Seeing Red (Gareth Red Thrillers Book 1)

by Nick Thacker

  Gareth took this in. Roderick was, in fact, working for the woman he’d spoken to on the phone, just as he’d suspected. But it also meant that the woman he’d spoken to was potentially higher up on the food chain than either one of them. She could even be running the bank, or not far from it.

  Curious.

  “So Likur Holdings has a shareholder way out here in the frozen tundra. Shouldn’t be too hard to find them then, correct?”

  “Correct,” Roderick said.

  Before he continued, Gareth could feel the ‘but.’

  “But,” Roderick added, “we must be careful. I do not think we are the only ones searching for this man.”

  Great.

  “So we’re finding someone without knowing who else is after him?”

  “Correct.”

  “You and your boss tend to say that a lot, you know that?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Anyway, let’s get this done. Do you know where he’s located?”

  “We have his home address.”

  “Well that’s good news.” Gareth adjusted the hood of his giant, white parka, hoping to balance the temperature of the frozen vehicle with the near-burning temperature of his body inside the parka. “Let’s get to it, then.”

  “Have you no desire for decent reconnaissance?” Roderick asked.

  “Yes,” Gareth answered. “But ‘decent recon’ happens where we can see the target. And I don’t see anything. This isn’t even a gas station.”

  Roderick sighed, but thankfully put the car in drive once again and began rolling over the crunching snow. “It should be a house not far from here. But if there is already someone watching —”

  “If this guy’s being watched, I’ll know about it,” Gareth said. “Just drive slow — like slow, Roderick, I’m serious — and park about two blocks away. We’ll walk in from there.”

  Roderick sat up straighter in his seat, and Gareth wasn’t sure if it was due to his more commanding tone or Roderick’s desire for some action after so long staying sedentary. He didn’t care — he wanted to get this job done, and he wanted to get his money and get back to training.

  “Who is this guy?” Gareth asked.

  “I do not know details,” Roderick said. “But he is a major investor in Likur Holdings. I would expect his address is noticeable. Probably a large estate.”

  “Yeah? Here? I doubt there’s anything large here in Oymyakon. What’s the temperature, anyway? They have cell service here?”

  Gareth’s phone wasn’t working, but Roderick pulled out a cell phone and looked at the weather app as he drove.

  “Looks like the temperature is just around minus-forty-five.”

  “Fahrenheit?” Gareth asked.

  Roderick smiled for the second time since Gareth had known him.

  “No.”

  12

  GARETH AND RODERICK MADE THEIR way across the frozen, hard-packed snow toward another building. This one had a light in the window, which told Gareth that there was a much stronger chance they’d find another human being inside.

  “We’ll get inside, see if anyone’s there,” Gareth said, trying to enunciate through his balaclava.

  Roderick nodded. “And if there is no one inside?”

  Gareth looked at him. “Then we stay inside and get warm, then figure out what to do next.”

  They trudged over to the store, a small general store-type establishment that seemed to have been lifted straight from the 1920s. Old, useless engines cluttered up the front porch of the snow-covered entryway, and shackles, bear traps, and all manner of hunting and trapping irons hung from every joist beneath the patio’s roof.

  “Doesn’t look like this place gets a lot of business,” Gareth said.

  A set of barrels sat nearby, and Gareth could only wonder what might be inside. What frozen thing might be inside. Even alcohol would be frozen at this temperature.

  He wondered how fuel worked out here — did it freeze in the engines? Did people even drive in the first place?

  As if answering his question, a set of headlights swung into view from Gareth’s right. He naturally ducked in front of one of the barrels. It was no good for a hiding spot, as the oncoming vehicle was bearing down on them directly and had no doubt already seen both the men standing in the front of the shop. To make matters worse, Roderick simply stared down the headlights, unmoving, like a deer caught in headlights.

  “Get down,” Gareth said.

  “Why?” Roderick asked. “Not everyone in the world is trying to kill us.”

