Thirst of Steel

by Ronie Kendig

  Kazimir gave no reply and wasn’t really even sure why his employer had bothered to introduce him.

  “You know him?” Abidaoud asked.

  Kazimir glanced at the German again. “No, sir.”

  Moving around his desk, Abidaoud rubbed his neatly trimmed beard and hiked up a leg as he leaned against the desk. “Your accident, Mr. Rybakov,” he began, homing those probing eyes in on Kazimir. “You nearly died.”

  Here it was, then. Kazimir nodded.

  “Tell me of it.”

  Confusion poked at his confidence. He dared not question why this was important. “On my way home from dinner with my family, I was broadsided. My car flipped several times.”

  Abidaoud narrowed his eyes. “The police report said you were thrown from your vehicle and through a plate-glass window.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you lived.”

  “Guess the demons weren’t finished yet.”

  “But your family . . .”

  Kazimir twitched. Steeled himself. “Being ejected saved me from the explosion that killed them.”

  “Indeed,” Abidaoud said somberly. “And your skills as a security specialist, they are preserved?”

  “They are.”

  “Prove it.”

  A test. Warm dread slid through Kazimir. If he failed, he would die. It would not be the first time Abidaoud had shot down a security officer in this suite.

  “I have made you nervous,” Abidaoud muttered, disappointment shadowing his expression. He returned to the other side of his desk. “I have no need for damaged employees. While you have my sympathies for the loss of your wife and daughter, if you are too affected by the accident to perform—”

  “I would caution you against going with Stroebel . . . anywhere.” Kazimir kept his gaze impassive. “Sir.”

  Abidaoud frowned. Glanced at the German. “What do you mean?”

  “How dare you!” Stroebel growled, hands coming from his pockets.

  “Explain yourself,” Abidaoud demanded. “How did you know I—”

  “Observation.” Kazimir steeled his spine. He had to establish himself as an asset. “A security officer must be aware of what happens, of minute details that betray what is out of sight.”

  “Rybakov, do you realize what you are saying? Absurd!” Polzin growled.

  “Quiet, Igor.” Abidaoud’s features calmed, but a dangerous glint lingered. “Go on, Rybakov. You don’t seem the careless type, so explain.”

  Rolling his shoulders, Kazimir knew he’d either walk out of this office or get carried out—in a body bag. “Mr. Stroebel’s suit is exquisite. In fact, I believe it’s your preferred designer, Mr. Abidaoud.”

  “What does it matter that we have the same taste in fashion?” The German blanched. “Why would I—”

  Rybakov spared him a glance, then turned back to Abidaoud, who slid a long look over what Stroebel wore. “It’s to distract you, sir.”

  Abidaoud’s lips parted beneath his beard. Wariness crept into his face. “From what?”

  “From the fact that it hangs loose on bony shoulders and a half inch too low on his shoes. But the greater task of the ill-fitting suit is to conceal the bulge beneath his left arm.”

  The German shifted, came alive.

  Kazimir slid in, catching the German’s wrist, twisting it up and back. Slipped his hand down the man’s wrist and covered the finger in the trigger well. Drove the weapon back to the man’s stomach. Squeezed.

  Thwat!

  3

  — FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA —

  Exiting the 267 tollway and heading west on Route 7 relieved none of the traffic congestion, yet it was the quickest route to suburban Wolf Trap, Virginia.

  Assistant Special Agent in Charge Levi Wallace spent another ten minutes navigating the cramped but beautiful suburb of Northern Virginia roughly thirty minutes outside DC. When he arrived at his destination, six or seven agency vehicles already crowded the small street that boasted homes in the million-plus range. He climbed out and strode down the tree-lined sidewalk, wishing he could afford a place here.

  “’Bout time you showed up to do some work.” Santi Greco fell into step with him.

  Levi passed the cluster of reporters without acknowledging them. “If they’d do something about the traffic . . .”

  “That’s like expecting another virgin birth,” Santi said.

  Flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges lined the path to the front entrance. Double doors of wood and glass with an inlaid star sparkled with early afternoon light. Sunlight threw a glare across the marble floor, despite the law enforcement officers huddled there.

