Mortal Crimes 2

by Various Authors

  Stepping forward, she gave the door a closer look. Made of metal, it was thick, heavy, and formidable. Meaning it would be impossible to get through without an explosive charge—unless you were authorized, which Alex most definitely was not.

  Turning now, she started walking, heading directly for the administration building, counting the steps as she went. Give or take a few feet, it was just shy of a hundred and fifty yards. Adding that to the approximate distance on each end, she came up with an estimate of five hundred to five hundred twenty-five feet—a number she filed away for later use.

  Scanning the back wall again, she focused on the guard towers. The observation areas were enclosed by clear glass or Plexi, and she could easily see there were two men in each. Three towers along the back, six men.

  Although she couldn’t see it from where she stood, she knew from the satellite photo that there was an additional outpost at the back of the isolation area. So potentially eight watchers could spot someone caught out in the open.

  Another piece of info for her file.

  She walked over to the exercise area, and pretended to watch a group of women kick a soccer ball as she mentally went over everything again.

  And when the horn signaled the end of the outside hour, she was ready.

  *

  HER ASSIGNMENT THAT day was once again in the kitchen. When lunch started, she quickly ate her food before getting back to work, washing the pots and pans that had been used to prepare the meal. She was in the middle of cleaning out a particularly grimy kettle when someone tapped her shoulder.

  “You go.” It was Oksana, the inmate who ran Building One’s kitchen.

  Behind her were two guards.

  Finally.

  While Oksana had a rudimentary knowledge of English, the guards apparently did not. They communicated with Alex using points and nods as they guided her back to the administration building and up to the infirmary.

  The nurse who had been helping Dr. Teterya the night before glanced up from her computer, then stood and walked over. The doctor had called her Irina.

  “We work together,” the doctor had said the night before as they were finishing their discussion. “She starts her next shift tomorrow at noon. She’ll send for you when she gets here to do a followup.”

  “That’s not something that should take very long,” Alex had said.

  “Leave that to us.”

  Irina talked to the guards for a moment, then motioned for Alex to follow her. Unlike the guard from the night before, these two simply left, apparently having other, more pressing duties.

  Irina took Alex to the examining table farthest from the lobby, and pulled the curtain around.

  “My English not good,” the nurse whispered. “Doctor come, look arm. Make like hurt, yes?”

  “Sure,” Alex said, though she wouldn’t actually have to pretend.

  It was several minutes before the older doctor—the one who had initially stitched Alex up—pulled back the curtain just wide enough to enter. Unlike the previous day, he looked pale and a little sweaty.

  “Hello,” he said, his tone brusque.

  He pulled a stool over to the table. As he sat down, he shot out a hand, grabbing the edge of the bed to steady himself, then paused for a moment, panting.

  “Are you all right?” Alex asked.

  He frowned at her. “Arm.”

  She held it out.

  As he examined the wound, she could hear low grunts and groans emanating from his throat, and knew that there was something definitely wrong with him. She winced as his fingers traced her stitches. When he got to the ones Dr. Teterya had redone, he paused, but went on without saying anything.

  A moan this time, louder than the grunts that had preceded it.

  “Wait,” the doctor said, suddenly rising to his feet. With three quick steps, he was gone.

  Alex sat silently. Five minutes passed, then ten. Finally Irina appeared with another nurse and said, “You must…” She struggled for a moment before continuing. “Not go. Doctor come…soon.”

  A smirk graced Alex’s lips. “Like I have a choice.”

  *

  DR. TETERYA HAD a hard time sleeping that morning, knowing that less than four hours after he laid his head down, he would need to be up again. Of course, the thing that was really keeping him awake was the prisoner Powell.

  It had been less than a week ago when the doctor was approached outside his apartment building. The offer: money. Lots of money. Half upon agreement to help, and half upon completion. All he and Irina had to do was provide assistance to an inmate who hadn’t even been arrested yet. This assistance, the man had told the doctor, would come in the form of information, communications relay, and most importantly, escape—but not just the new inmate.

  There would likely be another.

  Teterya and Irina had, of course, done this before. Once. It had been out of necessity. Irina’s sister had been sick and quality medical assistance was far from cheap, so they’d helped a Hungarian woman escape, and made the needed cash.

  As it turned out, the man making the new offer knew all about their previous assistance. And while he didn’t say it directly, it was clear that if the offer was refused, the authorities would become aware of their earlier indiscretion.

  Dr. Teterya was given two hours to think about it.

  He went directly to Irina’s home.

  “How much?” Irina had asked.

  He repeated the number to her, and knew exactly what she was thinking. The amount of money the man had offered was more than enough for them to quit their jobs at the prison and take the time they would need to find better employment in Sevastopol or even Kiev.

  “The money is fantastic,” Irina asked, “but how are we supposed to get them out? Anton can’t fit two inside his truck. And more than one trip will be too much of a risk.”

