The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  “Your reputation, your experience tells us you can provide transportation and logistical support for special items that have high market value.”

  He nodded. “I see you’ve been checking up on me. That is all well and good. At least we don’t need to bicker on price.”

  “Price?”

  “My price to help you set up transportation and logistical support. If you’ve done your homework, then you know how I price my services. Fixed fee up front, then ten percent of the haul payable on the first Monday of each month into a new account, the details of which I send you the night prior.”

  Sergey lifted his chin. “It is good to do business with a man who has structure. Too many unstable people in our business.”

  “Indeed.” He took another quick glance at Sergey and wondered what special skill he offered Udovenko. Sergey was built like a fireplug, but perhaps it was the fact that he would do anything Petro asked. And from what he’d learned, that could extend into acts that many would consider quite inhumane.

  “I want to review your recommendations for entry and exit points for the United States,” Sergey said.

  No mincing words here, Zeke thought. He had been worried that this would be some pointless encounter, but Sergey’s straightforwardness either said something about his personality or the directions given to him by Udovenko. Most likely both.

  “That is well and good, but first we must settle on the fixed fee. My offer is seven digits, American currency.”

  “One million dollars up front?” Sergey asked, although he didn’t sound shocked.

  “I never told you the first number.”

  Sergey offered no immediate response, but instead reached into his pants pocket. Zeke quickly slid his hand inside of his coat until his fingertips touched the dimpled grip of his Glock.

  Sergey pulled out a bag of peanuts, threw a bunch in his mouth. “Three then?” He chomped on the peanuts.

  Zeke moved his hand to his opposite pocket and removed a pair of leather gloves. “Given the risk and the fact that I don’t know what I’ll be transporting, I’m more inclined for the first number to be five.”

  Sergey tossed more nuts into his mouth. “I guess that means we’ve settled on four.” He tilted his head toward Zeke, who gave him a single nod.

  That had to be the easiest four million he’d ever negotiated, although he knew very well that a simple verbal acknowledgment had a tendency to be altered even twenty-four hours later. But given what he faced in the coming days, he needed that money.

  Turning around to face the bears again, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sergey. “We can discuss routes and products once I get a down payment on the four million. Five hundred thousand to this account.”

  Sergey stared at the paper, then reluctantly took it from Zeke. “I don’t have a bank account in Toronto. I live in Boston,” Sergey said.

  “But you can get on the phone and talk to someone who can transfer the money.”

  Sergey picked peanuts from his teeth. “You have balls.”

  “So I’ve been told. But I’m good at what I do. The market says this is my worth. And you know that, which is why you’re here.”

  Sergey took out his phone, tapped his screen three times, then shuffled three steps to his left and spoke in his native Russian. From what Zeke understood, Sergey didn’t have to convince anyone to do what Zeke had asked. Sergey gave basic instructions, then said he’d wait until the transaction was completed.

  “Hold on,” Sergey said, over his shoulder.

  A moment later, Sergey stepped back to him. “It is done. Now, your plan.”

  “I need to know the product we will be transporting.”

  Sergey’s eyes scanned the area for a moment, then he looked back to the bears. “Generally, the size of a cooler. And it needs to be temperature controlled.”

  “How many of these coolers?”

  “It won’t be the same every time. Maybe two, sometimes as many as ten. Most importantly, we might only have twelve hours advance notice.”

  The list of possible smuggled items had just narrowed quite a bit. Zeke could guess, but that would do him no good. He would find out before he left the zoo.

  He explained to Sergey the two preferred routes, one up through Seattle and over to Vancouver, using a private mail courier service that delivered packages to corporations on both sides of the border. The second path, one far less known, involved taking small, two-lane roads through the countryside south of Montreal, connecting into Jay, a small, unassuming town in New Hampshire. And the delivery method was ideal—the back of food delivery trucks where products were temperature controlled.

