Izzy Weber was the statuesque blond that worked in operations. This surfer girl was fond of rolling into the office in skinny jeans and hoodies. It was her style, but lately I had noticed a change. Her skinny jeans turned into mini-skirts and her hoodies turned into blouses and dresses. When I asked her what was up, she said it was pressure from the man. I for sure didn’t mind because every once in a while Izzy would forget she was wearing a skirt and not jeans.
We became friends not long after my beat down in North Beach. As far as everyone else knew, I took a couple of shots while helping a lady who was getting mugged. Only Tav and Izzy knew the truth: I had a run-in with Fat Sal. Izzy felt bad since she had invited me out there in the first place. We started off as vending machine buddies and now we IMed each other all the time.
“You said you needed to talk but in person.”
“I do. I need your help.”
“With what?”
The big advantage to being friends with Izzy: she was in operations. These people were tasked to be all up in everybody’s business. They made sure the inner workings of the company flowed smoothly. They were clog eliminators. But the thing that impressed me most and what I found could be extremely helpful to my cause, was that they had access to everyone, including Harold the malcontent. It was her job to know what Harold was working on, where he was with his projects and whatnot. That was helpful, but that’s not why I needed Izzy’s help.
“This is big.”
“What do you mean, ‘big’?” Izzy’s phone buzzed and she took a peek. “Shoot. I have to go. What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“Not now. Swing by the house tonight. Tav and I are officially breaking in the hot tub.”
“Sweet. I’ll see you guys later.”
“Don’t forget your swimsuit,” I said as she hurried out.
I want you relaxed and vulnerable when I ask you to do the impossible.
Chapter 66
Izzy showed up at The Vic around eight that night. She looked tired and irritated.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when I let her in.
“Sorry I’m late. A shitstorm broke out at 5 p.m.”
“Didn’t that happen after lunch?”
“No, that was a clusterfuck, plus I had to go home and get a swimsuit.”
“Oh, I should have mentioned earlier. This hot tub is clothing optional.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. Can I use your bathroom to change?”
“There’s one down the hall.”
Izzy made a beeline to the guest bathroom.
“There’s pizza in the kitchen. Come out back when you’re done.” I shouted.
I eased myself back into the hot tub. The warmth felt good. So did the bubbles. Nothing like warm bubbly massages all over. I motioned for Tav to grab me a beer from the cooler.
“Was that Izzy?” he asked.
“Yeah. She’s changing.”
“Nice.”
“I thought she was just a friend to you?”
“She is, but she looks great in a bikini.” He grinned.
“How do you know?”
“We went surfing once.”
“Surfing? You?”
“The waves were small. Shhh…here she comes.”
I looked back over my shoulder and sure enough, Tav was right. Izzy was sporting a black two-piece. It was strapless with bottom ties that were tempting to pull. Her body was tight and toned. She wasn’t big on top, but her legs made up for it. The jury was still out on what her half-naked butt looked like.
Izzy slipped into the tub while munching on a slice of sausage and mushroom.
Tav passed her a beer. “Glad you could make it, Izzy. What do you think?”
“This is so awesome. Just what I needed after a day at the factory.”
For the next ten minutes or so we all sat quietly, enjoying the magic fingers of the hot tub. Pure bliss.
When I opened my eyes, Izzy was staring at me. She quickly turned away and took a sip of her beer. Was she checking me out? Nah, can’t be. I’m out of her league. Heavy-hitters never impressed her. I didn’t give it much thought; she was probably zoning.
“So what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me in the office but only in a hot tub?” she asked, eyes on the stars.
I wanted Izzy to pump Harold for information on his trip, but I had to be careful about the why part. I still didn’t want anyone besides Tav to know anything about my consultancy. I hoped my friendship with Izzy was strong enough, because I was asking her to do me a favor for which she could not ask me why or for what I needed the information.
When I first told her of my plan, she of course threw up in her mouth a little bit. I explained the situation that Hillary and I were in and she completely understood and was willing to take one for the team. She seemed to think the trip was some how connected to Harold blackmailing Hillary.
Izzy Weber would officially be my company mole. Her mission? Mine Harold for information.
Chapter 67
A few days later, Izzy showed up in my office, ready to give her first report from Operation Little Head. She was still in costume, wearing a skirt that didn’t cover very much of her legs. That was the entire point. Those legs were our weapons of mass distraction. Today was her first run thru. Her plan:
Step One: Infiltrate the lethargic man’s office.
Step Two: Hit him with the leg cross.
Step Three: Feed the pig.
“Tell me Agent Weber, how did it go?”
“First off, you owe me big time. He ogled my legs.”
“Nice. You backed him up against the ropes.”
“I don’t think it takes much.”
“Did he buy your sad pout?”
“Yeah. I told him I was super psyched when you got the heavy promotion. But now that you were having client problems, I was a little worried.”
“He bite?”
“Like a hotdog being held above his mouth as a treat. He pretended he liked you, Darby, and expressed his concern. He said he was proud of every sales associate that left his floor for bigger and better things.”