  But the doctor had an answer for that. There was one other way. It was trickier than hiding in the compartment of a truck, but he had discovered it when he first started working at the hospital, and knew it would work.

  He told Irina what he was thinking, then said, “In the end, it probably doesn’t even matter. What are the chances that this woman will actually show up?”

  Not much, they had agreed. Not much at all.

  No one was that crazy.

  It was a good thing neither Teterya nor Irina were gamblers.

  When his alarm sounded at 11:30 a.m., Teterya was already staring at the ceiling, his stomach a bundle of nerves.

  Sucking in a breath, he slapped the clock and silenced the buzzer.

  As he crawled out from beneath the blankets, he realized his hands were shaking. Soon the spasms extended to his arms, then shoulders, and even his torso. He was shaking so hard it was as if he were freezing, yet his apartment was already warm with the growing day. He stumbled into the bathroom and managed to turn on the shower, and as soon as he was under the stream of water, his muscles began to relax.

  By the time his phone rang at 12:20 p.m., he was sitting on his couch, dressed, his hands steady.

  He answered the call. “Yes?”

  “Dr. Teterya, it’s Irina.” They had managed to keep their relationship a secret from the prison staff, worried it might damage their careers if anyone found out. To that end, every conversation they had outside their private moments was cordial and professional.

  “Hello, Irina. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m sorry if I woke you, but Dr. Timko has taken ill and needs to go home. He would like you to fill in for him the rest of the day.”

  “Ill? What’s wrong?”

  “Stomach. Probably the flu.”

  “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  Teterya forced himself to wait five more minutes before heading out, then drove through town and out into the country. He was slowing to turn down the road to the prison when he remembered the message drop. It was his turn to check, and if he didn�
��t do it now, Irina would be forced to handle it when she got off work.

  He sped back up and continued down the highway. It would delay his arrival at the prison for another ten minutes, but that probably wasn’t a bad thing.

  To his surprise, there was a message behind the box. It was sealed in an envelope marked with the letter P. For Powell, he presumed. The sealed envelope also meant it was for the prisoner’s eyes only—and that was fine by him. The less he and Irina knew at this point, the better.

  He stuffed the envelope in his pocket and resumed his journey to the prison.

  As was protocol, his first stop was the assistant administrator’s office, where he would check in and learn of anything he might need to know.

  He and the assistant administrator, Petro Doroshenko, had developed a friendly relationship that had on more than one occasion extended to drinks away from work.

  “I heard Timko is sick,” Petro said. “So you’ve got a long shift in front of you.”

  “Not the first time. Anything happen while I was gone?”

  “All quiet.”

  “Good,” Teterya said, “then I should probably get to the infirmary.” He turned for the door, but then stopped as if he’d just remembered something. “Petro, yesterday evening I was informed that several prisoners had been taken to isolation, but no one told me why. Is there something I need to know? Any medical issues to be aware of?”

  “No,” Petro told him. “None that I know of.” He hesitated as if there was something more, but he was unsure whether to say it.

  “What?” Teterya asked.

  A pause, then, “A rumor, really. I don’t know anything for sure.”

  Teterya kept quiet, waiting for him to go on.

  “There might be a threat on the life of one of the prisoners who was moved.”

  One of the doctor’s eyebrows rose a millimeter. “What’s so different about that? This is a prison. Inmates are threatened all the time.”

  “No, no. Apparently this news came from outside. Someone in the prison has been hired to kill her.”

  “An assassin?”

  Petro kept his mouth shut, but the look on his face said yes.

  “But why? Who is she?”

  “A’isha Najem. At least that’s the name she was brought here under. But…” He shrugged his shoulder.

  “A false name? Is anyone checking to see who she really is?”

  “The warden is handling the investigation personally.” The message was clear. Petro had been cut out of whatever was really going on. “Most of this is just rumor, of course. Best if you don’t share them.”

  “Share what?” Teterya said, acting innocent, but feeling anything but as he turned for the door and left.

  *

  ALEX SAT QUIETLY for over forty minutes before she heard a new, male voice talking to one of the nurses. When the curtain surrounding her table moved to the side again, she was surprised to see Dr. Teterya.

  “My apologies for wait,” he said, his face tense. “The nurse call me because Dr. Timko not feel well, so has gone home.” He sat on the stool Dr. Timko had been using. “You are here for check of arm, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Please, may I see?”

  Alex extended her arm.

  Dr. Teterya made a show of giving it a thorough examination. When he was finished, he frowned and shook his head.

  “This, I do not like,” he said, pointing at a spot along the wound that looked no different than anywhere else. “Infection, I think. Very dangerous.” He turned toward the closed curtain. “Irina!”

  A few seconds later, the nurse was there. Teterya spoke rapidly to her in Ukrainian. She nodded and left quickly.

  “You must stay here for watch,” he told Alex. “Maybe go back to cell tonight, but give antibiotics first, see what happen. Okay?”