  “That route might be our best option,” Sergey said, digging his sausage-sized fingers into the peanut bag. “Now, we might have a need to take or receive the product outside the continent.”

  “Perhaps eastern Europe?”

  He nodded. Zeke and the man both knew that would eventually be communicated as a requirement. The fact that Sergey had so quickly gone there again made Zeke take notice. “I’ve got that covered. A small private airport near Montreal, and on the US side, my drivers can make it down to Boston. Too many eyes on everything in the New York City area. Around Boston, there are a couple of small, indiscriminate ports we can utilize and travel by a small boat, or we can access a small air strip south of the city.”

  “Putting it in a boat would be much slower, but—”

  “Would be virtually impossible to stop. Now, if a small boat could meet up with a much faster boat out in international waters, then that would eliminate the need to use planes. Planes always attract more attention on both sides of the pond, depending on the product being shipped in or out of the country.”

  “Impressive,” Sergey nodded. “You appear to have thought this through quite a bit.”

  “This isn’t my first rodeo.”

  “Spoken like a true Texan.” Sergey showed his first grin, and it was enough to turn Zeke’s stomach. Between bits and chunks of peanuts, he could see blackened and chipped teeth. Dental visits were apparently not a priority for Sergey.

  “I’ve spent some time there,” Zeke said.

  “Considerable time, from what we can see.”

  Udovenko’s proxy or someone from the international organization had been keeping tabs on Zeke, which didn’t surprise him entirely. But there were aspects of his life that he didn’t want revealed. He’d gone to great lengths to keep those parts hidden. But he knew more than anyone that secrets could only be kept for so long, especially when others were involved. He tried to ignore the pang of unease deep in his gut.

  Sergey turned back to the bears, who were now rolling in the muddy water. “Dual citizenship has its benefits, does it not?”

  Where was Sergey going with this question? How closely had he been followed in the last twenty-four hours? Was it possible he knew about Zahera? Deflection was usually the most effective tool in situations as these, but he couldn’t walk out of the zoo without knowing if Zahera was on their radar. People like Udovenko were always looking for ways to enforce loyalty, and typically they sought the most personal connection and then would exploit that emotional tie. It was part of the playbook for people like Udovenko.

  Ideally, Zeke knew it was best to live a life void of any connections to loved ones. To break all ties and not look back. But even with knowledge of how the criminal element operated, his heart seemed to function independently of his best judgment. And there wasn’t a day that passed that his decisions didn’t scare the shit out of him. The safety of those who owned a piece of his heart—their happiness—was always at the top of his mind, even above his insatiable thirst for walking this dangerous tightrope, where one misstep could alter his life, or even many lives. Despite his strict upbringing and being forced to look at things in a black-and-white manner, he knew his life was a contradiction—the opposite of what he’d advise anyone else to do in this line of work. Guilt was a sidekick that he knew all too we
ll.

  This operation, however, would be his last rodeo. He’d made that decision months ago when he’d first made contact with the Ukrainian cartel leader. It had been his main justification for sidling up to such a detestable person. The final play to set up the next chapter of his life. One which would finally allow him to not have to constantly look over his shoulder, wondering if the cordial gentleman on the other side of the ticket counter was secretly taking his picture or if a sawed-off shotgun was pointed at him, ready to fire.

  “Dual citizenship allows me to cross the US-Canadian borders almost at will. Serving my clients—many of whom appreciate my discretion and low profile—is my number one priority. I’ve been known to use what I call field props to help create a persona for how I’m perceived in both countries. I think it’s been very effective.”

  “I would agree. You know how to manipulate the system and all the people who get near you. Even if they have the look of an international model.” Sergey arched an eyebrow, a slight smirk at the corners of his lips.

  Zeke felt the air leave his lungs. Sergey was describing the exotic look of Zahera. The woman could take the breath away from a blind person. She had done the same to him on countless occasions, when he least expected to feel that jolt of primitive attraction. He saw irony in his current location, the zoo. The lust generated between him and Zahera had often resembled two wild, uncontrollable animals. It, like far too many things in his life, brought about much internal conflict. But all that aside, he couldn’t allow Zahera to be sucked into this vortex of danger.

