The Girl Who Wrote The New York Times Bestseller: A Novel (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thrillers Book 8)

by John Ellsworth

  So Thaddeus made some calls to the lawyers for the government. He learned that Bank Rossiya in New York held about $572 million in U.S. accounts, and about $145 million of that belonged to President Piotor Irunyaev himself. The money reportedly came from the president's skim from profits made on Gazprom petroleum exports. Other exporters whose funds were frozen were Neft, Lukoil, Srgutneftegaz and Rosneft. Another bank holding Irunyaev funds was SMP Bank, majority-owned by Malich and Oligci Rottenzic, two brothers with close ties to the Russian president. At SMP, the Russian president was said to own $75 million of the $235 million on deposit there.

  Now he had his targets. So he hit the Russian president with a temporary restraining order and the court took control of the Irunyaev funds, almost $625 million.

  "This is like shooting ducks on a pond," Thaddeus told Christine. "And we're just getting started."

  He filed a motion for accelerated discovery and fast track calendaring of the case for trial. The Russian president had been served with process. Summit DocWorx in Moscow had personally served the president's secretary with the summons and complaint and TRO. The TRO was made permanent ten days after service when the president failed to file a response.

  Almost incredibly, the Russian president failed to file an answer to the complaint.

  Which meant he was subject to a default judgment being taken against him.

  Which Thaddeus did, early in March. He took Christine into court, the judge called the court into session, and Thaddeus put Christine on the witness stand. As she testified, Angelina was in the front row, taking notes and readying the story she was going to file.

  Christine testified about the hijacking, about being taken prisoner and interrogated at the airport. She then went into the detail she remembered from the country encampment where she had been Tasered and beaten and had fingers broken.

  Christine recounted the torture in the prison at Matrosskaya Tishina and what happened after she was moved to isolation in Special Isolation Unit No. 4. Waterboarding, at least 150 times. She knew because she counted. A story had made the rounds after the U.S. invasion of Iraq how one of its key leaders had been waterboarded 150 times. Christine had been part of the MP group charged with guarding the leader. She had known of the waterboarding and torture by electric shock. She had heard the numbers, the times he had been almost drowned. So, she had decided to keep track of her own abuse.

  As she testified about what the Russian guards and GRU officers had done to her, the Honorable Edward M. Mackie of the U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Illinois grew increasingly incensed. During one break in the testimony, he called Thaddeus forward and they whispered off the record.

  "Mr. Murfee, what I'm hearing here today defies belief. How did the CIA not help your client? I mean, how could they refuse? They had to know what was going on."

  Thaddeus nodded and half-smiled. "My point, exactly, Your Honor. It would seem that Christine was totally abandoned by her country when the plane touched down in Russia. It's almost inconceivable."

  "Well, how much will you be seeking in damages?"

  "All of it. All of Irunyaev's money in the U.S."

  Judge Mackie nodded solemnly. "My guess is, you're going to get that award. Times three, for treble damages under RICO. So move it along. I've heard quite enough."

  When the hearing resumed, Thaddeus asked four more quick questions and then rested his case.

  Closing statement followed. He laid it all out and, as he spoke, the judge looked preoccupied. He was writing on a yellow pad and seemed all but oblivious to what Thaddeus was saying. Finally, Thaddeus ended by submitting the case to the court for its decision.

  "Mr. Murfee," the judge responded, "let me read to you the gist of the order and findings the court will be filing in writing later today:

  One, that the President of the Russian Federation, one Piotor Irunyaev, in concert with many others, engaged in acts that rose to the level of criminal behavior under our RICO statutes.

  Second, the acts of the president directly or indirectly caused great bodily and emotional and mental harm to Christine Susmann, a United States citizen lawfully in Russia.

  Third, that, while many of the actions occurred in Russia, many of the acts also occurred in the United States. This would include two attacks where the Russian president's agents were armed with automatic weapons and staged attacks aimed at the murder of Christine Susmann. These attacks were avoided only because of the defenses set up for Christine Susmann by Thaddeus Murfee, her attorney and employer.

