Darby Stansfield Thriller Series (Books 1-3 & Bonus Novella)

by Ty Hutchinson

  Tav raised his hand and then turned up the sound on the game. As I walked away, I knew that just because Tav and I were cool didn’t mean I could get away without doing some serious thinking about my job. But at the moment, Ivan Renko was top of my mind.

  Chapter 95

  I shook hands with Ivan and took a seat in the booth. He motioned to the brown paper bag next to me—my cut from the last two weeks’ take. Nice. After the unexpected cleaning at The Vic, my funds were low and I still had another week until payday at Teleco. According to my own calculations, the package should contain twelve thousand and change. I’m back in high-roller land.

  “Darby, I apologized for our lapse in security. I don’t know how Viktor got by us, but it will not happen again.”

  This was the first conversation I’d had with Ivan since the big shoot-out. I could tell the old man felt bad. Not only did he give me his word that they would help protect me, but the massive failure made the gang look amateurish. That wouldn’t go over well with Ivan.

  “I know, and I’m sure you made adjustments.”

  “We have. What happened the day you went to Orlov’s apartment?”

  “No one was there.”

  “Oh?”

  “I knocked and no one answered. Why?”

  Why the questions, Ivan? Do I tell him that I broke into the apartment? What about the mystery visitor Orlov was hosting? I’ve learned with Ivan that he doesn’t ask questions out of curiosity. He already knows the answer to the question.

  “It’s been a while since we’ve seen Orlov. I want to know if you spoke to him that day.”

  “I didn’t, but there is more…”

  “Tell me, Darby. We are friends are we not?”

  Loaded question. Stay away, it has a hair trigger. “I was desperate and scared and pissed that he wasn’t home. I accidentally kicked his door. The lock was flimsy and it popped open…so I went inside.”

  “And?”

  “Well no one was there but I thought maybe he might have a weapon lying around that I could take. I would have left a message saying you sent me had I found one. I did notice that Orlov had a visitor.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Look, I should have told you this sooner but with what took place in the last couple of weeks, I didn’t have a chance.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I think Orlov was helping Viktor Kazapov.”

  “Why do you say this?”

  “I saw luggage in the living room. I looked through the luggage thinking there might be a gun inside. I instead found a picture of me and a newspaper article on Viktor Kazapov. The baggage claim tickets were from Lufthansa and the name identification tag was Turov, Boris Turov.”

  “Boris Turov?”

  “Don’t you get it? Viktor is Boris. That’s how he entered the country, probably wearing a disguise as well. I have no proof beyond that but it makes sense. Why would this mystery man have a picture of me? Orlov was in on it the whole time.”

  Ivan shifted in his seat and scratched at the side of his face. His raised his eyebrows and the shifting eyes were a solid tell. I had finally given him information he did not know in advance. For a man who prided himself on knowing everything that goes on, he never saw that coming.

  Chapter 96

  Take twelve grand in cash, tuck it away into your jacket and then go walk around outside. “Paranoid” doesn’t begin to describe how it feels. The sooner I could get back to The Vic, the better I would feel.

  I had a custom-built safe installed in my closet when we moved into The Vic; even Tav knew nothing about it. Crack proof, the company told me. A thief would need plastic explosives to get into it and even then it would still try one’s patience. For seven grand, I hoped so.

  I learned enough from watching TV to know depositing large sums of cash into my bank account was a no-no. So far the money wasn’t piling up out of control. It would be a nice problem to have but I didn’t. As soon as I got the greenbacks, there was always some big bill to pay. Easy come, easy go was a drag.

  I had received a couple of text messages during my meeting with Ivan, one from Sokolov saying to call him and one from Natasha saying she bought her plane ticket and would be here in two days. Great.

  When I felt I was far enough away from the restaurant, I dialed Sokolov.

  “Detective Pete Sokolov here.”

  “Detective, it’s Darby Stansfield calling.”