  Face it, Zeke, it’s already happened. Sergey, in his own way, has identified Zahera as an important person in your life.

  The next step would be Sergey making a direct threat. What Zeke called an if/then statement. If Udovenko or even Sergey sensed even the slightest hint of betrayal—which could be anything really—then something bad would happen to someone close to Zeke. And if that person was deemed to be Zahera, then…

  “I told you already, I incorporate many unsuspecting individuals to aid me in servicing my clients. They are—”

  “From what I’ve seen, she’s someone I’d like to service.” Sergey chuckled so hard that remnants of peanuts flew out of his mouth.

  An icy-hot patch formed on the back of Zeke’s neck, but he somehow managed a matching chuckle. “Recently, I’ve become friendly with a former Swedish Miss Universe contestant. She might very well be my next accompanying date.”

  He’d purposely told a lie. Anything to divert the focus away from Zahera, while also introducing doubt in Sergey’s mind—doubt that he knew as much as he thought he did about Zeke’s personal life.

  “Is she also the kind that you’d marry?” Sergey’s stare was blank now. It was as if he were the big brown bear asserting his alpha position, almost daring Zeke to play dumb or to counter his question with some type of weak denial.

  Now wasn’t the time to cower. Nor could Zeke afford to be belligerent. He had to strike a balance.

  “Do you like fine wine, Sergey?”

  Sergey blinked, then looked away for a split second. The question had thrown him off.

  “Through all of my world travels, I have had the pleasure of drinking some amazing wines, from France to Argentina, Australia to California. I could, right here and now, recite to you the top ten wines that have passed my lips.”

  He moved his gloves to his opposite hand, purposely nudging his arm against his coat. The weight of his Glock made the coat sway ever so slightly.

  Sergey’s eyes shifted. He’d seen the weight in his pocket. He knew it was a gun. He held Zeke’s gaze, not blinking, not even moving.

  “I love women more than wine, I know,” he said, popping Sergey on the shoulder, “but I’m probably not alone in that. After all, weren’t women put on this earth to enrich the lives of men?”

  “Indeed,” Sergey said, his voice flat. “But many are too stubborn to realize their place. And the number is growing every day.”

  Sergey had answered his question. This was moving in a direction that Zeke could live with. “The only difference here is that while my taste in women is….eclectic, they do require a certain amount of coddling if we have any intention of—”

  “Getting our way.”

  “I wasn’t going to use that exact term, but yes, getting our way. As such, I have had the need to appear to make obligations. Women tend to want to repay the favor tenfold, and in many different forms. I feel it’s part of the process, part of doing business in our current environment.”

  Sergey’s eyes narrowed, and then a smile cracked his lips. “You are a lucky man, Zeke.” He popped Zeke on the arm.

  “I will talk to Petro and get back to you. Expect to hear from me in less than twenty-four hours.”

  Zeke took the first step away, then quickly flipped around. “You never told me the product being shipped.”

  “Body parts from children.”

  Sergey hesitated, perhaps wondering if Zeke would instantly back out of his commitment. The thought turned Zeke’s stomach, but it had confirmed his suspicion. He slipped on his gloves.

  Sergey continued. “There is a huge demand for them, especially if we can narrow our transport time. That will be one of our goals. We do that, and the profit margin could make our heroin business look like a lemonade stand.”

  Zeke nodded and walked off, quickly blending into the crowd. His phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket to see a text from Zahera, asking when he’d be able to break away from his meeting.

  Sitting high atop the CN Tower waiting on my fiancé. Join me soon for a drink?

