Vanishing Act

by Linsey Lanier

As he crawled in beside her, Miranda put her arms around him and pulled him tight. “Thanks for saving my life again tonight.”

  “It’s becoming a habit.”

  “For me, too.”

  “Touché. I propose we both need to try harder to stay alive.”

  “I’ll make a note of that,” she yawned.

  And with the smell of Parker’s delicious manly scent teasing her nose, she drifted off.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Irina pulled herself up and climbed back through her office window. Inside, she closed the panes, her whole body shivering with rage.

  The harsh overhead light made her eyes hurt. She raised her gun, ready to fire at it. Then she lowered her arm. Making a mess right now would do no good. She set the gun down on her desk.

  If she kept it in her hand, she would shoot the next person who came to her door.

  She wanted to shoot someone. She wanted to go out to the gym and shoot every last one of them. Sergei. Sokol. All the trainees. They were supposed to guard her office while they were in training here, and they had failed miserably.

  None of them deserved to live.

  Least of all Sergei. “You worry too much,” he had said.

  Ha. She knew those Americans were not to be trusted. Who was that woman? What had she taken? Irina hadn’t had time to check before she had grabbed her gun and chased the thieving Ms. Steele out on the rooftops.

  And that Wade Parker. The man who shot at her. How dare he?

  They would pay for tonight. She would see to that.

  She pulled open her top drawer. What had the woman taken?

  She knew it.

  The other silver flash drive was gone. The match to the one Vlad had stolen last November. Parker and Steele were somehow tied to Vladislav. She could not imagine how.

  This was all Sergei’s fault. She eyed the gun, longing to find him and put a bullet in his big chest.

  But unfortunately, she needed Sergei. She would need all of them tomorrow night. Besides the men under her were not hers to kill. That was for the man in the US to decide.

  A beep went off on her computer. What now?

  She should ignore it.

  Instead she logged in.

  It was an email. From America.

  She read through it quickly, and as she did, her heart began to pound so hard she could feel it in her carotid arteries. Her throat constricted. She could not breathe.

  Her brother? Arrested? His business shut down by the FBI?

  It had happened weeks ago and they were just getting around to telling her?

  And then she saw the names at the bottom of the email.

  Wade Parker and Miranda Steele. They had played a part in the arrest. Who were these two Americans? Were they FBI agents? What were they doing in Kiev? She read the next few sentences. No, not FBI agents.

  They were private instigators.

  She sank into her chair. How could it be? How could they have taken down her brother? It did not make any sense.

  The flash drive.

  Could Parker and Steele find what was on it? No, no one could.

  She grunted at herself. Now she was sounding like Sergei. Of course, they could.

  She had to do something, but she could not afford to take her attention away from the event tomorrow night.

  She got up and started pacing in front of her desk. What to do? What to do?

  Wait.

  If Parker and Steele did find what was on that drive, they would no doubt be there. They would show up at tomorrow night’s event. At her event.

  And if they did…She reached over the top of the desk and picked up her gun again. Slowly she ran her fingers over its smooth black barrel. She was calm now.

  She knew what to do. She would become the leader she was born to be.

  If Parker and Steele came to the event, she would give them the greeting they deserved.

  She would take care of them once and for all.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The next morning Miranda woke to an empty bed and the sound of the shower running.

  There wasn’t a suitcase on the bed, but she knew once they got dressed, they were packing up and heading home. They’d take the flash drive over to Gurka’s office and head for the airport.

  She lay back on the pillow overcome with an overwhelming sense of failure and defeat. She could still feel the concrete and clay tiles under her feet. The memory of the cold night air made her shiver. What had she been doing, running over rooftops in Kiev in the middle of the night with a madwoman after her?

  Maybe she was the crazy one.

  And after all they’d been through, they were no closer to finding Sasha than when they started. Maybe they’d been on the wrong track all along.

  Maybe Sasha did go into the woods and poison himself. No, he had been in Kiev. But they’d never find him.

  All she knew now was that she’d changed her mind. She wanted to go home. She missed Fanuzzi’s Brooklyn accent. She missed Becker. And Wesson. And even Holloway. She couldn’t wait to hear Coco welcome them back with a “Hey, y’all.” She wanted to hear how the babies were doing.

  The bathroom door opened, and Parker emerged wearing a white towel around his gorgeous nether regions.

  Miranda drank in the sight a moment, then started to get up. She groaned with pain. Pulling back the covers, she eyed the nice dark bruise on her side where that thug Sokol had kicked her last night.

  She scowled at Parker. “How come you got out of this unscathed?”

  Parker’s eyes twinkled as he reached for the polo shirt and pair of traveling jeans he’d laid out on the bed. “I’m glad to see you back to your demure self this morning.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, then gestured to the casual clothes. “So are we going home?”

  “I don’t see a need to stay. We’ve helped Gurka all we can, and our own case is at a dead end. Are you going to fight me on that today?”

  Rolling over on her stomach, she shook her head. “Hot dog,” she said. But there was no cheer in her tone.