  Levi nodded to the LEOs and agents at the door.

  “ASAC Wallace,” one greeted. “SAC Parker is waiting in the living room.”

  “Thanks.”

  The air-conditioned home cooled Levi as he let his gaze skim the interior. Marble went eight to ten feet in before crashing into carpet. Furniture in various neutral shades amplified the spacious feel of the front room. Through a molded arch stood more suits and LEOs in a back room with a large, ceiling-to-floor stone fireplace.

  Lee Parker lifted his gaze and a hand to Levi, then met him halfway.

  “What do we know?” Levi asked.

  Parker tugged him toward a folding table, where a woman stood switching camera lenses. Dark hair hung in a loose braid around her shoulder, and for some reason, she seemed oddly out of place.

  Levi shifted back to his boss. “Is it—”

  “If you’ll excuse us,” Parker said to the woman, then waited for her to leave. He turned to Levi. “It’s bloody. Gruesome. Never seen anything like it. There are chemical burns throughout—well, whatever wasn’t liquefied.”

  “Liquefied?” Levi nearly choked, his gaze traveling to the garage. “How?”

  “All we have are guesses right now. There’s no apparent weapon, just a large puncture wound in the chest.”

  Crazy. “Let me check the scene, then we can talk.”

  “Hey.” Lee jutted his jaw. “How’s Cortes doing?”

  “Fine.” Levi started toward the four-bay garage. Of course, for him to know for sure, he would’ve had to talk to her recently. But he hadn’t. He’d taken the hint to move on when she showed up wearing Tox’s engagement ring. In fact, he’d severed ties with the special activities team as well. No need to be involved in their crazy stuff.

  The acrid odor of burnt hair and flesh seared his nostrils as Levi skirted the crowd of uniforms and suits. It took him a second to spot Santi, who squatted beside the crime scene photographer. There was something distracting about her.

  She turned brown eyes to Levi, which drew him across the room. Her smile hesitated, then slipped as she considered her camera, then snapped a photo of the body.

  The victim lay sprawled on the floor. Extremities were . . . melted. Eyes gone. Earlobes missing.

  Disgust tightened Levi’s chest. Millionaire bites the dust in a seriously heinous murder. But why?

  Santi ambled up with a folder. “George Schenck. Fifty-three. Married five years to second wife, Lucille. Two adult kids from first marriage. None living in the area.” He sighed and flipped a page. “Came home before a flight out of Dulles to New York for a client meeting.”

  “What about the neighbors?”

  “Thirty-eight-year-old woman walking her dog saw Schenck come home but nothing else.”

  Levi’s gaze struck the small black dome mounted in the corner by the door to the house. “Security company?”

  “Crenshaw’s on the phone with them now,” Santi said, nodding to a bald guy in the dining room. “Thinking we should head over there.”

  “Agreed.” But Levi’s mind had collapsed on the ground by the victim. That was a vicious way to die.

  “You okay?” a concerned voice asked from behind. Levi turned.

  An agent touched the shoulder of the crime scene photographer, who looked up, revealing an unnatural pallor to her face. “Just need
some air.”

  Santi moved to her side. “C’mon. I’ll walk you out.”

  Levi eyed them as they left the garage, then turned back to the body. To the—

  A shadow swept over the garage, him, and the body—the sun had been blocked. Levi saw something in the dimness. His heart skipped a beat. He glanced back to the driveway, where LEOs hovered as the crime scene team worked.

  Levi stared at the body. “Son of . . .” Couldn’t be.

  “What?” Parker was there, anticipation in his voice and eyes.

  “There’s . . . something.” Levi pointed to the guys near the control panel. “Hey, hit the button to close the garage door.” When the suit straightened and looked at him, hand hovering over the panel, Levi nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Back up, everyone,” Parker said. “Clear for the door.”

  As darkness descended, leaving only the wan light of the control mechanism, a hue emanated around the corpse. Dread churned in Levi’s gut.

  “What the . . .” Parker crouched, squinting at the body.

  “Is it glowing?” Santi asked.