  Fourth, that the acts of the Russian president directly caused severe bodily harm and emotional and mental harm to the plaintiff, Christine Susmann.

  Fifth, as a result of his acts, president of Russia is found guilty of one-hundred-fifty-seven counts of violation of the RICO act.

  Sixth, that damages are awarded to Christine Susmann in the amount of $150 million dollars, which equates to one million dollars for each time she was waterboarded at the direction of the Russian president.

  Seventh, that Christine Susmann is entitled to treble those damages under the RICO statute, and her damages are thereby increased to the sum of $450 million.

  Judgment is hereby entered in favor of Christine Susmann and against President Piotor Irunyaev of the Russian Federation in the amount of $450 million plus costs.

  “Counsel, what are your costs?"

  "We will provide a detailed list, Your Honor," Thaddeus said.

  "Remember the cost of the jet fuel to bring her home. I don't want you to miss a dime of it, Mr. Murfee."

  "We will list every penny, Your Honor."

  "Is there anything further here today?"

  "No, sir."

  "Very well, the Court stands in recess."

  Everyone stood, the judge filed out, and Christine turned to Thaddeus.

  "Did I actually hear what I just heard?"

  Thaddeus smiled ear to ear. "You sure as hell did."

  "My kids just got their college paid for."

  "And you can buy Sonny his own dump truck."

  "And now I can pay my hysterectomy bill. We didn't have insurance for that."

  "But we gave the hospital a lien and so they waited."

  "Thank you for doing all that, Thaddeus."

  Thaddeus was busily stuffing files and books in his briefcase on wheels.

  "Hey, you deserve every penny."

  "What happens now?"

  "Now I execute your judgment on the president's bank funds and the banks cut you a check for $450 million."

  Christine dropped into her chair. She dropped her head to her hands and turned her face sideways.

  "I can't talk right now," she said. "Go on without me."

  "Not a chance. We still have Karli Guryshenko to deal with."

  He sat beside her and stared straight ahead.

  "Come on, Karli," he said. "Come to Thaddeus."

  "Better yet, come to Christine. I'm ready for you."

  Outside in the hall, four XFBI agents patiently waited. Two would accompany Christine to the condo; two would accompany Thaddeus back to the office.

  In the meantime, several U.S. banks holding Russian funds began cutting checks.

  They were holding $450 million that now belonged to Christine Susmann.

  She would want it without delay.

  57

  Less than forty-eight hours after judgment was entered in the case of Christine Susmann v. Piotor Irunyaev, et al., Thaddeus received a call from XFBI. He was sitting in his office, reading and re-reading the court's order when the light blinked on his phone.

  "Thaddeus Murfee here."

  "Thad, George Leyvas. Our network has intercepted a passenger jet manifest that includes the name of your boy."

  "Slow down, please. Tell me again."

  "Your boy, Karli Guryshenko, is listed among the passengers flying on a chartered Aeroflot jet of the Russian Federation. The flight is nonstop, Chicago to Moscow."

  "Leaving when?"r />
  "Tomorrow. 11:55 a.m."

  "Out of O'Hare."

  "Out of O'Hare. General Aviation hanger nine."

  "Excellent work. Thanks, George."

  "Go get 'em, Tiger."

  "Will do."

  Thaddeus hung up and dialed Christine on his cell phone. He brought her up to speed on the latest news about Karli.

  She was angry, of course.

  "He thinks he can just run off? Back to Russia without consequences? I guess not!"

  "Well, you now know as much as I do. Frankly, I think we should call the police."

  "Please, no police."

  "No, I think we get the police involved."

  "Thad, how many kids do I have?"

  "Two. You have two children."

  "How many did Sonny and I plan on having?"

  "You always said four."

  "Do you think I can have them now?"

  "Not since the hysterectomy, no."

  He thought long and hard. He looked at the window and the soft rain cutting patterns down the glass.

  Finally, he said, "No police."

  "Thank you," she said and hung up.