  “No,” Gareth answered, “but this one might.”

  The headlights grew closer, and Gareth knew then that the vehicle was not a car or truck, but a speeding snowmobile. A much more efficient way to get around, he figured. Small, low profile, and fast enough to get somewhere in a hurry.

  The rider pulled up next to them and stopped, letting the engine idle.

  He looked at each of them slowly, then pulled down his neck and nose covering and spoke in thick, stilted Russian.

  Gareth looked at Roderick. He didn’t know a lick of Russian, but the man didn’t sound angry. Confused, perhaps, but not looking for a fight.

  Roderick turned to Gareth and translated. “He wants to know what we are doing here.”

  “I’m sure he does. Did you tell him we’re here to kill someone?”

  Roderick ignored the comment and turned back to the man and barked some Russian at the rider. The rider nodded, then pointed behind him. He gave a short set of instructions, then laughed.

  “What’d he say?” Gareth asked.

  “I asked where we might find a Mr. Rukleveh, owner of a small food distribution company.”

  “That’s the guy we’re after — you just came out and asked about him?”

  Roderick sighed. “This is not like the United States, Mr. Red, and it’s not like any other city in the world. The people here are not out to get you. They have a simple life — look around you.”

  It was still dark, but Gareth did as he was told. Roderick was right. This place was in the middle of nowhere, if the middle of nowhere was further crammed into the middle of nothing. Large, rolling plains and fields covered in thick frost and piles of snow stretched in every direction. The gas station and shop they were in front of now were the only nearby buildings, but Gareth thought he could see a few larger buildings about a quarter-mile away, some houses dotting the horizon just beyond those.

  “So he told you, I guess?”

  “He told me it is the only business around, besides this store and the station right there. We cannot miss it.”

  “Well then, let’s get a move on.”

  Gareth was only getting colder, nature’s chill somehow still finding its way inside his massive layers of clothing.

  Roderick thanked the rider and he immediately sped off, heading toward the main road where they’d come in from and parked their truck. Then he turned and started walking.

  “Wait,” Gareth said, “don’t you want to see if it’s any warmer in here? Maybe get a cup of coffee?”

  Roderick shook his head. We are running out of time. The sun will be up soon, and we want to make sure we can get away unseen.”

  It seemed odd to Gareth that they’d need to ‘get away unseen’ if they were truly out in the middle of nowhere and no one knew who they were. He wasn’t sure if he fully trusted this Roderick fellow yet, but the man seemed to be capable, if a bit dry.

  If he thinks we need to stay low, we’ll stay low, Gareth decided. I’ve got no problem not getting shot at.

  They walked along a sidewalk made of cut ice, the cliffs of snow reaching nearly four feet high on both sides, until they reached the long, low building he’d seen in the distance. No lights were on, but Roderick wanted to check the building anyway.

  A large, wooden door slid open, revealing a nearly empty cavernous interior. Rows of shelves lined two of the walls, and smaller shelves, all empty, stretched up and down the sides of the great room
. A central area stood open, and a forklift rested in the cold. Roderick found a light switch, the hanging bulb similar to the one Gareth had seen back in the city with the two bank men. He pulled it and the room lit up in a dingy glow.

  There wasn’t much else to look at — more shelves extending down a wide hallway, some of them loaded down with cans of nonperishable food items, cleaning supplies, and even packaged noodles and meat.

  Gareth examined everything, trying to make sense of what they were looking at. It did seem like a food distribution center, but it seemed like a food distribution center that had died sometime last century. He picked up a can of what he thought were beans, rolling it over in his hand. He could feel the chunks sliding around inside, but he wasn’t sure if that meant they were bad or not.

  “May I help you?”

  The voice came from the hallway, and it was in broken, yet perfectly understandable, English.

  Gareth involuntarily reached for his pistol, but Roderick — somehow — was faster. He rolled to the right, ducking behind one of the low shelves full of beans.

