The Game of Life or Death: A Detective Series of Crime and Suspense Thrillers (The Jacob Hayden Series Book 3)

by Prandy, Charles

  “Okay,” Alexey said.

  Just then, he heard a buzzing sound and looked toward the side table next to the couch, watching as Andrea’s cell phone lit up. He looked back toward the window and to the woman walking up the block and saw her hit another button on her phone with apparent frustration. Andrea’s cell phone stopped buzzing.

  Then, as she got closer to the apartment building, a police officer approached the woman, which caused her to stop walking. The officer and the woman spoke back and forth, and the woman pointed toward the building. The officer looked toward the window and then back to the woman. Seconds later, the officer spoke into his radio and then motioned for the woman to walk with him.

  Alexey turned off his phone, moved from the window, and made his way to the bedroom where a black duffel bag sat on the floor next to the bed. He picked up the bag, placed it on the bed, and unzipped it. He looked into the bag and pulled out a Desert Eagle handgun, which was only one of a dozen weapons he had packed away.

  Forty-seven

  Officer Pete Ross got the call to stop the woman before she went into her building to ask her a couple of questions based on her odd response. Officer Ross saw the woman walking up the block with a cell in hand and then raised to her ear. He’d been told that the woman’s behavior when asked about the potential suspect was “odd” and that she seemed to be in a “hurry.” Officer Ross approached the woman after it appeared that she was frustrated with whomever she was trying to call.

  “Ma’am,” Officer Ross said, stepping in front of the woman so that she’d stop. “Is everything okay?”

  The woman looked at him for a minute before saying anything. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to reach my friend for a couple of days, but she won’t pick up.”

  “Where does she live?”

  The woman pointed to the building behind them. “There. We live in the same building. It’s just not like her not to pick up. And I’ve been so busy at work that I haven’t been able to go to her apartment.”

  “What’s her apartment number?”

  “4C. She has a friend who’s been staying with her for the past few days, so I initially thought she was just busy with him.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “He’s a big guy. Russian. When the other cop told me the description of the suspect, I got nervous because her friend kinda fits that description.”

  Officer Ross turned around toward the building and looked at it for a moment. He then turned toward the apartment building where the woman was just murdered and they were within three blocks from one another.

  “Ma’am, why don’t you come with me? We’ll see if we can check on your friend.” He then picked up the receiver of his radio and said that someone should check out apartment 4C.

  Forty-eight

  Officers Smith and Wilson went through the front door of the apartment building with Crystal Wilson’s access key. Officer Smith took the elevator while Officer Wilson took the stairs. Officer Smith reached the fourth floor first and through his radio told Officer Wilson that everything was clear. Officer Wilson did the same thing with the stairs.

  They walked along the fourth floor until they found apartment 4C. Officer Wilson placed his ear against the door to see if he could hear anything. He shook his head “no” to Officer Smith.

  Officer Wilson knocked on the door.

  “Andrea, this is the police. Open up.”

  They waited thirty seconds, and no one came to the door. Officer Wilson knocked again.

  “Andrea, this is the police. If you’re home open the door.”

  Another thirty seconds with no answer.

  Officer Smith reached for the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. He looked back to Officer Wilson who nodded his head.

  They both pulled out their sidearms before opening the door. Officer Wilson nodded again, and Officer Smith turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

  “Police,” Officer Wilson said as they both raised their weapons and entered the apartment. They scanned the living room and then went to the right toward the kitchen. Once the kitchen was cleared, they went back through the living room and into the bedroom.

  The bedroom was clear as well. They opened the closet and then went into the hall bathroom. Officer Wilson pulled back the shower curtain, and that’s when they saw Andrea’s dead body lying in the bathtub.

  “Shit,” Officer Wilson said.

  Officer Smith quickly got on the radio and told his fellow officers that they’d found a dead body in the apartment.

  Forty-nine

  Apartment buildings had back doors. Alexey Gavronskii had planned on using them when the sun went down, but after seeing the woman talking to the cop, he decided to use this one now. Police presence was lighter than it had been after the killing, but they were still around looking for him. Before leaving the apartment, he quickly changed his dark clothing to a white T-shirt and blue jeans. His car was parked a few blocks away, so he planned on walking behind the buildings until he reached his car.

  He picked up the pace of his steps. The duffle bag he was carrying weighed over fifty pounds because of the weapons that were in it. He had no doubt that Andrea’s friend told the cops she hadn’t been in contact with Andrea and that she had a man staying with her. They probably asked for the man’s description, and the woman would have given it to them. Based on the description, he would have been a match for the man the detective had seen at the elevator.

  By now, Alexey was a block away from his car. The police hadn’t come down this far yet. He came from behind the buildings, crossed the street, and quickly hopped in his car. As he was getting ready to start the ignition, in the rearview mirror he saw a D.C. police car driving along the street. He quickly ducked down, and the squad car passed without noticing him. As soon as it passed, he fired up the engine but gave the police car a few seconds to get further down the street. When he felt it was a safe distance away, he pulled from his parking spot and drove off.