  58

  O'Hare International Airport has often been designated the busiest airport in the world. O'Hare is located about twenty minutes from downtown Chicago and the Loop by El Train. O'Hare belongs to the City of Chicago and is administered in all respects by the CDA—Chicago Department of Aviation.

  It's a busy place. In January 2015 the airport logged 66,567 flights in and out of. O’Hare. That's over thirty-one days. Which figures out to be about two flights coming or going every minute of every day for thirty-one days.

  Traffic problems in and around the airport are huge. Eighteen-wheelers have special cargo lanes and loading/unloading zones. Drivers are specially licensed; and all trucks, cargo, and even the smallest packages are X-rayed. Some are even searched. Metal detectors and dogs interpret the contents of every item riding the conveyor belts loading the planes.

  Eight runways are kept open 365 days out of the year, ranging in length from 7500 feet to over 13,000 feet.

  Hilton Chicago O'Hare is the only hotel located inside the fence at O'Hare International Airport. It is connected to three terminals by underground walkways and is directly across from departing international flights from Terminal 2.

  So it only made sense for Christine to insist on a terminal-side room on the tenth floor when she checked in the night Thaddeus received departure information on Karli Guryshenko. She wanted to arouse no suspicion, so she arrived with two large suitcases and one electric guitar case that said FENDER along the topside.

  "Do you play that thing?" asked the clerk behind the counter, indicating the guitar case.

  "You know what, I do," said Christine. "But I only have three fingers on my pick hand, so I've had to really work at flat-picking."

  "Wow, I bet," said the clerk.

  The young woman handed Christine a brochure about the hotel and a small white envelope with the keycard.

  "Just the one key, correct?"

  "Correct," said Christine. "I'm traveling tonight alone."

  "Well, welcome to the O'Hare Hilton. Please enjoy your stay. Ronald will help with your bags."

  Ronald led her to the elevator, open the doors, and ushered her inside. He followed with the luggage cart and pressed the 10 button.

  "What kind of stuff do you play?" he asked.

  "Mostly cover songs. I try to play a lot of Mark Knopfler's stuff. Sultans of Swing is a real challenge for three this hand," she said, holding up the hand with three fingers.

  "Wow, I'll bet. Is there someplace I can come here you?"

  "We're not playing tonight. Sorry."

  He ushered her off at the tenth floor and walked halfway down the hall. He inserted her keycard and allowed her to enter the room first.

  "This is it. Luxury suite. Excellent view of the hotel, Checkout is noon tomorrow."

  "I'll be leaving at 11:56," she smiled.

  "Oh, down to the minute, are we?"

  "Indeed. I insist on punctuality for my band."

  "Are they here, too?"

  "Arriving tomorrow. I'm a day early. We'll be leaving by bus. One big happy family."

  "Anything else I can get you?" asked Ronald.

  It was time to make the mandatory swap: a five-dollar bill for his manufactured niceness. They made the trade and Ronald left the room.

  Christine slipped two latex gloves from her coat pocket and worked them onto her hands and fingers. Two of the fingers on the right glove collapsed, but were ignored. She was too far along in her rehab to allow such things to affect her. They were gone, the fingers, and that was that. All the therapy in the world, all the tears in the world weren't going to bring them back or grow new ones. It was time to suck it up and move along, nothing new here.

  Christine stuffed the suitcases into the closet, unopened. Suitcase one was filled with newspaper and some old magazines, none of it traceable.

  Then she laid the guitar case on the queen bed nearest the window. She clicked the four locks and their hasps popped open. She lifted the lid.

  Except it wasn't a Fender Strat guitar. Nor was it a Fender Telecaster.

  Fitted perfectly in its own custom foam rubber bed was a rifle, an M24 Sniper Weapons System (SWS) made by Remington. It was the military and police version of the Remington 700 rifle. M24 was the model name assigned by the U.S. Army after adoption as their standard sniper rifle in 1988. The M25 was called a "weapons system" because it consisted not only of a rifle, but also a detachable telescopic sight and other accessories. It was chambered for the 7.62x51 mm NATO "short-action" cartridge, the configuration preferred by Christine. It was also the configuration on which she had qualified as "Expert" while serving in the U.S. Army in Afghanistan.