  Gareth stood, stunned at the larger man’s speed, and then looked up at the man in the hallway. He was large, rotund even, and Gareth saw a glistening of sweat on his bald head. He had his hands in his pockets, and he was rocking back and forth on his heels and toes.

  The man stepped forward, more into the light of the main room, then laughed.

  “I am not going to hurt you, unless you are here to hurt me,” he said.

  Gareth thought he recognized the voice from somewhere. It reminded him of something, a memory from long ago.

  Grandpa.

  His own grandfather had that voice. His grandfather did not have a Russian accent, but there was a slight lilt in his voice, a charming and worn dance-like quality to it that this man shared.

  It made Gareth like him, and he hadn’t even met him yet.

  He started over to the man, extending his hand. “I — I’m sorry for barging in on you like that, Mr….”

  “Rukleveh. Brun Rukleveh. And you are?”

  “My name is Gareth Red, and this is —” he turned to see if Roderick had followed him, but saw the tall man standing sheepishly behind the shelf. “This is Roderick. He might come join us, but I guess he’s a little scared.”

  Roderick’s face flashed, but walked over and shook the man’s hand.

  “Please,” Brun said, “follow me. I have a small heater in my office. I have been working late and coming in early these past few weeks — trying to figure out where my latest shipment is.” He turned down the hallway but continued to explain. “As you can tell, my warehouse is a bit empty these months, and it is not for lack of trying. My suppliers seem more and more interested in the bigger deals out west, rather than the perfectly fair prices I pay them here.”

  “So you’re a distributor, then?” Gareth asked.

  “Indeed, and the only one that services this region. Just about all of the food and household product you will find anywhere in a five-hundred-mile radius comes from right here.”

  Gareth turned back to look at the room. It wasn’t large, by any means, so it was surprising to him that this place serviced such a large area. Then again, he had no idea how many of these little towns dotted the region — this was, after all, hardly what he would consider a hospitable climate.

  Brun swung into his office and flicked on another hanging bulb light. A desk, worn from years of use, a simple chair, and a trash bin were all that lay inside.

  “I apologize for not having a more comfortable arrangement,” Brun said. “Why don’t you take my chair, and I can lean against the window here.”

  Brun said it more like a command — gentle, albeit with no question at the end — than a request. Gareth complied, finding that the chair had to be at least as old as the desk. It wobbled precariously, and he found himself wishing he’d just stood like Brun and Roderick.

  The window Brun was leaning against was hardly a window at all, the thick wood covering it preventing any light at all — if there had been any — from getting in. It likely had been boarded over long ago to protect against the severe cold and beating weather of the region. Gareth couldn’t even tell if there was glass on it or not.

  Brun Rukleveh made himself comfortable by shifting a bit, smashing his large rear end into the space formed by the window cavity.

  “Now, my friends,” Brun said. “What business brings you here this early in the morning?”

  13

  “DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT Likur Holdings?” Gareth blurted out.

  He studied Brun’s face. If he knows anything, he’ll keep his face completely unreadable.

  Brun’s eyes rose and fell, subtly.

  Or he’s doing it on purpose, to throw us off.

  “It is a holding company, one in which I have a part ownership. Why do you ask?”

  Brun wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, but the room they were in, even with the tiny space heater pumping full-blast, was hardly hot. He didn’t seem nervous, but Gareth had to admit the man was a walking contradiction. He wore a parka, but it was open to his chest and a reddish-brown checkered wool shirt poked through, like what Gareth imagined a lumberjack might wear.

  But his shoes were hardly fit for a lumberjack — they were oxfords, brown leather and polished to a bright shine. His pants were wool, or some sort of thick, warm material, but they also had been ironed and creased perfectly.

  He looks like he just got out of a business meeting, Gareth thought. But we’re in the middle of nowhere.

  Brun looked at Gareth, noticing that he was examining his outfit. “I had a meeting down in Yakutsk, and I have not had time to change.”

