by C. G. Cooper
“You’re not disgusted,” I said.
She shook her head, the beaming smile still there. It made me uncomfortable.
“And what would you say if I told you that I’m going to find your mother and kill her?”
That wiped the smile from her face. I wanted to give her all the details, everything that was inside of my head. Maybe then she would see the monster standing in front of her. She thought I was some kind of hero, someone to look up to, a friend that would always be there.
I’d proved those assumptions wrong. How many had I let down? How many friends had depended on me only to meet the reaper?
Anna set her coffee on the counter and glanced at the door.
“Maybe I should go,” she said.
“I think that’s best.”
She nodded and rejoined the guard who’d escorted her over. When the door was closed again, I let out a silent exhale. I needed to get things wrapped soon and get back on the road. It felt like someone was laying booby traps all around me, begging me to step forward. I was trapped and claustrophobic. Maybe a walk would help clear my head.
I didn’t say a word to anyone as I left. No one stopped me. Maybe I could keep walking. My backpack was in the apartment, but other than some old clothes, there wasn’t anything I needed. Rex and his CIA buddy could take care of the Varushkins. They could probably do it without getting any of their men killed.
I was halfway to the stairwell when Anna’s voice called from behind.
“Daniel.”
I turned, reluctant to revisit our conversation. No doubt she wanted to tell me how awesome I really was, how God made me into this amazing tool that I would one day understand. She still had the innocence of youth, and after my snap about her mother, I was hesitant to snatch more of that innocence from her.
“What’s up?” I asked.
When she came closer her features were twisted in confusion, or was it fright? Not one but two guards were right behind her.
Oh crap. Now what?
“Dad’s gone,” she said, her voice thick with panic.
“What? How did he—?”
One of the guards answered for her, “He climbed out the window. Tied the sheets together to lower himself down.”
“And he left this note,” Anna said, handing me a folded sheet of loose leaf paper.
It was short. I recognized the pastor’s chicken scratch.
Anna, I have to go. I’m going to make things right. Tell Daniel that I’m sorry, that he was right.
I love you so much.
- Dad
Fuck. Now what was I supposed to do?
Chapter 30
Her assassin was dead. Her father had disappeared. Despite the pile of unwanted news, all was far from lost.
Natasha turned over in the king size bed and looked at the neon green numbers on the clock for perhaps the fiftieth time. It was almost six in the morning and she’d only slept in spurts. A sleeping pill would’ve been the normal antidote, but sleeping under the volatile Joe’s roof kept her on edge. She’d made all the arrangements she could, and still her brain churned through every detail.
She closed her eyes again and focused on breathing. One long breath in. One long breath out. Natasha never made it to the next breath.
The light knocking on the door jolted her back to reality, although her body remained immobile.
“Yes?” she called out, not turning on the light as she gripped the pistol under her pillow.
“It’s Joe. I have a surprise.”
Natasha wanted to tell the fool to go away. It wasn’t even light out and already her host was making passes. Her body shuddered at the thought of that man touching her again.
“Can it wait?” she asked, smoothing her hair and blinking rapidly to clear her vision.
“I think you will enjoy what I have to show you.”
Natasha slid out of bed and grabbed the fluffy white robe she’d been provided. The cut was a a bit short, no doubt an intentional choice by her host. Her sculpted legs were impossible to miss in the borrowed attire. She was past caring. Besides, the pockets were large enough to conceal her pistol.
When she opened the door, Joe’s grinning face was waiting. He was fully dressed and held a crystal glass half full of orange juice.
“I am sorry to have woken you,” he said.
“I was awake.”
“Good. Now, would you like to see your surprise?”
Natasha nodded. Joe led her down the hall and into the main living space. There was a group of Joe’s men milling near the couches. They stopped talking when their boss entered.
What now? Natasha wondered.
Joe gestured impatiently for his men to move away. When they did, Natasha got her first glimpse of Joe’s surprise.
The man’s nose was bleeding and his shirt was torn. He’d been beaten, but not badly. He looked up when Natasha approached, a medley of emotions on the man’s face.
“Well hello, Eddie,” she said to her ex-husband.
“Natasha,” Pastor Walker answered almost under his breath.
Natasha turned back to Joe.
“Where did you find him?”
Joe laughed and pointed at the pastor.
“The idiot showed up at your house.”
Natasha turned back to her ex.
“Now that wasn’t very smart, Eddie.”
His eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue.
“What do you want me to do with him?” Joe asked.
Natasha thought about it for a moment. No doubt Joe wanted to have some fun with her old fling. He was a bully. She’d heard the stories of his notorious torture rooms.
“Take him to the meeting place,” she said. “Get him cleaned up.”
Joe looked disappointed.
“And, Joe,” she continued, “Keep your hands to yourself.”
+++
Julian Fog’s stock kept rising. When I’d stormed back into our hasty HQ after Pastor Walker’s disappearance, Fog had calmly explained that he’d planted a tracking beacon in the pastor’s shoe. “We can’t use it continuously, but we can ping it when needed.”