  “Is it serious?” she said, acting worried.

  “We treat now. Will be fine. Don’t worry.”

  He stood up and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he had a roll of gauze that he wrapped loosely around her arm, covering up her wound.

  “Is painful, yes?” As he said this, he pantomimed cradling one arm in the other.

  Alex got the message and mimicked him.

  “It hurts like hell,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “Because infected. Please, stay here moment. Nurse Irina fix room where you can rest.”

  He left again.

  So this was how they’d been planning to keep her here. She’d been wondering about that. She wondered also what they had given Dr. Timko to make him so sick. Whatever it was, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t be enjoying life for a while.

  Suddenly, the curtain was pulled all the way open.

  “Come,” Irina said.

  She led Alex through a door at the back of the infirmary, into a large room with cluttered supply shelves along one wall, and three metal doors across the back. Each had a slot window in the upper half that could be closed off with a locking flap.

  Irina took Alex to the open door on the left. The room inside was just large enough for a bed, a toilet, and the space needed to get from one to the other. A cell, in other words, for patients required to stay in the infirmary for treatment.

  Dr. Teterya was waiting for her next to the bed. “Why you here?”

  The sharpness of his tone took Alex by surprise.

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked. “We talked about this last night. This is how you’re going to—”

  He moved around her so that he was between her and the door. “No. I mean Slavne Prison. Why?”

  “To take the other prisoner out. You know that.”

  “I think you maybe come to kill her.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “What? Why would I kill her? I’m supposed to get her out.”

  “I just find out she and friends are in isolation because assassin come here to prison—come to kill her. Is you, isn’t it?”

  Alex closed her eyes. Now he made sense. It was only natural, she thought, that once he found out about the assassin he’d think it was her. She had kept the conversation she’d overheard between El-Hashim and the warden to herself.

  When she opened her eyes again, she locked her gaze on his. In no uncertain terms, she said, “No. It is not me. The last thing I want is for that woman to be killed. She has information that’s very important to me personally.”

  “So? You get information, then you kill.”

  “No,” she told him, her voice rising. “My employers need to talk to her, too. None of us, none of us, wants her dead. Do you understand? If she dies, my time here has been wasted.”

  The doctor looked uncertain. Irina said something to him and he looked at her, then glanced back at Alex before walking out of the cell and shutting her alone inside.

  Cursing under her breath, Alex moved over to the door and pressed her ear against it, hearing only muffled voices.

  This lasted maybe two minutes before all went silent.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Are you sure Petro is right about this?” Irina asked.

  “He told me it was a rumor,” Teterya said. “But you know he’s always aware of what’s going on around here before the rest of us.”

  “Even if he is right, that doesn’t mean this woman Powell is the killer.”

  “She came into this prison simply to get close to A’isha Najem. Isn’t that proof enough?”

  “But did you listen to her? Did you watch her? She wasn’t lying. I’m sure of it.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  Irina was silent for a moment. “You’re right. I can’t. But I have to believe it. And so do you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If we don’t help her now, what do you think the people who sent her here are going to do?”

  That stopped him. He knew very well what they would do. They would expose him and Irina, and the two of them would be arrested and undoubtedly g
iven a severe sentence.

  “So we go along with it?” he said. “What if she is the assassin?”

  “If she kills Najem in the prison, the guards will get her, probably even kill her. You can say she coerced you, threatened your family. If she takes Najem out and kills her somewhere else, that’s not our problem. Don’t you see? We have no choice.”

  Teterya felt faint. “I…I need some water.”

  What he really needed was time to think, and since Irina knew him better than anyone, she didn’t follow him when he left the room.

  *

  ALEX WAS ALL but certain Teterya and Irina were telling the guards right now that they had the assassin locked in an infirmary cell. When she heard someone grab the door handle on the other side, she stepped back, hoping to God that McElroy had some way of getting her out of this mess.

  But instead of a squad of guards, it was just the doctor and the nurse. They stepped into the room, and Irina closed the door behind them as Teterya set a cloth bundle on the bed.

  “Why is A’isha Najem important to you?” he asked.

  Alex decided to be as forthcoming as possible. “That’s not her real name. The name I know her by is El-Hashim. I’m not sure that’s her real name, either. She launders money for terrorist organizations that then fund bombings and murders and God knows what else.”

  “Then you do want to kill her.”

  “No,” Alex said quickly. “Killing her serves nothing. If she’s alive, we can find out who she works with. She could be the key to unraveling a very large network. Who knows how many lives that could save?”

  “Don’t understand,” Irina said.

  The doctor translated for her, then said to Alex, “You said you have personal need to talk to her. Is same?”

  Alex hesitated. “No.”

  “What is it?”

  “Like I said, it’s personal.”

  “Tell me.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.”

  Teterya considered her for several seconds. Then he pointed at the bundle on the bed. Clothes that looked very much like those being worn by Irina and the other nurse.