  “Yeah.” Levi didn’t want to admit that. Didn’t want to go where his brain was dragging him. Right into the past. Into a fight with a lethal organization. It meant he’d have to make a call. Violate his vow to move on and not work with them.

  But why wasn’t there an arrow?

  “You have an idea?” Parker eyed him over the necrotic body.

  “Yeah.” If Levi was right, there should be an arrow. So maybe he was wrong. He’d happily be wrong this time. “I need to make some calls.”

  “SAARC?”

  “Afraid so.”

  — WASHINGTON, DC —

  “Well, that was a bust.” Shoving her hair from her face, Haven Cortes slumped behind the steering wheel of her Audi Q7 and glanced at Chijioke Okorie in the passenger seat.

  Reassurance covered Chiji’s consistently calm demeanor. “We will find the answers.”

  “I hope you’re right. I can’t let go of what Tzaddik said on that moun—”

  VVolt thrust his head up between the two seats, swiping his slick tongue along her face.

  “Ugh,” she said with a laughing groan as the Belgian Malinois panted excitedly and laid another wet one on her jaw this time.

  VVolt loved visiting new places and sniffing every nook and cranny. She’d gone to great lengths training with him so he could retain his working-dog certification. Of course, it helped that her brother-in-law was the president of the United States, but she hated pulling those strings.

  Today they’d ventured to the historical society to research Cole’s genealogy. After that bizarre yet amazing encounter with Tzaddik on Catoctin Mountain, she’d been anxious to get answers, especially since Cole was off saving the world again.

  “We are looking,” Chiji said with a firm nod. “That is the best place to begin.”

  “I suppose.” Haven wrinkled her nose as she pulled into traffic. “But I prefer starting with answers.”

  Chiji laughed, a nice deep rumble that made her relax.

  Her phone rang, and she grabbed it, grateful for the red light so she wasn’t a distracted driver. “Levi. Long time since we talked.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Been busy.”

  Which sounded a lot like I’m avoiding you.

  “Listen,” he said, his voice weighted, “I think you should see something.”

  Haven frowned, glancing at the still-red light. “Okay.”

  “You busy?”

  “Just left a museum. Going to grab lunch, and later we have a training session with a handler to help me with VVolt.” When she said his name, the telltale squeak of his nails on the leather seat caught her ear.

  “I could use your help. Have a minute?”

  “Um, sure. You want me there now?”

  “It’s . . . yeah, you should come now.”

  She glanced at the six-five Nigerian beside her. “Chiji’s with me.”

  “Not a problem,” Levi said. “Just let the officer on scene know I called you in.”

  Haven started. “A crime scene?”

  “You’ll understand when you get here. Got a pen?”

  “I’m driving. No.” She eyed Chiji, who nodded his understanding. “Give it to Chiji. Here.”

  Once he’d recorded the address, Chiji hung up and returned her phone. “This does not sound good. Are you up to this? I thought you were tired.”

  For years Chiji had been Cole’s conscience, and with Cole gone, he’d become hers. Or perhaps bodyguard was more accurate, in her case. It was a sweet, if unnecessary, gesture, considering VVolt’s protective instincts and thousand-pound-per-square-inch bite, but she enjoyed Chiji’s company.

  “If you need to rest—”

  “I do. I feel like I could sleep for a month!” She took the Route 7 exit. “But Levi has avoided me since Cole and I got engaged, so whatever this is about, it’s big.”

  “Ndidi would not like you going to this man now, while he is gone.”

  The innuendo about appearances was clear. And she appreciated that. “Cole trusts me. Besides,” Haven said with a smile, “I have you and a working dog with aggression training, and I’m not sure which of you has the worse bite when it comes to protecting those in your charge.”

  Chiji didn’t smile.

  It took them twenty-two minutes to arrive at the address of the crime scene. They couldn’t get any closer with her crossover, so they climbed out. Since the temperature was edging to the upper seventies, they brought VVolt rather than leaving him in the vehicle where he could overheat.

  An officer approached with an upheld hand.

  Haven pulled out her credentials. “Assistant Special Agent in Charge Wallace asked me to come, and this is my partner Chijioke Okorie.”