“What else?” I asked.
“I told him the upside was that you now had three months of vacation, plus a week at Gerald’s ranch in Montana. It’s something all the heavies and those in sales management get.”
I started laughing. When I told Izzy she was free to make up shit, I hadn’t taken the time to dream up the delightful possibilities. With Harold being considered sales management, this would surely drive him mad, wondering why he never got an invite. “That’s a good one.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
“And then what?”
“I told him that he probably didn’t care since I heard he took vacations in exotic locales.”
“Did he give up any info?”
“The guy couldn’t wait to brag about it. He went on and on about how many women he had and how they were all dying to be his girlfriend. He even showed me pictures.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. I snagged one when he wasn’t looking. Here you go.”
Sure enough there was a picture of Harold surrounded by women. They were in a nightclub. Sonofabitch. This guy actually had game. How could he? What do these women see in him? And then I spotted her in the background: Elana Voronova, puffing on a cigarette. I was sure of it. Harold had taken one of her trips to Ukraine. He must have gotten her information off of the flier he took from me. His discovery about me testifying there—it was all by coincidence.
“This is great information Izzy. You have no idea how much this helps.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I’m glad I could help. But I still don’t understand why you care so much about a trip he took or what that has to do with him blackmailing Hillary.”
“I know I’m leaving you in the dark. One of these days, I might be able to tell you why, but I can’t right now.”
Izzy was now next to me with her butt half on my desk. It took everything I had to remain profe
ssional and not give her legs the quick up and down. “Thanks for being understanding.”
“Okay,” she said. She took her time standing up. “Was there anything else you wanted me to do?”
“No, I’m good for now.” Hmmm. There she goes again. She’s lingering. Why? I wish I could read women. Wait, what’s this? She bent over slightly to look out my window. I wonder if she’s enjoying the view. I know I am. Is Izzy really flirting with me? Hmmm, she knows I’m with Hillary.
Small Brain: Yeah but Hillary doesn’t know Izzy is here.
Me: Shut up down there. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.
Small Brain: Fine, but she’s bending over.
Me: No, she’s resting her hands on the windowsill. There’s a difference.
Small Brain: Yeah. It’s called, doggie style.
Me: Shut up.
Small Brain: Look, pal, I’m tired of getting a massage from you. I want what’s over by that window.
Me: Too late; she’s leaving.
Small Brain: Only because you can’t take a hint.
Izzy walked over to my door. “Well, let me know if you need any more help figuring things out. Maybe we can brainstorm later, in the hot tub.” She gave me a quick smile and left.
I already knew my next step wouldn’t require Izzy’s help, but it did require the help of another blond I knew: Elana.
Chapter 68
I spent the rest of the day thinking about my predicament, breaking the monotony with e-mail and Facebook. I noticed that Hillary had put kisses on my wall. Are we official now? Does sending a virtual kiss in public say we’re together? These are questions I felt the need to ponder but couldn’t because the wildebeest is screwing with my life.
Earlier, I had decided I would visit Elana’s Travels. But as the day wore on, I began to get anxious. Suddenly a phone call would do just fine.
Before I could dial her number, my Skype chat started to buzz. It was a little confusing because I could have sworn I deleted my account after Viktor contacted me the first time. But here it was, ringing me. Chills ran up my spine, porcupining my hair. Could it really be? Would Viktor be that stupid? It’s impossible. I deleted my account. I’m almost sure of it. “Almost” was the kicker in this dilemma.
All of this supposing was giving me a headache. I oughta just answer the damn call and see who it is. The ringing continued. As fearful as I was, I had to see if it was Viktor. Of course I would record the whole thing just in case. It’s been a lifesaver so far.
I clicked on the “accept” button and my viewer window flicked on. The screen was black at first and then eventually some color started to come through and an image appeared. It was the Golden Gate Bridge.
What the…?
And then the image was pulled away from view and revealed the icy pale blue eyes that I had come to recognize. Viktor Kazapov.
There he was with a big grin on his face, his head tilted back increasing the width of his stump-like neck. He stared and stared, saying nothing. And then he held up the picture of the bridge again. It was a postcard. He laughed uncontrollable at my realization, at my ability to put two and two together. Viktor was here, in San Francisco.
The image went black. Viktor had disconnected the call.
I sat at my desk dumbfounded, wishing I had done more than just talk to people. He left Ukraine undetected. He entered the U.S. undetected. Would he enter The Vic undetected as well? What about my workplace? Everywhere I go is a possibility. Nobody can stop this guy.
They all told me not to worry. Guess what? The worrywart in me was right. I tried to remain calm but my chest started to tighten as my breathing grew labored. Panic attack? Heart attack? More like a I-fricking-told-you-guys attack.
I slammed the laptop shut and immediately dialed my cell.
“Detective Sokolov? He’s here. Viktor’s here!”
Chapter 69
Orlov had just returned from the deli with dinner for the two of them. He had pork cutlets, boiled potatoes, Russian salad, and bread. Orlov was thrilled to have Turov in the States. He was the answer to Orlov’s problem. Sent here by a contact in Russia, Turov would get rid of Darby and Orlov would assist him in any way he could.
