Is this where you’ve run off to?
Chapter 76
Sokolov’s mind was running on high alert. The realization that Ghostface was actually here in San Francisco, within his reach, was mind-blowing. It was even more unbelievable that Ghostface was Viktor Kazapov. What were the odds that the guy he was investigating would turn out to be the man he’d been hunting his whole life? Unimaginable.
Sokolov knew time was of the essence. He had already alerted the local FBI for help in tracking down Viktor Kazapov, a.k.a. Ghostface. They would need the extra manpower considering how dangerous he was. The FBI office set up an emergency briefing at the North Beach Station, where Sokolov was heading.
When he entered the precinct, the buzz in the air was on full throttle. Word had spread quickly that Russia’s most notorious hitman, Ghostface, had been identified as Viktor Kazapov and was here in town. Suddenly this precinct was the most popular spot in the city. Suits and uniforms from various departments were walking through the front door with no end in sight. The hum of quiet conversation between men could be heard throughout the office as they gathered in pairs and threesomes. Everyone was strategizing on how to be a part of the team that would take down the beast and not be regulated to support staff. Some were just content with having a seat or a space against the wall in the briefing room.
Sokolov knew going into the briefing and that it would be led by an old friend, James Frith, an agent with the FBI. They had met years ago when Sokolov had actually considered becoming a G-Man. “Pete,” Agent Frith called out.
Sokolov spun around, searching for the familiar voice. “James, good to see you again. It’s been a long time,” he said extending his hand.
“Sure has Detective. It’s always the good ones that seem to bring us together.”
“Ah, Ghostface—this is huge.”
“I hear you’re the one that cracked his identity. He’s actually Viktor Kazapov?”
Sokolov nodded. “I had help from a contact of mine.”
“He’s been a sort of hobby of yours, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, for a long time. Walk with me, the briefing room is this way,” Sokolov pointed. “I believe one of his first contracted hits was my father.”
“You never mentioned that before. I’m sorry to hear it.”
“It’s not something I brag about.”
“Well listen, time is against us so enough of the chitchat. I’d like you to get everyone up to date on this Ghostface character and how he operates. You know him better than anyone here.”
Sokolov felt immense pressure but relief at the same time. At least he was the one briefing. Often when FBI was brought in, the local police force took a back seat. He knew his old friend had given him the boost. Ghostface was a dangerous man, and Frith didn’t want to lose anyone.
Everyone had gathered in the main conference room. It was a standing room of blue uniforms and suits shuffling back and forth in mumbled conversation. The temperature was a noticeable few degrees higher than other parts of the building.
When Sokolov entered, he didn’t bother to look at any of the men who had gathered for the briefing. He was focused on what he had to say, and public speaking wasn’t exactly his forte. His partner Kyle Kang was a natural at it. It’s too bad he was out of town.
Agent Frith walked to the front of the room.
“If I could get your attention… Thank you. You have all probably figured out by now why you’re here, so I’ll cut to the chase. Hit the lights.” The room dimmed and a picture of a man appeared on the screen behind Frith. “We have good reason to believe that this man, Viktor Kazapov, a known gangster with the Russian Mafiya is the elusive hitman Ghostface.”
A murmur spread across the room.
“We also have reason to believe that Kazapov is in San Francisco. That means the world’s most wanted assassin is roaming our streets. We are under the impression that he is here to carry out a contract.” He waited for the murmuring to die down again. “Now let me be very clear: Ghostface has never missed a hit. I don’t know about you guys, but I would like to be part of the group of men that foils his record, not adds to it.”
One of the suits raised his hand. “Who’s the target?”
“The target is a man named Darby Stansfield. He testified against Viktor Kazapov about a month ago. His testimony helped put Viktor and his gang behind bars. That is, until they escaped.”
“Where is Stansfield now?”
