by Eddy Will
Anna jumped against the door, kicking the heavy wood and pounding it with her fists. She screamed to be let out.
Finally she sunk to the floor, exhausted and battered, breathing hard and stared at her prison cell.
Chapter 15
Los Angeles, California, August 2, 2012, 9:02 AM
Blue skies and a warm sun were a welcomed change for Jack Storm. He had been chilled to the bone, not only from the punishing temperatures and biting wind in Huarez, but he had felt a deeper cold in his heart ever since Anna had disappeared in the avalanche. He refused to believe that she lay buried and unfound in the deep snow. Too much had happened in the last twenty-four hours to create a viable alternative in his mind. The dead man with an ice pick stuck in his neck was one such event and the sudden immaculate disappearance of the body from his hotel room another. And who were the men in the black Mercedes Benz SUV? They clearly had had the power and resources to recruit the night duty officer at the police station and if it hadn’t been for the man’s change of heart, they would have found Jack in the lobby of the deserted police precinct. Nothing added up, nothing made sense.
Jack watched the heavy traffic, people in their cars, talking on phones, texting friends, eating, a kid beat a pair of drum sticks against the steering wheel, his head bobbing to a rhythm only he could hear. The driver inched the yellow cab north on La Cienega Boulevard heading to Beverly Hills. Once Jack had reached the highway outside Huarez he had not stopped until he had reached the airport in Chimbote, snaking his way through mountainous snow-covered roads, spending much of the drive stuck behind a large truck carrying massive tree trunks. It had made the drive easier allowing him to rest, to focus less on the road by following the truck. It had given him time to think and by the time he had arrived at the airport, he had decided to follow the only lead he had: the unlikely website of a flashy divorce attorney from Beverly Hills in the ‘recently visited’ file found in the cell phone of a man sent to kill him.
And so Jack had latched on to that improbable clue. He had nothing else to go on and he did not want to stay in Huarez. Jack understood that there was virtually no chance that Anna would be found alive, if she had been buried by the avalanche. Too much time had passed. Jack needed to move, move forward if he had any chance of clinging to the last remaining scraps of sanity. If he stopped and allowed the enormity of his new world to sink in, he would break apart, crack wide open, his heart broken beyond repair.
He had been lucky to get a seat on the first available flight out of Peru and had been grateful to sleep for almost the entire flight to Los Angeles International Airport.
The cab crossed the intersection of Santa Monica Boulevard and La Cienega. Jack had rolled down the window, taking in the warm air. The sunny climate had a soothing effect on his soul and he understood why so many were drawn to Southern California. It’s more than the weather, it’s a way of life, he thought. His first stop would be a department store, the taxi driver had suggested a mall in Beverly Hills. Jack needed a change of clothes, something more suitable for the sunny climate.
But as Jack’s taxi drove by expensive shops and well-maintained homes, doubt crept into his mind. The thought that a successful lawyer from Beverly Hills was connected to brutal killers in far away Huarez, Peru seemed more outrageous the closer the cab took Jack to the lawyer’s office. What if Jack had drawn all the wrong conclusions? What if, in his fit of desperation to make sense of what happened to Anna, he was connecting dots where there were none to connect? Had he gone mad? Jack figured, that mad or not, it would cost him nothing more than the plane ticket and some of his time, of which he currently had ample, to put his conspiratorial musings to rest. He would know within minutes, if his suspicions bore any merit. He would know soon enough. But even if he made wrong assumptions and had drawn incorrect conclusions, the fact remained that a killer had been in his hotel room only hours after an avalanche killed his friends and possibly his wife, and that soon after other unsavory characters sought to connect with him.
The taxi pulled over on Santa Monica Boulevard at the Beverly Hills Mall. Jack paid the man and walked into the bustling mall. It took him less than thirty minutes to purchase a new outfit, a pair of khakis, a polo shirt, jacket and a pair of comfortable shoes with rubber soles. For good measure he had picked up a pair of sun glasses, he was in Los Angeles after all, as well as a nondescript black baseball cap. Next Jack purchased a burrito bowl at a Mexican Food chain store and used the bathroom to change his clothes, discarding his winter clothes in a trash can.