  “Just a minute.” The officer keyed his mic, repeating the information. When his radio squawked, he motioned her through. Strolling down the street, she couldn’t help but notice the general mood—heavy. An ominous silence hung over the crowded area. Officers leaned against vehicles. Those talking did so in quiet tones.

  Levi’s distinctive frame emerged from a huddle of suits. He met her gaze but didn’t smile, which made her tense as he stalked toward them. “Thanks for coming.” After shaking hands with Chiji, he gave VVolt a glance and swallowed. Hands on his belt and sleeves rolled up, he had clearly been working this scene for a while.

  Haven shifted. “You okay, Levi?”

  Somber blue eyes met hers. “It’s not pretty.” He looked at Chiji. “Stay close.”

  What did that mean? She glanced between the men as she tightened her hold on VVolt’s lead. A double-click of her tongue had the six-year-old Belgian Malinois shouldering into her leg, a sign of both situational awareness—I’m here—and obedience.

  Down the driveway, they ducked under the yellow tape. At the demarcation line in the cement that signaled where the driveway ended and the garage started, Haven recoiled at the hideous odor. Obviously coming from where the man in a navy jacket crouched with a pad.

  VVolt whimpered.

  Levi pointed to the body, where the crime scene photographer huddled. “Smell familiar?”

  She twitched. “I don’t often encounter decomposing bodies. Dead leads, yes. Dead bodies, no.” When VVolt tugged hard, going in a circle, Haven shifted the lead to her other hand to give him more room.

  “Not just decomposing,” Levi said. “This was done very quickly. Weapon is missing, but”—his gaze struck Chiji, worrying her again—“the body was burned. Melted. From the inside out.”

  “I don’t und—” She gasped. “Wait.” Hauling in a panicked breath didn’t help. VVolt jerked at the lead again. Hard. He nearly pulled her off her feet, but she couldn’t stop gaping at Levi. “AFO?”

  He gave a grim nod. “That’s what I’m thinking. There’s no arrow, but . . . it’s the same.”

  The Arrow & Flame Order. “How?” She indicated around them. “But here? They . . .” Her mind whir
led. Why here? This wasn’t their normal grounds. The biggest question found voice. “Who is he, the man who died?”

  “From all appearances, just an average Joe. Wealthy, but not filthy rich.” Levi shrugged and glanced at VVolt, who now strained toward the driveway, his nails scratching against the cement.

  Chiji motioned to the lead. “I think I am with VVolt and do not like this place. I will walk him.”

  “Thanks,” Haven said, distracted by the keen possibility the AFO had killed a man, right here. So close to her home. But as she handed off the lead, somehow it slipped between their fingers.

  VVolt seized the chance and bolted away, nose to the ground as he hauled in big draughts of air. Chiji ran after him and caught the lead.

  Haven shook her head, refocusing on Levi. “So . . . why am I here? How can I help?”

  Levi squinted his left eye. “Think you could talk to Tox or SAARC? Give them a call and see if they know anything about AFO activity in the area? Maybe a plot I should know about?”

  Haven let his suggestion catch up with her, recalling his all-too-insistent demand to be released from working with them. “I . . . yeah. But so could you.”

  He looked away. “Robbie wasn’t too happy with me.”

  She isn’t the only one. Haven had expected more out of the man she considered a friend. When he finally accepted she was going to marry Cole, he cut ties. Said it was better that way.

  Haven glanced at VVolt, who was now on a rise across the small cul-de-sac, snout riffling through the leaves. Back and forth. Pacing. Weird. He took a few paces to the right, then zipped again left. And dropped his rear end onto the grass as he peered up at Chiji.

  Haven’s heart thudded. “Uh, Levi . . .” she said, recognizing the retired MWD’s cue for telling the handler he’d gotten a hit.

  “I see it,” he said, touching her arm as he stalked away, calling to one of the LEOs.

  She followed them, armed with the excuse of collecting her dog to answer her curiosity over what VVolt had discovered. The K9’s actions, coupled with the reaction of Levi and the other LEO, created a wake of awareness over the crime scene, pulling more than a dozen officers to the hillside.

  “Cordon it off,” Levi ordered. “We have evidence here!”