Vanishing Act

by Linsey Lanier

  They reached the third level and came to a halt.

  The entrance to the lot was blocked by a row of orange cones and a portable A-frame sign that must have said the floor was full. Hmm.

  Squinting into the shadows, Miranda saw a white delivery van with no markings in a spot at the end of the third aisle. A midnight blue Audi sat in the space next to it.

  After a moment, two men in black jackets and jeans got out of the van and sauntered to the rear of it. As if they were in no hurry to go anywhere, they leaned against the van and started up a conversation.

  One of them was taller and more muscular than the other. He was a hairy dude, his head topped with thick black curls, his face covered with a short black beard, so that only his dark eyes and large nose showed through.

  The shorter one was clean shaven and chubby. He wore a black knit cap and moved his arms as if he were cold, which he probably was.

  The tall hairy dude took out a cigarette and began smoking while snatches of their low resonant syllables echoed up to the concrete rafters above their heads.

  Were these the delivery men from Odessa? Did they have two hundred and forty kilograms of drugs in that van?

  Miranda’s flesh tingled at the thought. But where were the people from Udar?

  She spotted Gurka’s Prius idling in the only spot on this side of the cones. The Inspector caught Parker’s eye and gestured for them to continue downward to the next floor.

  Parker’s jaw went tight.

  “We could just knock down that barrier,” Miranda suggested.

  Parker shook his head. “Too conspicuous. Best to follow the lead’s orders.”

  Okay, she could go along with that after being put in charge of a team.

  He rolled forward, and down the ramp they went, into the nether regions of the lower level. After another moment they were on Level Four. It took a while to find a space, but at last they did. Parker pulled into it and shut off the car.

  Miranda looked around. No cops anywhere. They had to be around somewhere.

  “Are we going on foot?”

  “Do you see another way up?”

  “Guess not.” Miranda got out and pulled her coat around her as she did another scan.

  She didn’t see any of Gurka’s men. They must have gone down another level or two in an effort to look like part of the scenery. But they’d all be heading for Level Three soon, right?

  Parker nodded toward the corner. “There’s a stairwell.”

  He took her arm and they headed over to it.

  Up they went, hoping their feet didn’t clang too much on the metal stairs.

  On Level Three, they drew their weapons while Parker opened the heavy door to the lot a crack and peered out.

  “What do you see?” Miranda whispered.

  “The two men are still at the back of the van.”

  “Do you recognize them?”

  “No.”

  “That van has to be carrying the two hundred and forty kilo delivery.”

  “I would assume so.”

  “Where the heck are Irina and Sergei and the rest of her crew?”

  Before Parker could reply, a whistle echoed in the distance. It sounded like some sort of Ukrainian folk song. Miranda scooted closer to the door to get a better view just as a man came sauntering through the cars from the opposite side of the garage.

  His long dark leather jacket looked expensive. Though he didn’t need them down here, he flaunted a pair of designer sunglasses. His long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, swinging back and forth as he walked. His whole being said cocky.

  Was he from Udar? Miranda didn’t recognize him.

  As if he’d been out for an evening stroll, he moved to the back of the midnight blue Audi and opened the trunk with a key fob.

  In response, the tall bearded smoker stomped out his cigarette, while the shorter one opened the rear of the white van. They exchanged a bit of dialog, then both of them lifted a large sack out of the van and carried it over to the Audi.

  It was a big sack. Maybe eighty pounds. Made of burlap, it had red lettering scrawled over the coarse fabric. Ukrainian? Chinese maybe.

  Carefully they set it down in the Audi’s trunk.

  “That’s it,” Miranda hissed. “That’s got to be the drugs.”

  Parker put a finger to his lips.

  Scanning the vehicles, she breathed in the cold air and car smells. Where was Gurka? Where was his team? This was it. Now was the time to make the arrest.

  Then she realized there was no proof yet those sacks contained narcotics.

  Suddenly Officer Oleg stepped out from behind the bumper of a Renault in the next row where he must have been hiding.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said in loud clear English that echoed off the walls. For their benefit, Miranda presumed. “May I ask what you are doing down here?”

  The brown-haired man in the leather coat turned to Oleg with a grand smile. “We are loading supplies, officer.”

  “What kind of supplies?”

  The suave man spread his arms. “For our family in the village.”

  “Oh? Which village is that?”

  The tall hairy guy from the van named a place Miranda had never heard of.

  Oleg eyed the back of the van. “You have quite a few of those sacks.”

  “Our village is very poor,” said Leather Coat. “As good sons, we must help them.”

  How sweet. Miranda could see Oleg wasn’t buying it.

  “Do you mind showing me what is in one of those bags?” Oleg reached into his belt and drew out a tactical knife.

  The tall bearded guy didn’t answer. Instead, he turned toward the chubby short man in the knit cap.

  Chubby looked back at Leather Coat, as if to say, “Your call.”

  Finally Leather Coat gave Officer Oleg a slow nod.

  Oleg studied the three men a moment, then gestured past the Audi. “Do you mind standing over there, gentlemen?”

  With a scowl, the three men shuffled to a nearby support column.