  His next agenda was to find the Rule son and bring him to his boss.

  Fifty

  Jadyn told us to come to her office as soon as we could. I told her about the fake passports, about the Russians, and about Betsy Miller’s murder. She agreed that this was turning into a bizarre case.

  We had just turned from Rule’s parents’ house when I got the call that there’d been another murder three blocks away from Betsy Miller’s apartment. The description of the man who was staying with the murdered woman fit the description of the man Rule and I saw leaving Betsy’s floor.

  I believed in our police force and that they’d do everything they could to find this guy, so I told them to keep me abreast of the situation. Since finding the fake passports, I wanted to get to Jadyn’s office as soon as possible. Maybe she could give us some answers as to why Dennis Rule had so many passports.

  “Three blocks away from Betsy’s apartment doesn’t come across as coincidence to me,” Rule said.

  “Me either.”

  “I bet they’ve been watching her for some time.”

  “More than that,” I said. “When they felt her job was done, they killed her. Seems like these guys believe in leaving nothing to chance.”

  “Just like the Viktor guy. He kills himself in the interview room before giving up too much.”

  “Which makes them very dangerous,” I said. “They kill to tie up loose ends, or they kill themselves if caught. They don’t have much respect for life.”

  We became quiet for a spell. The air conditioner was blasting, as the temperature outside was a balmy ninety-five degrees. Summer temperatures in D.C. sometimes can be no fun.

  “Jacob,” Rule said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What if my dad was a crook? Or a con man? Or worse, a traitor?” He let out a sigh and then said, “I don’t know how I could forgive him.”

  I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure what to say. Everything in me wanted to believe that there was a legitimate reason
why Dennis would have so many different passports, but I couldn’t think of one.

  “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there,” I finally said. “The man we knew was a good family man. He’s done so much for this community that I’m having a hard time believing that he’s anything else than what we knew him to be.”

  Rule hesitated before responding, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Regardless of what we find out,” I said, “I’m your boy. I’m here for you. No matter what.”

  We fist bumped, which brought a little smile to his face. “Same to you,” he said. “Same to you.”

  Fifty-one

  We were minutes away from the FBI building when I received a text from Jadyn telling us to meet her a couple of blocks away at Ollie’s Trolley, located at the corner of E and 12th Street. Ollie’s is a landmark hamburger restaurant that’s been around for over thirty years. I found a parking spot near the corner of the block, and Rule and I walked across the street. Jadyn was already standing under the bright yellow sign that had Ollie’s name.

  She greeted me with a light hug, and then I introduced her to Rule.

  “Sorry to be meeting you under these circumstances,” she said to Rule.

  “Likewise,” he responded.

  We walked inside, and the atmosphere was alive and jumping with lunchtime business folks getting in their meals before returning to work. We found a booth near the rear of the restaurant and took our seats. Ollie’s didn’t have a wait staff; we had to walk to the front of the restaurant and put in our orders. Once we got our food, we went back to our booth and inhaled what was on our plates. I understood why Rule and I were so hungry; we hadn’t really eaten in over twenty-four hours. But I wasn’t so sure about Jadyn.

  “I love burgers,” was her response.

  I didn’t complain because I love burgers too.

  After our plates were cleared and our belly’s full, Jadyn started discussing what she’d found out.

  “I called a friend over at the State Department and gave him those names,” she said, “and your dad’s passports are legit.”

  Rule’s brows furrowed, “How’s that possible?”

  “I honestly don’t know. You know as well as I do that you have to present I.D. and fill out paperwork in order to get a passport. I don’t understand how your dad could have presented real I.D. for all of these different names.”

  We fell quiet for a minute.

  “Was your dad ever in the military?” Jadyn asked.

  Rule shook his head, “No.”

  She exhaled. “I also did a little digging around, and I couldn’t find any information on your dad before the late seventies.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean anything: place of residence, schools, jobs, etc. Seems like he just appeared in the year 1977.”

  “I don’t get it. What about his high school, middle school, college? Surely, there are records of him before 1977.”

  “If there are, I couldn’t find them.”

  “What about the names on the passport?”

  “Same thing. Each name has different start dates, if you will, but nothing earlier.”

  Rule was hesitant when he asked his next question, and I’m guessing he didn’t really want to know the answer to it.

  “Do you think Dennis Rule isn’t his real name?”

  Jadyn looked at me, and I could tell in her eyes that she believed the name was a fake.

  “In all my years in law enforcement, one thing I’ve learned is that people can be clever when trying to hide their past. Whatever it was that your dad did, he didn’t want anyone knowing who he was. I’m not the type to toot my own horn, but I will say that I’m a damn good investigator. So, for me not to be able to find anything about your dad before 1977 leads me to think that he was hiding from something or someone.”

  Rule’s head dipped, and he rubbed his hands over his head.

  “This can’t be happening,” he said under his breath.