“We have been in contact and he is currently heading back to his house per our instructions. It will be our job to secure Stansfield before Kazapov gets to him. I’m going to turn things over to Detective Pete Sokolov. Detective Sokolov has compiled an abundant amount of information on Ghostface and has been following his career for the last fifteen years. He knows more about this guy than the Russian government does. Listen to him. It may save your life. Detective?”
Sokolov made his way up to the front of the room, head down despite the eyes following his every step.
“Hello, I am Detective Pete Sokolov with the North Beach Precinct. It’s true. I have followed Ghostface for fifteen years. There’s a lot about him that I have come to understand. I want to paint for you the most realistic picture of Ghostface possible.”
One of the suits piped up. “When you say ‘follow’, you mean compiled information, right? You haven’t worked any of the cases, have you?”
“No, I have not.” Typical FBI asshole. “Ghostface started killing back in the town of Novosibirsk. I am from the same town as he. I believe this man killed my father fifteen years ago. From Novosibirsk, Ghostface moved around and improved his skills. The more popular he became as hired help, the more reclusive he became.”
“Why do they call him Ghostface?” asked the same asshole.
“Up until now, no one knew what he looked like. It is said the only people who could identify him were his victims. But they were all dead. His face is the last face they see—like a ghost.”
There was a little chuckling throughout the room. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?” came a voice.
“Hardly. Ghostface is capable of killing a man in many different ways. He is highly trained with most weaponry and has excelled in the art of hand-to-hand combat. He is as skilled as a mixed martial arts fighter. This is where he is the most dangerous. Do not underestimate his strength, either. If you do, you will end up dead. Don’t underestimate his speed. If you do, you will end up dead. He has remained elusive for many years because of his skill set. Russia, Belarus, Poland, Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania, Moldova, Kazakhstan, Georgia, Bulgaria, and Turkey all have Viktor on their most-wanted lists. He is responsible for over 200 contract hits. He is extremely dangerous. He is extremely intelligent, most likely with the IQ of a genius. He is also fluent in Russian, English, German, Polish, Turkish, and French. Now I’d like to turn the briefing over to Special Agent Ryan Bennett.” Sokolov quickly made for one of the walls where he could blend back in with the rank and file, glad to have his part over.
“Hello, I’m Special Agent Bennett. I head up the Violent and Organized Crimes Unit in the Bay Area. So far, we know that Viktor Kazapov, a.k.a. Ghostface, is targeting a man named Darby Stansfield.” Darby’s picture flashed up on the screen. “He testified against Viktor Kazapov in a sex trafficking case in Ukraine. Kazapov was found guilty of all charges. But he escaped in the most impressive fashion ever. There was so much firepower used, I’m told it was like a Michael Bay movie.
“The word on the street is the Russian Mafiya in Moscow, the organization that Kazapov reports to, reached out to Ghostface to contract a hit against Mr. Stansfield. He turned it down. According to Detective Sokolov, Ghostface has taken a liking to hits that highlight or increase his notoriety. He only pursues high-profile kills. However, Mr. Stansfield is not a high-profile kill. Detective, why don’t you answer this question?”
Sokolov stepped forward again. “Sure. Why is Mr. Stansfield a target? Well, Ghostface may not be interested, but
Viktor Kazapov is. Killing him as Viktor protects the so-called brand of Ghostface. At least, this is what we believe to be the reason for turning down the initial contract and yet still coming after Mr. Stansfield. If he had come as Ghostface, this briefing would not be happening because Mr. Stansfield would already be dead. If your next question is whether Viktor has two personalities—no, not in the psychological sense. It appears as though he treats the Ghostface part of him as an alter ego. Make no mistake; Viktor is every bit as deadly as Ghostface. The skills and knowhow don’t disappear.”