  “And that’s what, a two-day drive?”

  Brun nodded.

  “I see,” Gareth said. “You’ve been busy. Obviously tired, too.”

  “I slept in my car, if you must know. And why, exactly, must you know these things?”

  Gareth realized he was starting to sound a bit pushy. He himself was quite drained, even after having slept plenty on the plane rides and in the car. Roderick had slept on the plane as well, but he had driven the entire way to this backcountry town, and Gareth imagined he must be exhausted.

  He hoped that didn’t mean his new friend and teammate would do anything rash. He’d meant to ask Roderick about his background, try to pry out a little information that might help Gareth understand a bit about who he was working with. He held himself well, and so far Gareth could have been fooled into thinking Roderick was ex-special forces in some branch of some country’s military.

  “I apologize, Mr. Rukleveh. I don’t mean to sound hasty, but I’m afraid we might be under a bit of a time crunch.”

  Roderick flashed him a glance, and Gareth got the impression that having a brief one-on-one chat about what exactly they’d be disclosing to Rukleveh would have been an intelligent move.

  Too late now, he thought.

  Roderick looked back at Brun and addressed him. “My associate and I believe there might be something you can help us with.”

  “Oh?” Brun asked, his large, bushy eyebrow raised almost to the top of his head. “And what might that be?”

  “Like I said,” Gareth started again, “we’re looking for information about Likur. Holdings.”

  “And you were sent here to find it?”

  Brun’s voice sounded genuinely confused. As if he was thinking, why in the world would someone come all the way out here?

  “Likur Holdings does not have an entity here. The closest source you’ll find is Moscow.”

  “Well, as you said, you have a part ownership interest in the company?” Roderick asked.

  “Indeed, but you must understand that my ‘ownership stake’ is rather small. Less than one percent.”

  Gareth nodded. Roderick stared. Brun wiped his sweaty forehead.

  “And what exactly is this interest? What does Likur do?”

  Brun shrugged. “It’s a holding company, s
imilar to the same sorts of organizations that own many of the American and European conglomerates. Companies of companies, run by boards and presidents that are interested in making a lot of money out of a little.”

  “Aren’t we all,” Gareth said.

  “But does it have a product line?” Roderick asked. “A manufacturing branch? Any service-based industry?”

  Brun nodded, but he still wore the confused expression. “Sure, it has many. All of those, and then some. As I said, it is merely a facade for the companies beneath its umbrella. A tax haven, if you will, and a large one. I began investing in it years ago, and it has produced a steady and agreeable income for me ever since.”

  Gareth poked his head out the doorway of Brun’s office and looked back at the nearly empty warehouse. “Good thing, too. Your inventory is looking a bit bleak.”

  “Yes, well, this is a corner of the globe not many people think about often. We do not have the Walmarts and Starbucks on every block around here.”

  “Shame. I could use a Grande —”

  Roderick stepped forward, effectively silencing Gareth. “Mr. Rukleveh, we believe you are in danger. That’s why we’re here.”

  It was Gareth’s turn to shoot his teammate a glance. Really? Just coming out and saying it?

  Brun wiped at his forehead once again, then began to peel off the parka from his round frame. Gareth saw that the lumberjack-style shirt underneath was actually a well-tailored, nicely chosen garment. Together with the shoes, pants, and shirt, Brun Rukleveh seemed oddly put-together. A well-dressed man in the middle of a dark, empty warehouse, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

  Curious.

  “I believe you are too late, gentlemen.”

  Gareth frowned. “Wh — what is that supposed to mean? Mr. Rukleveh, I don’t think you understand.”

  Rukleveh stared up at Gareth and then at the even taller Roderick. “No, my friends, I do not think you understand. All of this — this game. It is all but won already.”

  “This game?”

  “Yeah,” Gareth said, “what are you talking about? That’s what we’re here to find out — what’s going on.”