  Smart move, Oleg, Miranda thought. That way, they won’t all jump you at once.

  Oleg strolled over to the Audi’s trunk. He steadied his knife and made an inch long slit in the top sack.

  White stuff spilled out onto the cement floor. Too white and fine to be flour.

  She knew it. Cocaine.

  Now it really was in plain sight.

  Leather Coat’s face turned to stone. He lunged from the pillar, grabbed Oleg’s wrist and gave it a hard twist, trying to knock the knife from his hand.

  The officer attempted a kick to the guy’s shin, but Leather Coat was too fast. He twisted his body and the knife clattered onto the concrete floor.

  Leather Coat had training. He was from Udar, all right.

  Recovering his balance, Oleg stepped back, drew his service weapon, and pointed it at Leather Coat’s chest before he could get to the knife.

  “Hands in the air,” Oleg shouted.

  Leather Coat ignored the order. Forgetting about the knife, he pulled a gun out of his belt, jumped behind the Audi, and fired before Oleg could.

  The officer ducked and rolled under the van.

  The shorter guy and the tall hairy one had taken cover between a Citroen and a Fiat across from the van, but they both had drawn weapons, as well.

  They squatted down and fired under the van, trying to hit the officer where he’d gone for cover.

  “We need to help,” Miranda whispered to Parker.

  He nodded, and she felt his body surge with determination.

  He opened the door of the stairwell they’d been hiding in, and they stepped out into the chilly air.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Keep low.” Parker’s whispered command echoed in her ear.

  “Right.” Miranda nodded and bent down to scurry alongside a nearby Peugeot.

  As shots echoed across the drive aisle, they made their way to the back wall and along the row of cars, using the
m for cover. Some of them were parked nose-first, others had backed into their spaces.

  “Now,” Parker said to her, and he rushed forward, threw himself over the trunk of a nose-first car, and fired at the tall bearded guy.

  The guy sidestepped in time, and Parker’s shot went into the concrete pillar behind him.

  Stunned, Bearded Guy glared in their direction, but he didn’t see them. Parker was crouching near the wheel of a red Bugatti. Miranda was behind the car next to it.

  Before he could come after them, backup arrived. Three officers emerged from an elevator along the far wall on the right, marching toward the men with the guns.

  Another five came from the opposite direction. They were clad in thick blue bulletproof vests and army-like helmets. Suddenly Gurka’s men had become the Ukrainian version of a SWAT team.

  They began firing at the three drug dealers. Some of them with what looked like AR15s.

  But then, just as suddenly the dealers had back up, too.

  Bodies emerged from the parked cars, as if they had been sitting there watching the whole time, waiting for their cue. Udar people.

  Miranda counted ten of them. They formed a small army. And some of them had semi automatic rifles, too.

  Suddenly the quiet parking garage became a war zone.

  From her hiding place Miranda watched in horror as the drug dealers and Udar folk leaned over cars or squatted behind bumpers, firing at the police.

  With a huge semi-automatic that looked like a Desert Eagle, Leather Coat punched holes in a nearby vehicle like a rivet gun. An Udar guy fired a rifle toward the line near the elevators, shattering windshields and rear windows.

  She couldn’t tell who’d been hit, but she saw several men go down.

  The sound was deafening, but Miranda forced herself up and forward, firing at the drug dealers as she went. Her gun was smaller, but a bullet was a bullet.

  She hit one guy in the shoulder and he went down.

  She slipped between the cars again. The taste of gun smoke in her mouth, she reloaded her pistol, ignoring the crashing and rat-a-tat around her. Her fingers were shaking. She’d been in gunfights before, but never one like this.

  She had no idea where Parker had gone.

  Somebody fired in her direction and the windshield over her head exploded.

  The insurance claims were mounting.

  She crouched down and backed up on hands and knees behind the vehicles, working her way farther down along the trunks until she could get a good aim. From the corner of her eye, she saw Parker cross the drive aisle, arm extended, firing all the way. Her breath caught.

  He was trying to get closer to the bad guys, to position himself behind them. A strategic move, but it still made her stomach lurch.

  She went forward again, duck walking between two cars. Peeking over a hood, she saw three people get out of a nearby Volvo. She knew them all.

  Sokol, Sergei, and Irina.

  About time they showed up for the party.

  As the two men scurried in different directions, Irina began to scream at the top of her lungs. “Shoot them. Kill them all.”

  Her. I want her, Miranda thought. She eased herself onto the hood of a car that had backed in to its spot, took aim and fired.

  As if by telepathy, the woman ducked out of the way as the bullet whizzed past her and into the Volvo.

  The gunfire died down and Miranda heard someone yelling at her from a car behind Irina.

  “Ha. It is Peaches and her manager over there. I knew that name was bullshit.” She knew the voice.

  Miranda gritted her teeth, biting back a new wave of rage. “I knew you were involved in this, Sokol,” she yelled back. “What are you transporting?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It is now. What’s in those bags in that van? Flour?”

  “Exactly. How clever you are.”

  “Now who’s dishing out bullshit? You want me to believe you’re going to bake a bunch of cakes? Are you starting a cooking show?”