Jack decided to walk the quarter mile to the tall building that housed the offices of Ashley, Ezra, Gold and Winchester. He needed time to collect his thoughts and figured it helpful to familiarize himself with the neighborhood. It was a nice walk. Hip coffee shops and clothing stores lined well-maintained sidewalks, expensive cars and limousines squeezing through narrow and busy streets of Beverly Hills’ shopping district. Unlike other parts of Los Angeles, where ‘nobody walks in L.A., the sidewalks of the Beverly Hills shopping district were bustling with shoppers, tourists, and locals alike. Twenty minutes later, Jack arrived at the modern high-rise building. He looked up at the wall of steel and glass, the bright California sun bouncing of the windows in multiple reflections. Jack entered the spacious lobby, an intricate fountain made of granite and glass splashing water happily and energetically. He crossed the lobby, beautiful men and women rushing about in expensive suits and outfits, ears glued to phones and thumbs flying over digital keyboards. It was a miracle there were no collision, Jack thought. He arrived at the elevators and entered the next available car. Soft classical music drifted from invisible speakers into the elevator car, the upward motion barely noticeable. The doors opened on the twelfth floor and Jack stepped into the world of Ashley, Ezra, Gold and Winchester. The reception was expensively outfitted; prospective clients would have been duly impressed. Plush, thick carpet covered the floors in all directions, the walls paneled with dark wood and exotic granite, golden veins zigzagging through the stone, pressed into place a million years ago, and illuminated by back lighting, accentuating the intricate patterns in the stone. The reception desk measured at least thirty feet in length and the wall behind the counter displayed letters identifying the office as Ashley, Ezra, Gold and Winchester, putting to rest any possible confusion. Three beautiful women sat behind the counter, two quietly answered phones and directed calls from a seemingly endless line of callers. The third receptionist was busy typing, her eyes glued to a large screen; the quiet, comforting murmur of concentration and focus the only sounds in the spacious lobby. Various hallways spread out from the lobby like the legs of a spider and a half dozen doors led from the reception area, with many more, smaller doors dotting the long hallways.
Jack approached the counter and stopped in front of the female at the computer keyboard: a stunning redhead with porcelain skin, an aloof air bordering on arrogance. Long fingers flew across the keyboard with ease and accomplishment.
“Hi,” Jack said, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward just enough to ensure the woman’s attention.
“I’ll be with you in a moment,” the redhead said without looking up from the screen.
“No rush, anytime,” Jack said. He did not miss the slight blinking of her eyes, a subtle but clear indication of her annoyance. ‘Great,’ Jack thought, ‘this will be fun.’ “Please finish whatever you are doing, I personally hate it when I am interrupted in mid-sentence, I so know what you mean,” he said.
The woman stopped typing and slowly moved her eyes from the screen to Jack. “Alright. How can I help you?” she said, unable to contain her annoyance at the interruption.
“Thank you,” Jack said, and smiled at the woman. “I am here to see Todd Ashley,” he added just as friendly.
“I don’t believe he has appointments scheduled at this hour, but I’d be happy to check his calendar,” the redhead said, dismissing Jack before she even opened Ashley’s calendar.
“I may not be scheduled on his calendar, but I am here and I would love to have a brief moment with Mr. Ashley, if I may,” Jack said, now leaning over the counter, trying to catch a glimpse of Todd Ashley’s calendar on the large screen. The redhead promptly turned the screen away from Jack’s prying eyes.
“I am sorry, but that won’t be possible. Mr. Ashley is a busy man and cannot receive walk-ins today. Maybe you would like to make an appointment for, ah, let’s see..,” the redhead said, her voice trailing off as she studied what must have been a very busy and crowded calendar.
“Actually, I need to see him right away and I have a feeling that he would very much want to see me, if he knew that I was here, in his lobby, only fifty feet from his office,” Jack said, speaking quickly and as he made up the words a plan formed in his mind.
“I doubt that,” the redhead said smugly, but a hint of doubt had crept into her voice. She might have been Ashley’s gatekeeper, but if she shut the door on the wrong person, it might cost her more than a reprimand.
