by John Charles
Viktor carried on with his usual routine which consisted of following the case through the newspapers and on TV. As he suspected, law enforcement assumed that he had left the country somehow.
Again and again, the men responsible for his capture that night, primarily Detective Peter Sokolov, had to answer the same question over and over. How did they let him get away? How could he just vanish without a trace? Viktor snickered every time.
Viktor had parked Orlov’s car far enough from the scene that it became another car on the street. Escape was actually quite easy. Even Viktor himself was surprised.
Viktor’s cell phone rang. He muted the TV and answered. “Hello?”
“Brother, how are you?”
“I am living. What about Moscow?”
“The Tea Maker? He will make no more tea,” the voice laughed.
“And the others?”
“I will take care of them soon enough. Don’t you worry, brother.”
“I have some news you will like. The detective believes we are the same person.”
“This is good. My next kill will be spectacular enough to gain his attention. He will think you are in Moscow.”
“The plan is working better than I expected. I will see you soon, brother, but I have some unfinished business here first.”
Viktor hung up, satisfied with how things were progressing. He had suspected that the Elders would try something like this.
When Viktor informed his brother of the plot, he was only too happy to help. Ghostface had been craving another assignment worth his time, the Parisian kill being his last. Taking out the Elders would bring him great joy. He had come to despise them lately. Over the years, the hitman had done their bidding, making the impossible possible. But still they treated him like a vendor, a service for hire. “Where’s the respect for the greatest assassin to ever walk the earth?” he would always ask Viktor.
Viktor knew the Elders’ deaths would send shivers through the entire organization. And it would be very clear who everyone would think had killed them. There would be no mistake. Plus, the media would not be able to ignore such a tasty treat of reporting the assassination of the men who ran the Russian Mafiya. This would provide weeks of fodder and, in the end, make Viktor Kazapov more powerful than ever—the man who took down the Elders.
Sokolov would assume he was in Moscow and naturally, Darby and the rest would relax their guards. Viktor couldn’t ask for anything more. Everything was happening as planned—that is, until he heard someone knocking at his front door.
93
Nothing feels better than waking up in your own bed. It’s the truth. Our escape to The Vic was a success. Tav’s mom quickly got over it.
Aside from the reunion with my bed, coming back to The Vic was a little bittersweet. A federal agent was killed here and more were killed out front. For at least a week, no one was allowed to enter the place, and that included me—not until the FBI had their opportunity to fully conclude their investigation of Special Agent Wilkonson’s murder.
Detective Sokolov had turned me on to a crime scene cleanup service. My first thought was, “Why do I need to hire a company like this?” He told me that Wilkonson’s head was taken clean off his body when he was shot and there was a lot of him spread out all over the place. I didn’t need to hear any more than that. I called Crime Free. They came in and cleaned up the rest of Wilkonson, disinfected the place, and even replaced the windows and fixed the bullet holes in the walls.
When Tav and I entered The Vic, there was no sign that a shoot-out had taken place here. But it cost me a pretty penny. Thank God I’m set to meet with Ivan tomorrow for a payday.
While I was messing around on Facebook, Natasha logged on and asked how I was doing. She had heard about Viktor.
Natasha: hi darby!!!!!!!!! everything ok?!
Darby: Hi, Natasha. Everything is fine. We think Viktor left the country. I moved back into my house.
Natasha: did u hear? there has been assassination in moscow. 1 of the top men in Mafiya is killed.
Darby: I haven’t heard. This man worked with Viktor?
Natasha: papa says viktor killed this man. viktor is ghostface. did u knew that?
Darby: I knew he was Ghostface, but I didn’t know he was assassinating people in Moscow.
Natasha: such a terrible man. i hope soon they r 2 catch him. o… guess what? papa says i can visit.
Darby: Really? He’s not worried about you traveling?
Natasha: viktor is not in ur city, so it is safe. i’m almost adult. r u excited? is it still ok for me to visit? i badly want 2 c cable cars and the golden bridge of san francisco.
Darby: If your father is cool with it, I’m cool with it. Just let me know when.
Natasha: ok i have 2 go. ttyl
I’m not going to lie. The news that Viktor was in Moscow gave me the closure I was seeking. I never knew for sure if Viktor fled the country or not. This proves that he did. The shitty thing is, this psycho is still out there killing people. Why can’t they stop him? He’s one man. And why on Earth would he target members of the Mafiya? Is he on the hunt to be the next boss? I hope not.
I wondered if Detective Sokolov had heard about the killing. Probably, but I called and left a message on his cell to be safe.
I closed my laptop and headed downstairs. Tav and Ralphie were on the couch watching football.
Tav looked up at me. “Hey. So what’s the plan?”
“Natasha wants to visit.”
“Natasha… As in the girl you saved in Minsk?”
“Yeah.”
“Isn’t she a little young?”
“It’s not like that. We’re friends—the entire family and I. While I was there testifying, I told her she could come visit me in San Francisco. I didn’t think she would come.”
Tav muted the TV. “So what did you tell her?”