Instead of sending out a team to snatch the pastor, Fog had recommended we wait.
“My gut says he could lead us right to Mr. Varushkin’s daughter.”
So we’d waited and we’d watched.
The pastor’s first stop was the scene of our most recent encounter with the Russian goons. While that surprised us at first, once we discussed it, the plan made sense. How else would he find his ex-wife?
An hour after pinging at the brownstone, Fog’s beacon showed Walker at a location somewhere across the water in East Boston, closer to the airport. By then we were mobile again. Rex was in charge of finding us a new hideout because of the very real chance that Pastor Walker would crack under interrogation. Until then we were scattered in Fog’s rented vans.
Fog went over the various assets he had at his disposal as we rumbled over more potholes.
“I’ve got access to all the major agencies here in Boston. If we need to disguise a team as bus drivers, we can do it. If we need to go in as members of the Port Authority, no problem.”
My plan was to stay out of the way. I didn’t want to say it when Anna was around, but her dad wasn’t my responsibility. I had one target in mind, and if slow-tracking Anna’s dad could get me there, I would wait.
By the time we’d made our way through morning traffic, Walker had moved again. The only problem with Fog’s tracking device was that it wasn’t pinpoint accurate unless you were right on top of it. That didn’t matter now. The first ping showed Walker somewhere on the water in Boston Harbor. My mind immediately imagined the worst. Maybe they were taking him out to sea. A bullet in the head and an ocean burial didn’t take long. I glanced at Fog and saw he was thinking the same thing. It was a good thing Anna was in another van with her grandfather. She didn’t need to see this.
After waiting another ten minutes, Fog pinged the device again.
I half expected no return signal on the computer screen. I was wrong.
“Looks like he’s on Georges Island,” Fog said, zooming in from his aerial view. As the image cleared, I saw that the island was small and vaguely round. There was a structure there, and as the picture reached its max focus, I stared at the screen and counted the five sides, a pentagonal shape, like a star. Walls and exaggerated corners.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
“Fort Warren,” Fog replied, pulling up a Wikipedia page on the other half of the screen. He started reading aloud. “Completed during the Civil War. Used as a prison during that war and later as coastal defense. Decommissioned in 1947, it’s now a tourist site.”
According to the Wikipedia write-up, the island was twenty-eight acres big and the fort was open to the public starting in May and closed sometime around Columbus Day. That gave me an idea.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I asked.
Fog handed over his cell. There was no link to a Fort Warren website, but there was one for Boston Harbor Islands. I dialed the number for customer service. A cheery female voice came on after two rings.
“Boston Harbor Islands,” she said.
“Yes, I’m in town for the day, and my kids really want to see one of your island forts. My son loves cannons. He looked it up online and said there’s one called Fort Walton?”
I heard her chuckle.
“Did he mean Fort Warren?” she asked.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“The easiest way is to take the ferry from…”
Her voice trailed off. I heard a keyboard clicking on the other end.
“I’m sorry, sir, did you say you wanted to go today?”
“Yeah, we fly out early tomorrow morning.”
“Hmmm. I’m sorry to tell you this, and it is odd for this time of year, but it seems that a private party booked the island for a corporate event.”
“Wow. Can they do that?”
“If they pay enough money, yessir, they can,” she answered, her tone relaying how she felt about public spaces being hoarded by people with money.
“And there’s no way around that?”
“No, sir. There’s a note in my system that says they will be setting up beginning this morning.”
“And they’re using it all day?” I asked, giving her my best frustrated dad tone.
“I’m afraid so. Their security team and catering company will be there all day and my computer says the party is tonight.”
“Maybe I should crash it,” I said with a laugh.
“Only if you take me with you,” she replied.
I exhaled in mock frustration and said. “Okay, well at least I tried. Thanks for your help.”
“Not a problem, sir. We’d love to host you again soon.”
I ended the call and handed the phone back to Fog.
“Good news?” he asked.
“As good as it’s gonna get, I think. Looks like Natasha Varushkin is throwing a little party. Any way you can get me on that island?”
Fog grinned like I’d just given him the keys to a Ferrari.
“For you? Hell yeah.”
Chapter 31
Natasha’s people brought the civilian security uniforms over to the island in the early afternoon. Her guests had insisted on independent contractors being on site for the night’s festivities. Natasha went along with the demand. The fact that she’d had Joe pay the security company owner a visit didn’t need to be public knowledge. It was all part of the show.
Joe’s men would assume the security role, protecting Georges Island from prying eyes and unwelcome guests. As she knew he would, Joe demanded to go along. He said he wanted to see Natasha’s friends with his own eyes. What he really wanted was to keep tabs on her.
“Fine,” Natasha said. “As long as you wear a uniform and leave me to my business, you are welcome to come.”