“You see, young lady, you already made the mistake of dismissing me right out of hand without having bothered to even ask my name or the nature of my business. And a lack of judgment such as that might land you back in the temp pool from which Ashley or one of his partners has plucked you not too long ago, and you’d be back to making fifteen bucks an hour and you could kiss your expensive nails and outfits goodbye, if you know what I mean,” Jack said calmly, all the while lounging across the countertop invading the redhead’s space.
She bit her lip for a moment as she stared at Jack, her eyes reflecting the struggle between pride and fear.
“I’ll check with Mr. Ashley and find out if he has a moment to spare, but no promises,” the redhead finally said, fear having beaten out pride.
“Good girl,” Jack said, “Now you are talking.”
“Who may I say is here to see him, Mr. aah…,” the redhead said, her voice softer, clearly making an effort at interpersonal communication.
“Karpov. Boris Karpov,” Jack said, copying the cadence of a famous spy movie character. The redhead raised her eyebrows, the allusion not wasted on her.
“Very, well, Mr. Karpov, Mr. Boris Karpov,” she said and picked up the phone.
Jack had given her the name of the dead killer in his hotel room, as confirmed by the man’s cell phone’s internal account information. If Todd Ashley had any connection with the dead killer, the mention of the name would cause a reaction, a clear and undeniable reaction on the part of Ashley. Jack would know even before Ashley would say a word.
“I am sorry Mr. Ashley, but I have a Mr. Karpov, a Mr. Boris Karpov at the front desk. He says he needs to see you right away,” the redhead said into the phone. The lawyer is in the house, Jack thought. So far, so good.
The redhead listened intently, briefly smiling at Jack as she listened to Ashley speak.
A door opened and a tall and tanned and handsome man stood in the doorway, a cordless phone stuck to his ear. Jack locked eyes with the lawyer. A shadow of confusion flashed across the attorney’s face. It was there. Jack had seen it. His trip to Beverly Hills had not been in vain, was not born from the crazed mind of a man on the brink of lunacy. Ashley had expected to see someone else when he opened the door. He knew Boris Karpov and the man at the front desk was not him.
Jack stepped toward Ashley’s office in a few quick steps, closing the gap between the lawyer and himself.
“Todd Ashley, it’s great to see you. I know you must be very busy, so I won’t take much of your time,” Jack said.
Todd Ashley’s impulse to quickly shut the door was powerful. He had stepped back into his office just enough to push closed the door, but aborted his instinctive impulse.
“Come in, Mr. Karpov,” he said instead, having little choice since Jack was already at the door. The redhead had jumped up and rushed around the front desk, calling back Mr. Karpov, who was charging her employer.
“It’s alright, Valerie, I’ve got this, there is no cause for alarm,” Ashley said slowly and deliberately, raising his arm to calm his frantic receptionist.
Jack entered the office of Todd Ashley, the skyline of Los Angeles spreading for miles behind a large wall of glass.
The lawyer closed the door and quickly walked to the safety of his desk.
“Alright, what is this? What do you want?” Ashley said, spitting out the words.
“All wrong, Mr. Attorney. It should have been ‘Who are you’, you know I am not Karpov,” Jack said.
Ashley’s eyelids briefly fluttered, before he gained control, but it was enough for Jack. Ashley knew that Jack was not Karpov.
“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want. You are not Karpov, you say, then who the hell are you?” Ashley said, his lawyer mind racing to turn the conversation and gather information.
“I am Jack Storm, husband to Anna Jaeger. Your thug Boris Karpov tried to kill me last night. I am here for my wife and if you don’t give her back, I am going to blow your sordid operation wide open. And I’ll start by walking into the precinct of the Beverly Hills Police department,” Jack said, regretting that he had not played this moment cooler. But it was too late, the cat was out of the bag.
Ashley stared at Jack, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened. The lawyer was stunned into silence, if only for a moment.
“You don’t know what you are talking about. You are crazy,” he finally said, unable to think of a more coherent reply.
“It’s too late, Ashley, you already spilled the beans when you opened your office door. What happened to my wife? Because I now know she is not buried in the avalanche, so where is she?” Jack said, his voice menacing.