“I said it was cool so long as her dad was okay with it.”
Tav looked skeptical.
“It’ll be fine. She’s actually a bright young lady. It could be fun showing her around. She’s cool. And get this: she says the news over there is reporting that some big wig in the Russian mob was assassinated. She said Viktor did the hit, which means he’s in Moscow—far away from here.”
“What, is she suddenly connected? How does she know it was him?”
“Her father. He’s a minister with his government. Remember?”
“Well, she seems to be over the whole ordeal.”
“She’s a teenage girl. They think they’re invincible.”
“And what about you? Do you think you’re invincible?” Tav asked as he scratched Ralphie behind the ears. “I don’t mean to bring this up again, but Darb, I’m serious. This business of yours continues to put you and the people around you, meaning me, in a position of harm. Wait, let me rephrase that: a greater chance of coming into harm.”
“That’s unfair,” I said. “This whole Viktor onslaught had nothing to do with my consulting business. You know that. I’ve explained it already.”
Ralphie started to bark at the tension in the room.
“I know what you said, Darb, but I can’t but help think that if you weren’t in business with the Russians, you never would have had reason to walk past that travel agent and see the flier about dating Russian women.”
Ralphie got louder and more agitated which forced Tav to raise his voice. “Shhh, calm down, Ralphie. See, even he agrees with me.”
I watched Tav pull the pug into a bear hug. Ralphie twisted away and lay down across Tav’s legs hoping for a belly rub instead, which Tav never denied him. Ralphie snorted his appreciation.
This conversation was going nowhere. I refused to point the finger at my business. I could have found out about the dating junkets some other way. It was a coincidence.
I often think about that night in Minsk. Had I taken the minibus back to the hotel with the group, I never would have bumped into Natasha. Where would she be now? Either dead or telling some disg
usting creep how big and satisfying he was. And for that, I’m glad I decided to walk.
Tav’s outburst could be traced to what happened to him in Hong Kong. I knew it and so did he. He was still angry and he had every right to be.
But I learned a lot from the Hong Kong deal about how this business should work. This is an entirely new career that I’ve created. There are no textbooks I can read or night classes I can take. I’ll make mistakes. Unfortunately, mistakes in my business can kill people.
I walked over to Ralphie and gave him a good scratching behind his ears to let him know we were okay.
“I can scratch your ears, too, if you wanted,” I told Tav.
He laughed.
Hooray. “I got some stuff I gotta take care of. Will you be around later? Maybe we can grab some beers or see a flick.”
Tav raised his hand and then turned up the sound on the game. As I walked away, I knew that just because Tav and I were cool didn’t mean I could get away without doing some serious thinking about my job. But at the moment, Ivan Renko was top of my mind.
94
I shook hands with Ivan and took a seat in the booth. He motioned to the brown paper bag next to me—my cut from the last two weeks’ take. Nice. After the unexpected cleaning at The Vic, my funds were low and I still had another week until payday at Teleco. According to my own calculations, the package should contain twelve thousand and change. I’m back in high-roller land.
“Darby, I apologize for our lapse in security. I don’t know how Viktor got by us, but it will not happen again.”
This was the first conversation I’d had with Ivan since the big shoot-out. I could tell the old man felt bad. Not only did he give me his word that they would help protect me, but the massive failure made the gang look amateurish. That wouldn’t go over well with Ivan.
“I know, and I’m sure you made adjustments.”
“We have. What happened the day you went to Orlov’s apartment?”
“No one was there.”
“Oh?”
“I knocked and no one answered. Why?”
Why the questions, Ivan? Do I tell him that I broke into the apartment? What about the mystery visitor Orlov was hosting? I’ve learned with Ivan that he doesn’t ask questions out of curiosity. He already knows the answer to the question.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Orlov. I want to know if you spoke to him that day.”
“I didn’t, but there is more…”
“Tell me, Darby. We are friends, are we not?”
Loaded question. Stay away, it has a hair trigger. “I was desperate and scared and pissed that he wasn’t home. I accidentally kicked his door. The lock was flimsy and it popped open…so I went inside.”
“And?”
“Well, no one was there, but I thought maybe he might have a weapon lying around that I could take. I would have left a message saying you sent me had I found one. I did notice that Orlov had a visitor.”
“How do you know this?”
“Look, I should have told you this sooner, but with what took place in the last couple of weeks, I didn’t have a chance.”
“Tell me what?”
“I think Orlov was helping Viktor Kazapov.”
“Why do you say this?”
“I saw luggage in the living room. I looked through the luggage thinking there might be a gun inside. I instead found a picture of me and a newspaper article on Viktor Kazapov. The baggage claim tickets were from Lufthansa and the name identification tag was Turov, Boris Turov.”
“Boris Turov?”
“Don’t you get it? Viktor is Boris. That’s how he entered the country, probably wearing a disguise as well. I have no proof beyond that, but it makes sense. Why would this mystery man have a picture of me? Orlov was in on it the whole time.”