The picture on the screen switched back to Viktor Kazapov as Bennett moves back to the podium. “Thank you Detective. Now, all airports and trains leaving San Francisco are on high alert. Check points on the Golden, Oakland, and Bay Bridges, as well as the 101 and the PCH, are also in full force. If Viktor Kazapov is in San Francisco, he’s not getting out unnoticed. We are assuming that Viktor knows where Mr. Stansfield’s residence is. What he may not know is that Mr. Stansfield recently moved. The plan is to place units in each location and also have units outside observing should Kazapov decide to show. Who knows? He could be at one of the homes already as we speak, waiting for him. You know who your group leaders are. Rally up with them and they will brief you on your tactical orders. Good luck, men.”
As the lights came back on, Bennett hurried to join Sokolov and Frith at the back of the room. “Detective Sokolov, I was thinking you and I and some of our men would head out to Standfield’s new home. Another group will dispatch to Darby’s old apartment. Agent Frith will head up that unit.”
“That sounds like a good plan.”
“Has your guy made it back to his residence?” Agent Frith asked.
Sokolov checked his phone for messages. “I hope so.”
Chapter 77
I knocked on the door for the umpteenth time. Still no one answered. I was pissed. I was hoping to get a gun for protection and then lay low until the entire mess blew over. Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen.
I kicked at the door out of frustration and heard a faint click. The flimsy door looked like it had been jarred open by my foot. I pushed on it a bit. Yes it had. Should I go in? Is someone home? No, of course not. I put my head against the door again and listened for signs of life. Still nothing but quiet. I wondered if I should go in or not. Why? To search for a gun; that’s why. I stood in the hallway for all of one minute before pushing the door open.
The darkness was immediate. The drapes were drawn, no sunlight. Sunset wasn’t until 8:30 p.m. I flipped a switch and an overhead light turned on in the living room.
Closing the door behind me and locking it, I begin to explore the apartment. It smelled of something sour—like rotten kraut. I stopped after a few steps and listened again for noises in the apartment. Still empty.
So where would the weapons cache be? Closet? Cabinet? Under a bed? Maybe there’s a rogue gun lying around under some newspapers. Anything was possible.
In the living room I noticed a suitcase. Bingo. That’s how they transport weapons. I see it all the time in the movies. I grabbed the suitcase, threw it onto the couch, and unzipped it.
The weight should have been a dead giveaway. There was nothing in here except clothes. No hardware from what I could tell. However there was a Lufthansa ticket. I studied it for a moment. Whoever was the owner of this suitcase had only arrived a few days ago from Warsaw, Poland. The name on the luggage tag read Boris Turov. It didn’t ring a bell.
I searched the side pockets and I found what looked to be a Russian newspaper. Just as I was about to tuck the newspaper back in, the picture on the front page caught my eye. It looked familiar. I looked closer. It was the presidential palace in Minsk; I was sure of it.
I examined the masthead on the paper. This was a Belarusian newspaper. I unfolded the paper and my knees nearly buckled. On the bottom half of the page was a picture of Viktor Kazapov. It was an article on what I could only presume was his escape. Panic started to tighten in my chest. Who is this Boris? Does he know Viktor? Is this just coincidence? I dug deeper into the side pockets and pulled out a bunch of rubbish. There was an old potato chip bag, a flier, and a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it. This time, my knees did buckle.
Staring back at me was a photograph of myself.
Chapter 78
Over at Darby’s place, Sokolov and his men positioned themselves around the perimeter. A sniper waited on the roof of the building across the street.
Sokolov bounded up the steps of the Victorian and knocked on the door. Tavish opened the door and faced four intimidating men. “Detective Sokolov? Uh, Darb’s not here right now—”
Dammit! Darby should have been here already. “You must come with me. Now. Quickly. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“What? Where’s Darb? He’s okay isn’t he?”
“I can explain later. For now, you must leave. Is there anybody else here?”
Tav glanced over his shoulder. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, Ralphie’s with me.”
“Who’s Ralphie?”
“My pug.”
“Sokolov motioned to the men to search the house. “Hurry. Get your dog.”
Two minutes later, Sokolov was escorting Tavish and Ralphie out. “Do you have any place you can go for a while?”