Turov requested a briefing on the target. While listening to the details Orlov so obligingly provided, Turov reached behind his head, grabbed a hold of his hair, and pulled. His entire scalp moved back off of his head.
At least, that’s how it first looked to Orlov. The descalping caught Orlov off guard and he stopped talking.
Turov placed the wig on the table. “Please, continue.”
Orlov had seen some strange things in his life but this ranked right up there. He had a disguise—so what? Maybe this was part of the plan. If there were witnesses, they would be describing a man who did not exist.
Turov then started to fidget with the corner of his mustache. He tugged on it methodically before pulling up, slowly pulling and pulling until the mustache lifted up off his face. He pulled clear across his lip and the mustache followed in one piece until the last part. The final edge held on to the other corner of his lip, stretching the skin as he tugged. He gave it a quick jerk and the mustache freed itself from his face, swinging back and forth between his fingers.
This time Orlov took the demasking in stride. He felt like Turov was testing his professionalism, trying to see if he could get him to break. Well, Orlov wasn’t about too. He continued with the briefing as though the mustache incident never happened.
Turov scratched the tip and side of his nose with his thumb. His fingernail caught a piece of skin and he picked at it until the side of his nose appeared to have a flap of loose flesh.
This time Turov used his other hand to pick at the other side of his nose until he had a piece of loose skin flapping there as well. He pulled at both sides and the tip of his nose lifted right off, leaving a stout, bulldog-like nose. He threw the rubber prosthetic onto the table.
Orlov finished what he needed to say and now wished he knew what to say. As much as he tried to show that this didn’t matter to him, it did. He eventually managed a question. “Who are you?”
“You don’t recognize me?” Turov asked pleasantly. “You should know I only work alone.”
Orlov took a long hard look. Studying his eyes, his nose, his bald head, his now apparent muscular physique…
Suddenly Orlov’s eyes widened as he sucked in a deep breath. “You’re…”
Viktor was on him before he could finish. Orlov had served his role. He no longer needed him. He would only get in the way now. Plus, Viktor didn’t trust him.
Chapter 70
I thought it was best that Sokolov and I met somewhere other than my office. We agreed on the Lion Coffee Cafe on Fillmore and Sacramento. The detective walked in just a few minutes after I arrived and I waved him over to where I was. “Thanks for coming,” I said. “Can I get you something? A coffee? Tea?”
Sokolov declined. He took out a pen and a small notebook. “Let’s get started. Tell me everything.”
“Well, there’s not much more to tell. I thought I deleted my account but I guess I didn’t because suddenly it started to ring. I answered it and an image of the Golden Gate Bridge appeared.”
“That’s it? Nothing else? Just the bridge?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
“Well after a few seconds the image disappeared and there was Viktor staring at me, laughing. In his hand was a postcard of the bridge. He’s here; I know it.”
“We don’t know for sure that he’s here. He can get this picture at other place…”
I shook my head. “Trust me, he’s here. I can sense it.”
“Can you reverse call on Skype?”
“Well, he’s obviously using Tatiana’s computer so I can just call her number.”
I opened my laptop and gave it a try. I had it on speakerphone, so we both heard the ringing but nobody was picking up.
“Try connecting again,” Sokolov said.
I disconnected and tried again. This time someone answered.
The video window dipped to black for a few seconds and then an image appeared. It looked like we were staring at a white wall. We continued to watch the window, waiting for any sort of movement but there was none. I tried typing a note. “Viktor are you there?”
A typed message appeared seconds later. It said, “Enjoy your coffee, there’s no coffee where you will go.”
“Can he hear me?” Sokolov asked softly.
“I’ll mute it.”
“Type you’re not afraid. Tell him to show himself.”
I typed the message. A few seconds later we received an answer.
“Tell your stupid Russian friend to shut his mouth.”
“How does he know I’m here?” Sokolov said.
“The webcam on my laptop is on. He can see both of us. That’s how he knew we were in a coffee shop.”
“Tell him we know he’s here and we’re watching him.” And then Sokolov pulled his badge out and showed it to the camera.
“Good. Then we are both warned,” Viktor typed back.
And then the connection disconnected.
“I told you he was here.”
“This feed could be coming from anywhere. But better not to take chances. I’ll take the laptop and get some tech guys on it.”
“How did he know you were Russian?”
“We can always spot each other. It’s a Russian thing.” He stood abruptly. “I’ll alert the proper departments that an international fugitive has entered the country. I will also see what I can do about putting a few more patrols around your new house. Don’t contact him or answer his call unless I’m with you. Go straight home. Stay out of sight.”
I sat there for a bit sipping my coffee contemplating how messed up my life was becoming when my cell phone rang. It was Tav.
“Hey, where are you? I went up to your office and you weren’t there.”
I breathed a heavy sigh. “Man, you would not believe what went down.”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Where are you?” I asked.
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 45