  “Darby, thanks for returning my call. I had heard about what happened in Moscow and that Viktor is likely the one behind the assassination. How did you know about it? It barely made a blip here.”

  “Remember Natasha Buchko?”

  “The minister’s daughter, right?”

  “Yes, she’s the one that mentioned it to me. She’s actually coming to visit for a few days now that things are back to normal. Anyway, so long as he’s there, he’s not here. That’s all I care about.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “Will you be going to Moscow to investigate? I know how much you want to nail this guy.”

  “No. I have no jurisdiction outside of the city, but I have contacts and they will keep me informed.”

  “No offense, but here’s wishing you never have jurisdiction again.”

  Sokolov let out a big belly laugh. “I understand. No offense taken.”

  “But seriously, why is this guy so hard to catch?”

  “He’s a master at his craft, the most deadly hitman in history. Taking Ghostface down will be a challenge.”

  “Do you think he’s more Viktor or Ghostface?”

  Sokolov seemed to think a minute before answering. “He’s Ghostface. I believe Viktor was his disguise when he wasn’t entertaining contracts.”

  “Will you keep me informed of the situation there? I will feel a lot better when this guy is dead. We already know custody doesn’t work well on him.”

  “I’ll keep you posted, Darby.”

  Before heading home I decided to take a drive by Orlov’s apartment. Part of me worried that this was the one loose end that was never tied up.

  When I neared the apartment I slowed the car to a manageable crawl, looking for anything that didn’t fit. That brown car didn’t fit. In fact, I remembered that car: It was driving erratically behind me the night of the shoot-out.

  I pulled over, parked and then went over to the car for a closer look. Sure enough, it was the same car. Was it Orlov’s? I peered inside the windows for clues as to who the owner was. There wasn’t much to look at. A newspaper and a couple of empty coffee cups lay crumpled on the floor. A candy wrapper looked stuck to the passenger seat. Other than that, nothing stood out. I took out my iPhone and started documenting the car, making sure to include the license plate and the vehicle identification number. I’ll turn over the photos to Ivan. Maybe he can confirm if Orlov owned this car. If so, then we will know he was helping Viktor.

  Then I looked over at the apartment complex. Did I dare head up to the fourth floor? According to Ivan, Orlov had not shown his face for a couple of weeks. Where did the little weasel run off to? His car was outside. Did that mean he was home?

  I tried to remember if I saw the car the last time I visited but I had no memory of it. It could have been parked outside or not there at all. I wasn’t sure. I wished I remembered.

  Chapter 97

  Moscow, Russia

  The assassination of the Tea Maker had the Elders looking over their shoulders a lot more than usual. They had no reason to believe their lives were in danger, except that the killing of the Tea Maker had Ghostface written all over it.

  Targeting one of them would do nothing to reduce the power. All four of them would have to be eliminated if an individual wanted to become the new head. But this wasn’t a hit for power; an attempt like that would have been made all at once. Taking them out one by one allowed the others to take precautions, which is what these three planned to do.

  The Elders had never felt the need to use bodyg
uards while in Moscow. This was their home, their city, where they held the most power. Who would dare come after them here?

  Ghostface.

  All three of them arranged to have bodyguards around them. The Youngest and the Unreasonable One decided to stick together. In addition, they believed if they stuck together they would pose a barrier to the intimate kill they knew Ghostface craved. They were wrong.

  Ghostface watched the Youngest and the Unreasonable One through the window that night with a lens of a 6x magnification night scope. He could see the wrinkles on their faces from a mile out. This was very intimate. Their strategy of sticking together only made Ghostface’s job easier. He had already decided it would be a one shot kill. One bullet, two bodies sawed in half. He had the perfect rifle for the job, too.

  The Denel Mechem NTW 20mm is an antimatter rifle designed to punch holes the size of fists in cement and steel from a distance of three miles. It was about to get messy in the apartment. And for the unfortunate souls who crossed the line of fire in the two apartments behind that one…well that’s a byproduct of the job.