  “My friend from the State Department’s going to do some more digging and will get back to me as soon as he can, but as of right now we don’t know who your dad was.”

  “You asked if his dad was in the military,” I said. “Why?”

  “Just covering all points.”

  “Would him being in the military prove anything?”

  “Maybe, but it would probably just disprove a theory.”

  “And that being?” I asked.

  “That Rule’s dad was a special ops soldier.”

  Rule raised his head, “Soldier?”

  “It was just something that I was playing around with in my head.”

  “Like a spy or something?” Rule asked.

  Jadyn didn’t immediately respond, but when she did the hairs on the back of my neck rose, “More like an assassin.”

  Fifty-two

  The old man who spoke to Alexey Gavronskii sat in a brown leather chair. In his left hand there was a half-smoked cigarette resting between two fingers with smoke spiraling toward the ceiling. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. Seconds later, he blew the smoke out. Another man, not quite as old, wearing a black butler’s suit and holding an ashtray, took the cigarette from the old man’s hand and mashed it into the ashtray until the cigarette was no longer lit.

  “Anything else I can get for you, sir?” The butler asked in Russian.

  “No,” the old man replied.

  The butler nodded and then left the old man to his quarters.

  The old man’s name was Lev Oborski. He came from a wealthy Russian family who controlled a major stake in Russia’s largest oil refinery. Ten years ago, at the age of sixty-two, Lev suffered a major stroke that left the right side of his body paralyzed. Doctors initially thought he wouldn’t live longer than a year, but ten years later he was still living strong. Some believed that it was Lev’s fortune that allowed him to afford the best care to keep him alive for so long. Lev knew the real answer.

  In 1984, Lev was there in the small Russian town when the shootings began. The elementary school where he walked his son every morning was across the street from a paper mill warehouse. The routine was supposed to be the same as it had been the previous school year. This was Lev’s son, Mikel’s, first day in the second grade. Instead of driving him to school, Lev would walk with his son the one-mile distance as a time to talk and bond.

  The morning was cloudy, as it had been for a few weeks. As they neared the school, Lev saw mothers waiting hand-in-hand with their children. The doors to the school hadn’t opened yet. The children who knew each other huddled around and played as they waited. Lev chit chatted with some of the mothers. No one in front of the school knew that across the street in the paper mill a secret meeting was in progress that had implications on the future of two powerful nations.

  However, minutes before the school opened, the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. The parents in front of the school all looked around, not sure of what they’d heard. Then the gunshot rang again. Men from inside the paper mill ran out the front door, holding machine guns. More men came from behind the school with machine guns aimed, yelling to the men from the paper mill. Parents suddenly ran for their kids. The men from behind the school didn’t speak in Russian, but English. The men from the paper mill raised their machine guns and started firing. The parents and the children were caught in the middle. The men from behind the school fired back. Lev was able to reach Mikel and fall on top of him before taking a bullet in the hip. The firing went on for what seemed like hours, but was really only a few seconds. When the firing was done, the men who were still standing scattered.

  Lev waited a few seconds before he raised his head. His hip was throbbing in pain. Mothers were crying. Some kids were screaming. Lev pushed himself off of Mikel only to see that his son wasn’t breathing. Lev shook Mikel and called his name, and that’s when he saw that Mikel was shot in the chest.

  Lev screamed out for help. He looked around and saw a father tha
t he recognized down the street holding a video camera in hand. The father had the video camera on his shoulder and held his son’s hand.

  “Help us,” Lev yelled.

  The father pulled his son and ran away from the school.

  Mikel died that day, along with four other children and three mothers. Lev tried for years, but his wealth or status couldn’t get the government to discuss what happened. Lev found out that the father with the video camera went missing the day after the shootings. He’d never been heard from since. The man’s son, who witnessed the whole event, was Alexey Gavronskii.

  Lev had spent nearly thirty years and hundreds of millions of dollars trying to find the men behind the shootings. Two things he’d been able to learn for sure: the videotape that caught the massacre still existed, and the men who spoke English were American. He’d also learned that the reason it had been so hard to find the men who spoke English was because they were former CIA operatives who weren’t supposed to have been in the Soviet Union in the first place.

  Fifty-three

  When Jadyn said, “more like an assassin,” Rule nearly said, “you’ve got to be kidding.” But why would a federal agent say something like that if she didn’t think it could be possible? Jacob and Jadyn continued in conversation, but Rule tuned them out. He actually tuned out all of the background noise from the restaurant. His mind fell into a pit of memories that started playing back scenes of his life with his dad.

  It was his father who first taught him martial arts. When Rule was seven years old, his father told him that he was ready to start his training. Rule was taught Taekwondo, Kung Fu, Jiu Jitsu, Hokkaido, boxing, and wrestling. However, he wasn’t taught these skills as a form of sport, as many people used them for now, he was taught these skills as a form of survival and self-defense. His sparring sessions weren’t meant to learn how to score points, rather how to break a leg or shatter a wrist or, if it came to it, kill an opponent.