  He didn’t break stride. In fact, he moved even quicker as he made his way out of the park. He needed to keep Zahera safe, both now and in the future. But first things first. He couldn’t resist the tugs at his heart. He’d have to stop by home and visit his two beautiful kids and wife. And to lay down a plan to ensure his family would forever be out of harm’s way.

  29

  Cristina and I had been working the phones, searching every foxhole on the Internet and brainstorming during the lulls. We’d been going at it for about ten hours. There were enough empty cracker wrappers, half-filled cups of coffee, and opened Coke cans spread across my desk to prove as much. And while we still had more of a theory on the connection between the victims of the fake kidnappings—what amounted to parental terrorism with a side of extortion—rather than cold, hard facts, our intense focus had paid at least some dividends.

  Nancy Klein, the moody nurse at Zahera’s office, had been caught trying to sell patient data—Kelly had given up that information earlier. While I eagerly looked forward to quizzing Zahera further on why she’d kept her on staff, it had opened a mental window for me: all of the victim families used the same pediatric facility. Extracting data from a medical facility’s computer system was probably easy pickings for a seasoned hacker. The SAPD’s running assumption had long been that this fake-kidnapping crime spree was nothing more than a group of hackers looking to make fast cash. Whether they worked out of a fraternity house basement in Lincoln, Nebraska, or a shack in Mumbai, India, was anyone’s guess at the moment.

  Realizing our theories needed multiple pillars of evidence to form even a modest foundation of a case, I put in two phone calls to Kelly to try to extract the name of the facility that had tried to buy the patient data from Nancy. In the first two conversations, she’d said that as much as she didn’t trust Nancy, she didn’t want to propagate the tension in the office. While I felt uncomfortable sharing the exact nature of our investigation or our theory, I did tell her that the families who had been victims had been torn apart, forced to give up their life’s savings. At the end of my second call, I finished it by saying, “Who’s to say the next victim might be a close friend, or maybe your sister?” She’d told me she had a sister with three adorable children, all under the age of ten.

  Apparently, her conscience could only suffer so much. She finally turned over the name of the place to which N
ancy was selling patient information: Stonebrook Pediatric Group. That was our first building block. The second one came a couple of hours later—Cristina found a nurse working at Stonebrook Pediatric Group with the last name of Klein. We stared at each other, shocked at the finding, then debated what it could mean. We volleyed questions and theories back and forth. At one point, Cristina suggested that Klein was a rather common name; the fact that a Nurse Klein worked at each office could just be a coincidence.

  That supposition didn’t last long. I found a picture of a pediatric nurse, Lisa Klein, on the Stonebrook website. She looked just like Nancy with her toothy smile, her full cheeks, and her straw-colored hair. From there, I put in a call to Stonebrook Pediatric Group, saying a friend had recommended them, offering high praise for one nurse in particular, Lisa Klein. The receptionist said Nurse Klein was off for the day, but she’d be happy to set up my first appointment for my seven-year-old daughter named Kaira on the next day Nurse Klein would be working. It was, of course, a complete fabrication. But I’d already accomplished my goal of ensuring that Lisa Klein was still employed at Stonebrook Pediatric Group. After I hung up the call, more questions came to mind: if Lisa Klein was involved, was she the sole connection point into the hacking group? Or could the level of corruption and maleficence go higher in the medical organization? Maybe she was the sole intermediary with her sister. Were the sisters partnering with a group of hackers? Or was there another arm to this conspiracy we’d yet to uncover?

  Then an entirely separate question came to mind: was our ever-expanding theory actually more a product of our imagination? Had our hopes and desires fabricated a false trail of evidence? For now, we stayed true to course—the connection between the Klein nurses and the fact that Nancy had been caught selling patient data being our foundation for moving in this direction. While I had to feel that some progress had been made, we’d quickly become quite frustrated that we hadn’t been able to find that one piece of evidence that made it all come together. But unless we could find someone to come forward and expose the entirety of the crime, the only place to focus, for now, was on the data—finding out who each kid’s pediatrician was.