“You have no proof, Storm, none. If you did you would be sitting at the Beverly Hills PD filing charges as opposed to coming here on a fishing expedition. You got nothing, Storm. And now I’ll make sure it stays that way. You are finished, Storm,” Ashley said, his voice suddenly cold and cruel. He had regained his composure, the attorney’s brain punching holes in Jack’s accusations. Not denying, Jack thought, but re-directing. Jack now was sure Ashley was involved in his wife’s disappearance. He felt like hugging the slick lawyer, for he had just received proof that Anna was not dead, but still alive and there was hope.
The door to Ashley’s office opened and Valerie, the receptionist, entered with four security officers.
“Him,” she said, pointing her long finger at Jack. “That’s the man. He barged into the office and threatened Mr. Ashley,” she said.
Jack stared at the security officers and remembered Ashley’s slow and deliberate words: ‘there is no cause for alarm’. It had been a pre-arranged signal for exactly this eventuality. Don’t tip off the enraged client or aggrieved party of a failed law suit. Jack realized that this must happen more often. Angry defendants whose lives’ had been ruined by the slick maneuverings of a slick lawyer.
“Thank you, Valerie, and yes, please see that this man leaves the building immediately, and make sure he does not enter again. He is clearly deranged and needs to leave,” Ashley said quickly, visibly relieved about the timely arrival of the cavalry.
Three security guards rushed Jack and locked their strong arms around Jack’s.
“Should I call the police, Mr. Ashley?” said the fourth guard, standing at a distance to keep an overview and act as back-up for his men, should it become necessary.
“No, Jerry, there is no need for that. Just escort him out of the building, thank you,” Ashley said.
More proof, Jack thought. Had Ashley considered Jack a mere madman, he would likely involve the police and press charges. He is, after all, a lawyer. But he did not.
The burly guards walked Jack out of the lawyer’s office and to the elevator. Jack did not resist. He had learned much in the last minutes. Jack and the guards rode the elevator in silence and two minutes later Jack stood on the sidewalk and watched the guards re-enter the building they had just successfully cleansed of another lunatic.
Jack contemplated his options when a car turned the corner at high speed, causing the tires to screech under the pressure of a heavy chassis. Jack turned to the sudden noise and a voice in his head told him to move. Now.
Jack hurried down the street, dodging pedestrians and when he turned the next corner, he glanced back. The heavy car, a long powerful Mercedes Benz, had slowed and two men piled out of the back, one of them pointing at Jack.
‘Ashley has called in re-enforcements,’ Jack thought. More proof that he had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Jack ran down the sidewalk and crossed the small street in mid-block, jumping in front of cars and earning an angry cacophony of horns. He hurried to the next block, the two men on foot turning the corner just as he reached the next intersection. The black Mercedes roared past the small one-way street, the driver having to find another way.
Jack raced across the street, sprinted into an alley and ran to the other end. Put distance between the hunters and himself. Jack flew out of the alley, but the men had seen him before he turned the corner. One of them ran with a phone to his ear. The car. The man was communicating with the car. Jack raced along the sidewalk. The street was wide, several lanes of traffic rushing in either direction. Jack turned into a large home furnishings store and walked into the aisles, looking to hide behind tall bookcases and samples of curtains and drapes, while keeping an eye on the store’s entrance. A killer scanned the sidewalk before entering the store and searching for his prey. The killer was not sure. He had not yet seen Jack. He hurried along a row of bookcases, ducking behind a bed stacked high with pillows and blankets. A second killer arrived and covered the front entrance, while his partner conducted a more thorough sweep. Jack’s eyes searched for a rear exit. There had to be one, he prayed. He did not think the killers would take a shot at him inside the busy store, but he could not take that chance. He moved behind a dividing wall jammed with a variety of popular framed prints for the uninspired, while working his way to the back of the store. Then he saw the green exit sign at the rear of the store. The door was hidden by tall wheeled carts containing seasonal items no longer popular. He needed a diversion, for there was maybe thirty feet of open space he’d have to cross to get to the rear door. The killer had made his way halfway through the store, closing in. He would see Jack at any moment. Jack had to act fast before he would be trapped. He looked around for a weapon, a tool, anything. A dining table hosted a large number of glasses, vases and pitchers in varying sizes and shapes.