  Sokol answered with a pop from his gun. A second windshield over her head exploded.

  As she crawled away from the broken glass, she heard Parker’s voice ring out from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Shooting at a woman is beneath you, Sokol.”

  He was pushing the man’s buttons, trying to draw his fire away from her. It worked.

  Instead of aiming at Miranda again, Sokol fired into the cars where Parker was lurking.

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Miranda heard Parker cry out. Her heart stopped. Was he hit?

  A blast of gunfire came from the entry to Level Three. She turned her head and saw a crouching figure in a black wool coat and astrakhan hat making its way across the concrete.

  Gurka?

  The Inspector must have been firing the whole time, but there had been too much chaos for her to realize it.

  He started to reload, and Sokol’s bullet nicked his arm.

  His body twisted and fell to the floor under a bumper.

  No!

  There was movement across the aisle. Miranda heard shouting in Ukrainian. Another round of shots peppered the air.

  She peeked around a tire and saw an Udar brigade forming a wall to shield the tall guy with the beard and the chubby one as they jumped inside the van. Several of the shooters climbed into the back and slammed the doors shut.

  Seconds later, the van pulled out of its space without looking who was behind it.

  Tires squealing, it sped off toward the exit.

  The Audi pulled out next, racing after the van, while a flurry of gunfire from the police chased it.

  Staring in shock after the van and the Audi, Miranda watched Gurka scramble to his car, still holding his arm. He climbed inside and took off after the van.

  On the other side of the garage, two police cars rolled around the corner and stopped just long enough for Gurka’s men to climb inside. Then they barreled off after the van, as well.

  Suddenly it was dead quiet.

  All Miranda could hear was her ragged breath and the pounding of her heart.

  The people from Udar were gone, but where were the principals? Their Volvo was still here. And where was Parker?

  She didn’t dare call out for him, but they had to get out of here fast. She’d get the BMW and come back for him.

  How to get back to the stairwell? She’d have to traverse nearly the entire row of cars. It would take forever to crawl back along the wall.

  She had to chance skirting the drive aisle. Checking her ammo, she raised her weapon and started around the trunk of the first car. Swinging her gun side to side, she encountered no one.

  She was halfway to the stairwell when she heard a voice.

  “You are not getting off that easy.”

  Irina.

  Somehow she’d maneuvered through cars and gotten behind her.

  “Listen, bitch.” Miranda began to spin around, ready to shoot.

  But the woman was closer than she’d thought. She leapt up from behind a headlight. A black-clad arm flashed in front of Miranda’s face.

  She saw it now. The butt of Irina’s gun. It came down hard against her head.

  Miranda reeled with terrible pain. She tried to strike out with an elbow, but she missed. Dizzy, she stumbled, her vision blurring. She caught herself against the door of the next car.

  Rushing toward her, Irina kicked her legs out from under her, and she collapsed onto the broken glass on the pavement.

  Her head swam, her stomach reeled with intense pain.

  “Parker,” she murmured.

  But Parker wasn’t there.

  All her strength left her. There was nothing she could do but lay her cheek against the cold hard concrete and close her eyes.

  And then all the lights went out.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  She was floating again.

  Drifting along like a cloud on a soft summer day.

  No. She was being carried, her body s
tretched out on a board as if for some funeral ritual.

  Was she dead?

  She had been dead before. Nearly. She had seen her brother then. Now he was nowhere in sight.

  She was cold.

  And dizzy. Wherever she was, it was spinning. And it was a dank dark place.

  Were they putting her in a crypt?

  Then she heard laughter from one of the shadowy corners. A deep, throaty, mocking laughter. She recognized it instantly.

  Tannenburg.

  He leered at her with his sickly green eyes. “You will not escape me now.”

  “No, she will not.” That was from Leon. He was standing behind Tannenburg, and he was laughing, too.

  The darkness around her grew fuzzy, misty like fog.

  Tannenburg came toward her. “You are going to die now. You know that, do you not?”

  She frowned. That wasn’t Tannenburg’s voice.

  She opened her eyes and through the fog she watched a pair of thin red lips flapping in front of her face. The teeth looked sharp. The breath smelled stale.

  Irina.

  Miranda started as the woman reached over her head and ripped off her blond wig.

  “Did you think you could fool us with this, you stupid American?” she screeched.

  Her words chased the rest of the fog away.

  Anger burning inside her, Miranda tried to swing her arm up for a hard punch to that ugly mouth.

  But her arm wouldn’t come. She couldn’t move it.

  She looked down and saw she was in some sort of hard metal chair, like something from a dungeon. Her hands were fastened behind her.

  Panic ripping through her, she blinked and peered into the dark chamber she was in. The ceiling was high, the walls rough concrete. It had a musty smell and no heat. Like a gulag.

  Where the hell was she?

  The gunfight in the parking garage came back to her. The endless blasts, the smoke, the smashing glass, the car doors riddled with bullet holes. The white van roaring through the exit with the Audi. Gurka and his men racing after it.

  And then the butt of Irina’s gun smashing down on her head.

  She’d lost. Big time.

  She had no idea how long she’d been out. They could have taken her anywhere. She could be in freaking Russia.