His grin had disappeared when he tried to button the offered uniform and found that his paunch wouldn’t allow it. Joe opted for another size and went into his bedroom to finish getting ready. That made Natasha grin.
When everyone was dressed and assembled in the living room, Natasha addressed Joe and his men.
“Our guests have been instructed to arrive by boat just after sunset. Your job is to patrol the island and stay out of sight. Is that understood?”
The men, now clothed in matching blue uniforms and ball caps bearing the logo of Patriot Security Group, all nodded.
“If you have any concerns, they will be relayed to me,” Joe said, unable to let Natasha have the last word. “I’m sure Ms. Varushkin will have her hands full.”
He winked at Natasha like he was doing her some kind of favor. Natasha smiled back with as much sugar as she could stomach. A few more hours and she’d be rid of the pervert.
+++
The quickest way to get me onto the island was going to be by air. After a clipped phone call, Fog announced there would be a small prop aircraft waiting at a private strip just outside the city.
“It’s a four seater, so you can either go alone or take one of my guys,” Fog said. The operators were all gathered around the kitchen table in the newly rented safe house.
The plan was to jump in. I didn’t have a lot of parachuting experience, but Fog told me that the gear he’d commandeered made it easy to navigate to a precise coordinate. “Keep the compass pointed in the right direction and the gear does the rest,” he’d said. Technology rarely worked as well as promised, but I decided to trust Fog in this case. He seemed to have a lot of experience with the nav gear.
“I’m good going in alone.” Like my days in the Corps, I’d be in first, the point man getting eyes on the objective. We didn’t have access to real-time satellite images or drone video, so my view would relay the disposition of enemy forces on the ground. Fog’s boys would come in by water based on my assessment.
“I’ll go with him,” Rex said, clapping me on the back. “Just like the old days.”
My days as a team player were long gone. I resisted the urge to tell him to stay behind, but the look on Rex’s face told me it wouldn’t do any good. I nodded and turned back to the map.
“I’ll drop in on the south end of the island,” I said, pointing to the most open terrain there was other than the parade ground in the middle of the fort. Going in from another angle would be a pain. If I did, there were the high fort walls to contend with. There’s a reason they call them forts. They’re made to keep people out. Coming from the south, at least I’d have the option of using the front door. Who knew. I could get lucky.
“We’ll take the northern approach,” Fog said. “Shouldn’t take much to get over those walls.” Funny that Fog was okay with scaling the battlements.
It was a simple plan. The best plans usually were. At least this way if I was found, the others could just swim back to the boat. No sense endangering everyone just because I wanted to get Natasha. If I could find Pastor Walker, so be it, but in my mind he’d made the decision on his own to step into the line of fire.
Even as I thought it, something deep inside told me that I would do anything to save Anna’s father. I wouldn’t do it for him. I’d do it for her.
+++
Anna tried to act calm. It was what she’d trained herself to do. Whenever her dad freaked out about their lack of food or his inability to provide more for her, she’d always answered with a sincere smile that said everything would be okay.
This time was different. As she listened to her grandfather talk about his travels, the crash of thirty foot waves and the arduous life of a Soviet sailor, Anna was only half listening. He was trying to distract her and it wasn’t working.
Anna thought of her mother, the image from the dream still vivid in her fifteen-year-old mind. Then she would imagine her father, either running for his life or lying lifeless in the clutches of her mother-monster. She shivered as the picture faded from view.
“Are you thinking of them?” her grandfath
er asked.
She hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped his storytelling.
“I can’t help it, Poppa.”
He nodded and motioned for her to sit next to him. She did.
“What are you most afraid of?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded again.
“Do you know what I am afraid of?”
Anna shook her head, relieved she wasn’t the only one.
“I worry for you,” he said. “I worry about how this ordeal might change you. The Anna I first met was so full of hope, so full of happiness and life. I would give anything to see that Anna again.”
Anna tried to smile. As the corners of her mouth moved, the tears gathered in the eyes.
“I don’t know what happens next, Poppa. Tell me what happens next.”
She leaned into him and he wrapped her in his arms.
“I wish I knew, Anna. I wish I knew. There is one thing that I will tell you, one thing that kept me going when every day seemed worse than the last.”
Anna looked up at her grandfather through tear-clouded eyes.
“Do you know the secret? Do you know how I survived five years of imprisonment?”
Anna shook her head. She wanted the answer. The world seemed to be crumbling all around, but if anyone knew the answer it had to be her grandfather.
His broad smile spread to his eyes and he said, “Hope. It was always hope. As long as you remember to hope, anything is possible.”
Anna sniffled and swallowed a whimper. It would take every drop of strength she had to do what her grandfather said. Before, she might have prayed. Now, the will to pray was gone. Hope was slipping away like liquid through her fingers. If she lost everything, how could she ever hope again?
Chapter 32
We took off an hour before sunset. The pilot, a tight-lipped guy sporting aviator sunglasses and a mane of wild gray hair, suggested we do a couple high passes to get a lay of the land.