  The temperature outside on the rooftop hovered around fifteen degrees Fahrenheit but Ghostface didn’t seem to notice it. The wind was absent and the stars above shown brightly; conditions for the perfect kill were perfect.

  With his heartbeat already slowed and his breathing to match, the hitman focused on the job at hand. Sooner or later the two Silent Ones would cross paths and then, bam.

  That moment came five minutes and twenty-three seconds later. The 20mm cannon round ripped through the air, zeroing in on its target. The hitman’s eye was still secure against the scope, waiting, watching for the splat that was next up in the equation. Ghostface loved this moment, when things were completely out of his control and all of his training was put to the test. He had sent forth his message. Would it reach its destination? Of course it would.

  The two Elders stood side by side, unaware that the show was about to end. Finito.

  •••

  They were discussing what to have for dinner. Not business, not the assassination of the Tea Maker, not even whether they would be targeted next. They were arguing over dinner—such a mundane conversation to be having seconds before being assassinated. It almost appeared as though they were not worthy.

  “We had fish last night. I want pork.”

  “We always have pork.”

  “Tell me the last time we—”

  The impact of the bullet mimicked a grenade exploding… if it were inside a person’s body. One of the bodyguards meandered a bit too close and became a bonus. The other two bodyguards stood motionless for a second or two, trying to comprehend what happened. One second, three men are standing before them. A second later, a pile of bodies lay on the ground and dinner was still up in the air.

  The bodyguard survived, if only to see that his arm was taken completely off near the shoulder. The other two men did nothing to help as they watched the flow of life spurt out of his stump. But that didn’t matter. He would be dead in thirty seconds.

  Instantaneous explosion is what it looked like to the surviving bodyguards—a sensational kill out of nowhere is what it would look like to the media. This is what Ghostface wanted. The news will deliver the tale, the unbelievable account of what happened that night.

  The real story, however, was meant for the Oldest. Ghostface wanted him to realize, to understand, that it didn’t matter where he was; he could strike up close or from a far.

  The Oldest would have to accept that he was next. If he wanted to live, he had better start looking for a hiding spot—if there was one.

  Chapter 98

  San Francisco, California

  Natasha’s flight arrived at an irritating 8:00 a.m. but I was there, as promised, picking her up. I admit it: I was happy to see her again. We’ll always have a bond that two people develop when their lives are threatened.

  By the time we got back to The Vic, it was near nine and she couldn’t wait to start exploring the city. I almost forgot how energetic she could be.

  “So your room is right this way. You’re next to Tav and Ralphie. Together you can hold down the fort.”

  “Great!” she enthused. “Where are they?”

  “Tav got roped into helping clean out the attic at his mother’s place, so he won’t be able to join us today. You’ll meet him, don’t worry.”

  “I can’t wait to meet Ralphie. He so cute.”

  “Are you tired? Want to rest for a bit?”

  “No, I can’t wait to see Golden Bridge of San Francisco.”

  “It’s called the Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Oh?”

  So we jumped back into the car and off to the Golden Gate Bridge we drove.

  My car crept along the golden landmark trying to give Natasha as many opportunities as possible to photograph the bay. When we got to the other side, we parked at a lookout and enjoyed the wonderful view of Alcatraz and the city skyline. This was postcard central. I must have taken at least thirty pictures of Natasha, at her request. It was going to be one of those days, but I didn’t mind.

  The famous crooked road was a hit. Natasha forced me to drive down Lombard Street twice, but not before getting out and taking another zillion pictures. It was so funny watching her reaction. I couldn’t tell what was louder: the squeals coming from the brakes of the cars or the one coming from Natasha. She was having a blast. I was having a blast.

  From there we hit up Fisherman’s Wharf. I got Natasha her first bowl of clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl. More pictures.

  “How do you like San Francisco so far?”

  “I love it. It’s sooo cute and small and charming. Thanks for letting me come visit.