Ivan shifted in his seat and scratched at the side of his face. His raised his eyebrows and the shifting eyes were a solid tell. I had finally given him information he did not know in advance. For a man who prided himself on knowing everything that goes on, he never saw that coming.
95
Take twelve grand in cash, tuck it away into your jacket, and then go walk around outside. “Paranoid” doesn’t begin to describe how it feels. The sooner I could get back to The Vic, the better I would feel.
I had a custom-built safe installed in my closet when we moved into The Vic; even Tav knew nothing about it. Crack proof, the company told me. A thief would need plastic explosives to get into it and even then it would still try one’s patience. For seven grand, I hoped so.
I learned enough from watching TV to know depositing large sums of cash into my bank account was a no-no. So far the money wasn’t piling up out of control. It would be a nice problem to have, but I didn’t. As soon as I got the greenbacks, there was always some big bill to pay. Easy come, easy go was a drag.
I had received a couple of text messages during my meeting with Ivan, one from Sokolov saying to call him and one from Natasha saying she bought her plane ticket and would be here in two days. Great.
When I felt I was far enough away from the restaurant, I dialed Sokolov.
“Detective Pete Sokolov here.”
“Detective, it’s Darby Stansfield calling.”
“Darby, thanks for returning my call. I had heard about what happened in Moscow and that Viktor is likely the one behind the assassination. How did you know about it? It barely made a blip here.”
“Remember Natasha Buchko?”
“The minister’s daughter, right?”
“Yes, she’s the one that mentioned it to me. She’s actually coming to visit for a few days now that things are back to normal. Anyway, so long as he’s there, he’s not here. That’s all I care about.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Will you be going to Moscow to investigate? I know how much you want to nail this guy.”
“No. I have no jurisdiction outside of the city, but I have contacts and they will keep me informed.”
“No offense, but here’s wishing you never have jurisdiction again.”
Sokolov let out a big belly laugh. “I understand. No offense taken.”
“But seriously, why is this guy so hard to catch?”
“He’s a master at his craft, the most deadly hitman in history. Taking Ghostface down will be a challenge.”
“Do you think he’s more Viktor or Ghostface?”
Sokolov seemed to think a minute before answering. “He’s Ghostface. I believe Viktor was his disguise when he wasn’t entertaining contracts.”
“Will you keep me informed of the situation there? I will feel a lot better when this guy is dead. We already know custody doesn’t work well on him.”
“I’ll keep you posted, Darby.”
Before heading home, I decided to take a drive by Orlov’s apartment. Part of me worried that this was the one loose end that was never tied up.
When I neared the apartment, I slowed the car to a manageable crawl, looking for anything that didn’t fit. That brown car didn’t fit. In fact, I remembered that car. It was driving erratically behind me the night of the shoot-out.
I pulled over, parked, and then went over to the car for a closer look. Sure enough, it was the same car. Was it Orlov’s? I peered inside the windows for clues as to who the owner was. There wasn’t much to look at. A newspaper and a couple of empty coffee cups lay crumpled on the floor. A candy wrapper looked stuck to the passenger seat. Other than that, nothing stood out. I took out my iPhone and started documenting the car, making sure to include the license plate and the vehicle identification number. I’ll turn over the photos to Ivan. Maybe he can confirm if Orlov owned this car. If so, then we will know he was helping Viktor.
Then I looked over at the apartment complex. Did I dare head up to the fourth floor? According to Ivan, Orlov had not shown his face for a couple of weeks. Where did the little weasel run off to? His car was outside. Did that mean he was home?
I tried to remember if I
saw the car the last time I visited, but I had no memory of it. It could have been parked outside or not there at all. I wasn’t sure. I wished I remembered.
96
Moscow, Russia
The assassination of the Tea Maker had the Elders looking over their shoulders a lot more than usual. They had no reason to believe their lives were in danger, except that the killing of the Tea Maker had Ghostface written all over it.
Targeting one of them would do nothing to reduce the power. All four of them would have to be eliminated if an individual wanted to become the new head. But this wasn’t a hit for power; an attempt like that would have been made all at once. Taking them out one by one allowed the others to take precautions, which is what these three planned to do.
The Elders had never felt the need to use bodyguards while in Moscow. This was their home, their city, where they held the most power. Who would dare come after them here?
Ghostface.
All three of them arranged to have bodyguards around them. The Youngest and the Unreasonable One decided to stick together. In addition, they believed if they stuck together, they would pose a barrier to the intimate kill they knew Ghostface craved. They were wrong.
Ghostface watched the Youngest and the Unreasonable One through the window that night with a lens of a 6x magnification night scope. He could see the wrinkles on their faces from a mile out. This was very intimate. Their strategy of sticking together only made Ghostface’s job easier. He had already decided it would be a one shot kill. One bullet, two bodies sawed in half. He had the perfect rifle for the job, too.
The Denel Mechem NTW 20mm is an antimatter rifle designed to punch holes the size of fists in cement and steel from a distance of three miles. It was about to get messy in the apartment. And for the unfortunate souls who crossed the line of fire in the two apartments behind that one…well, that’s a byproduct of the job.