“No, my place was flooded, totally unlivable. That’s why I’m staying with Darb.”
“Okay. Come this way. I have a place where you can be safe.” Sokolov walked Tavish a hundred yards up the street to a black van, though it wasn’t just any black van. It was filled with a bunch of high-tech equipment and a couple of suited men.
“Look, Detective, you’re scaring the shit out of me. Will you tell me what’s going on?”
Sokolov gave him a quick update on the new situation.
“Wait, you mean Viktor is even more dangerous than we thought and you know for a fact he wants to kill Darby?” Tavish tightened his grip on Ralphie.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Does he know this—that Viktor really is some ghost hitman?”
“Ghostface is his name. I was supposed to meet Darby here so I could explain it to him. I spoke with him an hour ago. He should have been home by now.”
“I haven’t heard from him since he ran out to run some errand.”
Sokolov muttered under his breath in Russian. “I told him not to leave the house except for work or an emergency.”
“Is he going to try and kill Darb tonight?”
“It’s very likely that he will strike soon. Viktor doesn’t like to hang around.”
“How can you guys protect him if this guy is so good?”
“He good but he’s human. He thinks it’s impossible for someone like Darby, a nobody, to take him out, but he almost did. He now feels the need to prove to others, mostly himself, that this is not true. He is obsessed now and not thinking straight. We will have men staked outside. I and a few men will be inside the house in case Viktor slips by.”
Sokolov was describing the units dispatched to Darby’s old apartment when his cell phone rang.
“Is it Darb,” Tavish asked urgently.
Sokolov shook his head as he brought the phone to his ear. “Agent Frith, what’s the news?” Hmmmm… Are you sure?” He pulled out a pen and paper and began taking notes. “I see. Has she been identified yet? … Nothing? Not even a purse or ID? … Okay, well keep searching. There must be something. Radio in before you come back.”
“What happened?” Tavish asked.
“The old apartment has been compromised. The lock on the front door was broken. It appears as though Viktor knows about the old apartment.”
“What makes you think that?”
“There’s a dead body in the there.”
“But we moved out weeks ago,” Tavish protested.
“Blond female, late twenties, no ID, no purse, no clothes so far. Found naked on the bed. She was shot in the head.”
<
br /> Tavish frowned. “Blond, female… Oh shit!”
“What?”
“Darby was dating a blond woman from work, Hillary. It might be her. How or why she went to the old apartment I don’t know.”
“Has this woman ever been here?”
“I—I can’t be sure. Maybe. I never said anything to her. But I assume Darb did, but maybe he didn’t.”
“Well if it was Viktor who entered the apartment, he most likely will figure out that Darby doesn’t live there. It was our hope that he would only know about that address.”
“Do you think he knows to come here?”
“Hard to tell. He’s smart. If there was anything left in the apartment to indicate it, then yes, he knows.”
Chapter 79
It was a little after eight when Viktor parked the car a few yards away from Orlov’s apartment. The sun looked like it had another half hour of life before giving in to the night. Viktor had decided to come back here for his Boris disguise before heading over to the address on the paper.
He sat for a few minutes, studying the apartment building and the neighborhood. It was routine reconnaissance. Seven of the cars were there when he left. Two were new: a red Toyota Prius and a white Smart Car. When he was assured that everything was okay, he exited the car and headed over to the apartment complex.
Viktor’s window of opportunity was closing in around him. It wouldn’t be long before others would notice that Orlov wasn’t showing up for work. Plus, the body wasn’t going to keep much longer. He either needed to dump it or get out of town.
After killing Orlov, Viktor had dismembered the body and placed it in trash bags, with lime added to counter the smell. But he knew that was a short fix. A few days ago, he had found an area to dump the body but hadn’t had the time to dispose of it yet. The nightly cabbage dinners in the complex could only mask it for so long. Soon the sour smell would be overpowering. Soon the neighbors would ask questions.
Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella) Page 47
