.”
“Dad said Etzy was with Max when he was killed,” Maria said in a fearful voice. “He was talking on the phone with someone. I don’t know who, but…I don’t know. I was too scared to tell you.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I know it wasn’t Etzy’s fault. You can’t put this on your shoulders. Look what it’s doing to you. We’ll find out what happened to your brother.”
“He’d still be here if it wasn’t for me,” she said, her sobs breaking up the words. Now that her mother knew, some of the weight had been lifted, but this was complicated, and the emotion was still smothering her. It was she who had asked Etzy to help her brother out with school. Max had trouble making friends, and their chance meeting on campus had changed everything.
She was looking for her brother’s classroom, and Etzy happened to be in the same class. Their first conversation took them both by surprise and provided the first spark between the unlikely couple. The guilt was overwhelming as she wondered whether Max would still be alive if she hadn’t tried looking out for him.
“Do you know where his sister is?” her mother asked.
“Yeah, I know where she’s staying. She’s staying in an apartment complex.” Her hands were still shaking, and her face was streaked with tears. “In Gaithersburg. I have the address saved on my phone.”
“Okay, calm down, honey. Calm down,” her mother said. It was a soothing, confident voice. Her words carried the sort of comfort that can only come from a mother ready to do anything for her child. “Does she trust you?” she continued.
“Yes, she’s super nice.”
“Good. We’ll go check on her now. I’m sure she’s okay. We can find out if she knows anything about what Etzy and Max were up to.”
“Mom, did you read that message? Have you heard some of the things Dad has been saying?”
It was impossible not to hear the senator’s booming voice echo through the house. “Relax, honey,” she said, taking charge of the situation. “You need to relax. We’ll get through this, okay? First things first.”
Maria squeezed her mother tight.
Matilde Soller rubbed a caring hand up and down her daughter’s back and said, “Let’s make sure Melody is okay and find out if she knows anything that can help Etzy. If someone does have his sister, they won’t stay in her apartment. We’ll have a look from a distance first. If something isn’t right, we’ll go with plan B.”
The ability to reason was something that came easily to Matilde Soller. Being the wife of a high-profile senator put her in the spotlight more than she liked, but it was nothing the former Fortune 500 executive couldn’t handle.
“I love you, Mom,” Maria said with another squeeze.
“I love you too, honey.”
“I should have told Max that we were dating,” she said, her voice shaking.
“It wouldn’t have mattered, Maria.” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“How do you know?”
“I know,” she said, invoking the definitive authority of a parent.
Maria was the one who had broken the quiet soul out of his shell and that increased her feeling of guilt. “But—”
“Let’s try to help Etzy through this,” her mother said in a gentle yet firm tone. “We could both use a distraction right about now. I have someone we can trust. Someone who can help. I’ll give him a call after we check on Melody.”
Chapter 31
Kozlov Bratva compound, Chicago, Illinois
“YES, MY OLD friend, there is nothing to be concerned about,” Pavel Kozlov said. “Everything is under control. The only change may be with the schedule. We may have to move things up.” The Bratva boss anxiously clenched his fist as he considered the silence on the other end of the line. Kozlov looked at the steel door to his office, and then down at the calendar pad on his desk. He picked up a pen and traced a circle over and over before he started talking again. “It is not a problem if we do. We have already planned for such a circumstance.”
There was another long pause before Yuri Khrushchev spoke. “We only have one chance at this, Pavel.”
Khrushchev was an old-school spy, once the head of Russia’s Sixteenth Directorate, responsible for the KGB’s signals intelligence and communications interception, or SIGINT for those who ran in his circles. Kozlov’s mentor was a deliberate man and would respond only after careful consideration.
“This operation has cost us far too much,” he continued. “The organization has risked everything to make this happen. Failure is not an option.”
Kozlov shifted in his chair and said, “Yes, I understand. We will not fail. The operation will be our greatest success, and we will soon rise to power once again.”
Khrushchev didn’t respond immediately. “What about our loose end?”
“I just received word that it will be taken care of within the hour.”
“That is something I have heard before, Pavel,” Khrushchev said.
Kozlov knew the hardline communist on the other end of the line wasn’t a man who gave second chances, but the Bratva leader was still confident their underground organization hadn’t been compromised. Before he could respond, Khrushchev continued.
“This Turner. The American. Whatever you call him. This is a matter that we cannot afford to leave unresolved.”
“Yes, I agree.”
“Now that he knows we’re after him, the job will be considerably more difficult. Nobody can know we are in control before the operation is complete.”
“He will be dealt with. I have men putting the squeeze on him in Washington, DC as we speak. He won’t know what hit him.” There was another lengthy pause, so he continued. “I have another angle,” he said simply, not wanting to elaborate.
“Keep me informed. And what of the senator’s son?”
“The matter is being taken care of.”
“He’s dead. Don’t you think it’s a little late to take care of it?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “What I meant is that we will make an example of the one who chose him. It will keep the hackers quiet until this is over. Then we will get rid of them all.”
“I want results, not promises,” Khrushchev replied, far from satisfied. “I need to know when we will be moving forward with the operation so I can make sure everything is ready here. The Group is meeting on Sunday. Let me know if Andrei should move forward.”
“Of course.”
“I will need to know as soon as possible. Our man cannot be in the United States when this happens.”
Kozlov knew exactly whom he was talking about. It would be a complicated situation if the Russian President was trapped in America at the G8 summit when all hell broke loose. He recognized the displeasure in Khrushchev’s voice before he heard the line disconnect.
He headed out of his office and down the dank hallway of the compound to The Dungeon. The Russian pounded his already-clenched fist on the metal door and glared at the camera above until the door opened. He stomped into the room.
“Mikhail, where is Dimitri?” Kozlov said in an angry tone.
Fear filled the room as the hackers diverted their eyes from his direction.
Mikhail stood quickly. “Please follow me this way. He is inside the server room.”
Mikhail led him across to the server room door and affi
xed his eye to the retinal scanning device until he heard the lock disengage. He opened the door to the sound of a swooshing noise as the server room depressurized. Dimitri Sokov stood over a workstation built into one of the large computer racks.
“What have you found, Dimitri?” Kozlov asked.
Sokov was visibly frustrated. “Nothing yet, but I’m getting close.”
“Are all of your hackers present?”
“No, not all of them,” Mikhail said.
Kozlov’s face began to redden as he digested the news. “What did you say?”
“There are two that are not present right now. Sofia has returned to Russia to help work on the operation there, and Dennis, one of the Americans, had a dentist’s visit.”
Kozlov’s eyes flashed with anger.
“It’s something he had planned several days ago,” Mikhail added. “He has a problem with his tooth.”
Kozlov looked to Sokov and said, “Is this Dennis capable of clearing his tracks, Dimitri?”
“They are all capable of such a thing,” he said intensely. “We only bring highly skilled people into an operation such as this.”
“Then find him,” Kozlov barked, his head cocked angrily to the side. “Yuri thinks very highly of you, Dimitri, but a problem with this operation will not be tolerated, no matter how long you have been friends.”
“I have already sent our best man to bring him back. His computer skills will be of no use in this situation.”
Chapter 32
Apartment complex, Gaithersburg, Maryland
THEY HAD BEEN driving for less than fifteen minutes when they reached Melody Millar’s apartment complex. Maria Soller was considering the trouble her brother and boyfriend had gotten themselves into when she snapped, “No, no, turn right here, Mom.”