  Surprised at her reaction, Parker gave her a sad smile as he finished dressing. “I’ll call Anastasia and inform her of our decision once we’re on our way.”

  “Okay.”

  She rolled over again and forced her rebelling body out of bed. She plodded over to the closet to find something comfortable to wear on the plane.

  As she was pulling out an old pair of jeans, Parker’s computer beeped.

  Quickly Miranda slid into a shirt, buttoned up the pants, and hopped toward the desk in the sitting room as she shoved her shoes on. “Did your app work?”

  “It did.” Parker had beat her to the desk and sat down.

  She peered over his shoulder as he clicked a button.

  The hidden file on the flash drive opened.

  “It worked.”

  “It did, indeed.”

  She studied the screen.

  The document was a map, some sort of schematic. An oval shape with lots of little squares. The legend and the markings were in Cyrillic, of course.

  She let out a huff. “Can your handy dandy app do something with those characters?”

  “It’s a graphic, not text. However—let’s see if this works.”

  He enlarged the screen, pushed back his chair and aimed his phone at the picture. It took a moment, but Parker’s translation app finally displayed some readable text on his phone. In English.

  Miranda read the title on the document. “‘In Plain Sight.’ What does that mean?”

  “Hmm.” Parker slid the screen up and the label on the bottom of the document appeared.

  Miranda read the text. “‘All Sports Arena.’ Where’s that?”

  He switched to another window on the laptop and found the arena on a map. “Just a few kilometers from here.”

  Parker clicked an icon, and the arena’s website appeared.

  It was a beautiful modern stadium with a capacity for twenty-thousand. Parker cli
cked again. Nine rows of headshots appeared. A pair of tough looking men on each row. The text translated and Miranda began to scan it. Main Event. Fight Card.

  She sucked in her breath and pointed at the top of the screen. “The Eurasian Beat Down. That’s the event they were talking about at Udar.”

  “Yes. And this is the fighter the receptionist mentioned.” He pointed to the third fight on the card. Egor Kluka.

  “So what does that have to do with ‘In Plain Sight’?”

  Parker switched back to the schematic of the arena, held up his phone again to translate it. Then he pointed to a set of rectangles on the right. “These are loading docks for equipment.”

  “To set up the stage?”

  “Correct. Lighting, sound, seating.”

  “And the cage itself.”

  “Yes.” He turned the phone, focusing on the small text in the loading dock area.

  Miranda’s heart stopped as she read from his screen. “Two hundred forty kilograms. After Fight Three. Does that mean what I think it does?”

  “If we didn’t already have evidence of Udar’s criminal activity, it could mean the time and weight of some delivery.”

  “But they wouldn’t be delivering sound and light equipment after the event has started.”

  “No, they wouldn’t. It would have to be something else.”

  “Drugs,” she said.

  “They are generally measured in kilograms,” Parker admitted.

  “So that’s what they’re doing ‘In Plain Sight.’ A drug exchange of two hundred and forty kilograms of heroin or cocaine.”

  “Which could be worth upwards of twenty-four million dollars.”

  She felt Parker’s shoulder tense under her hand.

  “Right now that scenario seems very likely.”

  Miranda closed her eyes and shuddered. “Of course. ‘In Plain Sight.’ They’re going to do it in the middle of the Beat Down event while security and police are busy inside. They’re going to make it look like some normal delivery so no one will question what they’re doing. Gurka needs to see this right away, Parker.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” There was wariness in his voice.

  They were supposed to be leaving Kiev.

  Before they could discuss any new plans, Parker’s phone rang.

  He switched off the translation app and answered it.

  It was Anastasia.

  “Good morning, Anastasia,” Parker said tenderly. “Miranda is here with me.” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the desk.

  Miranda didn’t know what to say to the lady.

  The feminine Ukrainian accent came through the phone. “Good Morning, Ms. Steele. I am sorry to disturb you, but I have not heard from either of you in a while.”

  “Hi, Anastasia. Sorry about that.” Miranda settled into the chair in the corner to listen and gave Parker a nod. She knew he wanted to handle giving the bad news.

  “I apologize for neglecting to get back to you,” Parker said. “But unfortunately we haven’t been able to learn what happened to your brother.”

  “Ah. I thought as much.” Her voice sounded so sad.

  “We have determined, though, that Sasha did come to Kiev after leaving home. He made friends with a bookstore owner here. But then the owner lost track of him.”

  “So he did go to Kiev?”

  “Yes. We have confirmed that. The shop owner recognized his photo and knew his name.”

  “I see.”

  “He also told us Sasha wanted to go to a university here, but he was afraid of requesting his records.”

  “He did not want us to find him.”

  “Apparently not. I’m sorry.”

  Anastasia sighed. “You have done the best you could. It is something. Our poor Alesander. He could be so stubborn.”

  Miranda sat up. “Excuse me? What did you just call him?”

  “Alesander. Sasha is our pet name for him. I did not mention that when you were here?”

  Miranda caught Parker’s eye. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Does it matter?” she asked.

  “We’re not sure.”

  Miranda stared at Parker. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so surprised.

  “Is there anything else about his name you can tell us?” Parker asked gently.