  “No problem. It’s fun having you here.”

  Natasha let out a yawn.

  “Looks like someone’s getting tired.”

  “No, I don’t want to go back yet.”

  “Tell you what. It’s a beautiful day. We’ll go to the Golden Gate Park. We can relax there, sunbathe, maybe even catch some ZZZ’s. Sound good?”

  “Yes, I love taking naps in parks.”

  It was a perfect day, too. When we got to the park, the sun was out and the birds were singing. People were rollerblading, biking, barbecuing, playing volleyball, reuniting with family, and soon…sleeping.

  Sundays are no-car days in the park so we had to hoof it in but that was okay. What I like best about this park is no matter how many people visit, you can always find your own piece away from the masses.

  We found a spot on a slope. It was perfect. We had a view of the park below. There was another family nearby picnicking. As soon as I laid the blanket down on the grass, Natasha went down for the count. With the sun acting like a comforter on a crisp day, any normal person would succumb to sleepy time.

  Natasha woke me about an hour and a half later. She seemed to have caught her second wind. So had I. The family next to us was still there, except it was their turn to visit with the sandman.

  We were both hungry so I suggested Russian food and received a lip-smacking approval. Forty-five minutes later we were sitting in a booth at the Russian Tsar, Natasha was tearing into tasty grilled meats and I was enjoying my staple, beef stroganov. It was the perfect Sunday fade.

  “Mmm,” Natasha said in between bites. “It’s good but not better than our cook.”

  I remembered the grilled meats we were served, and I couldn’t argue. “Tomorrow, I have to head into the office for a little bit but I’ll probably be home by lunch. We can do something then.”

  “Okay, Ralphie will keep me company.”

  “Good idea.”

  Black coffee was all I could manage after that meal. Natasha still had room for a hefty piece of Napoleon. Before she arrived, I thought she would be a handful but it was quite the opposite. She was no trouble at all.

  Chapter 99

  Even evil people wake up on the happy side of the bed.

  Viktor had just finished his
second cup of coffee and was ready to face Monday. He had only one thing on his to-do list today: kidnap Natasha Buchko.

  As luck would have it, Viktor had been out running an errand the night before when he happened to look over at the car next to him at the intersection and nearly shat himself.

  Sitting in the passenger seat was the blond girl that got away from him in Minsk. He couldn’t believe what his eyes were showing him. Surely this could not be, but it was. Seeing Darby in the driver’s seat only confirmed his discovery.

  There they were, two best friends, laughing and talking without a worry in the world. Viktor followed them long enough to confirm that they were heading back to Darby’s new house. He was convinced the revenge gods were looking out for him.

  Viktor could have taken both of them out that night but that wasn’t what he wanted. Darby needed to suffer, and taking the girl would accomplish just that.

  A little before nine in the morning, Viktor maneuvered the brown Honda into a spot not far from Darby’s address. He was positive Darby and the tall one would both head into work and leave the girl home alone. This was America. Everyone here loved to work.

  After Darby and Tav left, Viktor waited for another fifteen minutes to be sure no one came back for a forgotten item. He knew getting through the front door would be quick and easy. Viktor had never met a lock that could stop him.

  He also decided to leave Boris Turov at home today and venture out as the notorious Viktor Kazapov. Ever since the showdown with the pathetic San Francisco Police Department, Viktor never left the apartment without his disguise. He worried a little about the police; they were a parasite he didn’t want to incite and then have to deal with. However, today was an exception. He wanted to be recognized. It was important that she know who was visiting.

  Cracking the front door open a bit, Viktor listened for signs of life and heard none. Pushing the door wider, he slipped inside and locked it behind him. There were seven carpeted steps leading up from the foyer; someone could still be in the living room and not know he was there. He listened again. Still nothing. The girl could still be sleeping. Viktor noticed a leash hanging on a hook by the door—a dog, but where was it? Viktor pulled his gun out of his jacket and slowly made his way up the steps.