  She lovingly lifted the rifle and ran her gloved hand along its stock. She then sat on the bed beside the case and assembled her weapon. She extended the stock and spread the bipod on the front barrel. She loaded it and worked the bolt action. Now it was chambered with a round ready to fire. Placing the weapon on the nylon bedspread, she went to the drawn curtains and pulled them open.

  At her feet was a direct view of the exact gate where Karli Guryshenko would exit the terminal, walk about thirty paces, and then climb the stairway to his chartered Aeroflot jet.

  She turned back to the guitar case and lifted the glass cutting system.

  * * *

  Ten o'clock the next morning, XFBI agents Jenner and Morrison were finishing off their coffees as they waited in the loading zone at the Palmer House, where their quarry was registered. At 10:10 he appeared beneath the sidewalk canopy and stood to the side as the valet motioned the next cab to pull forward.

  Jenner took a dozen photographs with her Android phone.

  "Perfect. Topcoat with fur around the collar and down the lapels. Perfect."

  The photographs were emailed to c.susmann@murfeehightower.pro, along with this notation, "Check out the fur collar. Place your shot three inches above."

  No one said XFBI was on the side of law and order.

  XFBI was on the side of whomsoever paid them. And today's activities were funded by a source known only to them as Timber Cutting, Hauling, and Boating, Minnetonka, Minnesota. That's all the accountants needed to know, that and the fact that all payments were in cash, which was a common method of payment in the world of black ops.

  The two men pulled their Dodge out into moving traffic. As they passed the cab carrying Guryshenko, both men looked to the left, just another precaution. He wouldn't have known them anyway. XFBI rotated agents in and out on a daily basis, sometimes even an hourly basis. There were 275 agents located in Cook County and they were all booked up for the next thirty days around the world.

  * * *

  She would later describe it as a droplet flare. Also as a red flare. She would be talking about the split-second after the NATO round entered the target's skull and punched out the opposing cr
anial vault.

  Getting hit with that round was tantamount to getting hit with a sledgehammer. The single round knocked Guryshenko over the side of the stairway he was climbing to enter the waiting aircraft for the trip back to Russia. The woman leaning out the door of the aircraft to welcome him aboard ducked back inside and pulled the door closed.

  The pilots slid down behind the glass of the aircraft's cockpit, but there was no reason for it.

  Christine was already out of the room and trotting for the stairwells. She was still wearing the latex gloves she had worn since entering the room the day before. No prints, no latents, no DNA left behind, nothing. Cleaning chemicals had been carried into the room in suitcase number two. They were designed to remove all traces of DNA, even destroying the DNA left behind in the traps and drains of the bathroom. A glass cutter and a used-but-one-time M24 weapons system occupied the slate top of the dining table, which was shoved up against the terminal-side window.

  "I'm an American patriot," she whispered to herself as she hustled down the stairs.

  "I am an American patriot."

  59

  Tony Folachnaya waived the fee. Christine wanted to pay him the full fifty thousand dollars, but Tony refused.

  Oleg Valadnikov was the wiry Russian from the Urals, the man who had been trained as a guard while serving in the Russian army. He hated Americans. He had even raped one while she was a prisoner in his prison.

  When the new guard named Jacques cut his throat and left him to bleed out on the basketball court where the non-dangerous penitents played round ball, Oleg never saw it coming. He sat there, waving wildly about, in his own widening pool of blood.

  "Christine says she will see you in hell," said the new guard, wiping the razor blade on Oleg's shoulder. His accent was French, which brought a look of puzzlement to the dying man's face.

  "I-I-I-I-I—"

  "Yez, you. She will see you in hell."

  The new guard then left the prison. No one asked any questions as he passed by their stations and doors. No one looked at him or even dared to look at him.