  Anastasia paused, obviously embarrassed by her mistake. “There is our family name.”

  Miranda’s stomach tensed. “Family name? Isn’t that Pavlovych?”

  “No. That is Sasha’s patronymic name. We always go by our patronymic names. It is our custom. We rarely use it, but our family name is Antonenko.”

  “Antonenko,” Parker repeated.

  “Yes.”

  “So Sasha’s formal name is Alesander Pavlovych Antonenko.”

  “Or Alesander Antonenko. I am sorry our customs are so confusing.”

  Would have been nice to know all this beforehand, but maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.

  Then Miranda watched Parker turn to the laptop. He brought up the Names file, and typed in Alesander Antonenko.

  And got a hit.

  “It’s all right, Anastasia,” he said as if he were soothing a child.

  “Does it make a difference?” Anastasia asked.

  “Probably not. We’ll do some double checking, but I don’t expect any different results.”

  There was another long pause. “Very well. Thank you both for your help, Mr. Parker, Ms. Steele. At least you have given us something.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “Have a safe trip back to America.” She hung up.

  Miranda pointed to the spreadsheet on the screen. “You didn’t want to tell her you just found him?”

  “Would you want to know your long lost brother had gotten caught up in a criminal enterprise like Udar?”

  She let out a breath. He had a point. “So we leave it at that?”

  Parker didn’t answer. He was staring at his screen.

  Curious, she leaned over and took another look at the spreadsheet. Parker wasn’t looking at the highlighted cell. He was looking at the one to the right of it.

  When she read the name in that cell, Miranda felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her.

  “Anatoly Tamarkin?”

  Parker seemed as stunned as she felt.

  Miranda pressed a palm to her temple. It had been months ago, but she still remembered that name. Anatoly Tamarkin. The name Becker found in an Interpol database last September. The man with the size thirteen shoe who had been a major player in the child sex trafficking operation in Kennesaw. The man who had nearly killed Parker.

  “That Anatoly Tamarkin?”

  Parker found his tongue. “As I recall, he was from Ukraine.”

  “Yeah.” Miranda had to sit down again. “And he was involved in Simon Sloan’s Group 141.” Simon Sloan, their FBI buddy.

  “Yes.” Parker’s voice was dark and ominous.

  Miranda’s head was still spinning. “Does that mean Udar is connected to Group 141 somehow?”

  Parker closed the files, pulled out the flash drive, and shut down the laptop as he got to his feet. “It means we need to get this information to Gurka right away.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Three hours later Miranda was sitting next to Parker in the same rectangular shaped room at headquarters where they’d first met Inspector Gurka.

  The man had turned it into a war room, and there were ten or so officers from the Kiev police force sitting about studying the information sketched on whiteboards and the schematic from the flash drive document, which was now projected on the far wall near the flag. Next to it, a photo of the All Sports Arena was displayed.

  Rubbing his mustache, Gurka pointed at the schematic of the stadium with a laser pen. “These are the loading docks, on the east side of the building.” He pressed a key on his laptop, and a photo of the corresponding area of the arena appeared. “This is where we believe the exchange will take place
.”

  “A question?” said an officer in the back of the room.

  “Yes, Max?”

  “Are you telling us this drug deal will take place after the third fight?”

  “That is what we believe after piecing together the evidence Mr. Parker and Ms. Steele have brought us. We think Udar is planning some sort of exchange. We surmise the contraband will be delivered via truck to make it seem like an ordinary delivery.”

  “In Plain Sight,” said Max.

  “Correct.”

  The officer glanced at Miranda with a curious look, as if he couldn’t quite understand how she and her partner had gotten so much intel.

  Another officer raised a hand.

  “Yes, Vitali?”

  “Do we know where this truck is coming from?”

  “We do not, but I would guess Odessa. It is the typical source for this amount.”

  Grimly, the officer nodded.

  “Of course,” Gurka continued, “since we are not certain if our information is accurate, we will have men stationed throughout the area around the stadium the entire evening.”

  One of the greener looking officers raised a hand. “How are we going to identify this particular delivery truck, Inspector?”

  “It may have an Udar logo or be unmarked. Again, we are not certain.”

  An officer with a head of thick sandy blonde curls raised his hand. Miranda recognized him as the one who had brought them into the station a few nights ago.

  “Yes, Oleg Romanovych,” Gurka said.

  Miranda hadn’t heard his name before. Officer Oleg. Cute.

  The young man cleared his throat. “Two hundred and forty kilograms of drugs would not be easy to disguise.”

  Gurka paused, taking in the skepticism in his tone. “They may have it hidden in crates or boxes or bags.”

  “Or inside sound equipment,” suggested a man from the back of the room.

  Miranda eyed him carefully, taking in the dull brown curls under a dark knit cap, the fit body, and the smug attitude. She knew him.

  “That is true, Ivan Victorovych.” Gurka gestured toward the man. “Everyone, Officer Victorovych has been working undercover at Udar for several years.”

  Right. That was the guy she’d met the first night they went to Udar. The one who’d told her not to come back. He must have been trying to protect her.