I’d been stood long enough for my eyes to adjust, and I could see now that I wasn’t in total darkness; enough light came in from the streets above to provide sufficient illumination to see. There seemed to be some sort of light coming from underneath the standing water too.
I was in not much more than a box, fifteen feet by fifteen, surrounded by brick, earth and concrete.
I was just wondering why Kane had led me down here when he nudged me, then submerged himself under the water. I waited a few seconds and he came back up, nudged me again. He wanted me to follow him.
He went under again, and this time I followed, one hand on his fur to help guide me. I fully submerged myself in the brackish water, and saw he was heading for the source of light, a small hole in what looked like a section of soft, broken clay between the floor and the wall.
Kane slipped through it easily, and I followed. But the hole was so small that I suddenly thought that I would never fit; I got as far as my head and a shoulder, but then got wedged in tight. My vision was poor in the barely illuminated pool, and I couldn’t make out what was on the other side. My breath started to go, and my head began to swim with lack of oxygen. I felt Kane ahead of me, and I pulled and squeezed, even as I grew faint; and then the wet clay shifted, and my second shoulder was through, and I quickly pulled the rest of my body through the hole and stood up, spluttering for air, on the other side.
As I regained my composure, I saw that I was in a dimly lit sub-basement corridor. It was obviously disused, and was filled with the same level of standing water as the excavated hole on the other side.
I wasn’t surprised that the area wasn’t monitored; who in their right mind would get access to the building this way? But Kane had known, and I appreciated his help.
In the dim light of the corridor, I examined my weapons, taking time to unload and strip them, shaking out the excess water before putting them back together again.
It was far from perfect though, and I could only hope they would work when I needed them.
Kane sensed that I was finished and started to trot off through the water, leading me down the corridor, deeper into the bowels of the building.
Machine pistol again at the ready, I followed.
Chapter Eight
I peered through the crack in the wall, a portion of broken brickwork giving me no more than a peek into the room beyond. But that was all I needed; I already knew that we’d stumbled onto the motherlode.
There was a regular goon convention going on in the room beyond the wall, hidden away within the subbasement of the Marion Manor Nursing Home. There were eight men that I could see, all wearing the expected uniform of dark suits and ties. One of them was the squat, heavy man from the Video Vault, and I was pretty sure that I saw one of the men who’d been firing after the Escalade. But they weren’t the ones who interested me.
The two men who did interest me were seated on a bench in the center of the group, holding court with the rest of the men. They were evidently the bosses, but what was more, they were brothers; and I knew this because they weren’t just brothers, they were identical twins.
Were they Pyotr and Grigory Kozlov, the Ovcharka’s sons that the cop had told me about? The underbosses of the Kryukovo Brotherhood?
It was a possibility, and I strained to hear what they were saying. It was a pointless enterprise though, because they spoke Russian and I had no idea what they were saying even when I managed to hear the words.
This wasn’t the only room I’d seen from the relative safety of the abandoned corridor though – there was a storeroom a little further back which housed a veritable arsenal of automatic weapons. Locked up in a metal cage, there were also copious packages of what looked like cocaine and maybe heroin. There were stacks of DVDs too, and bundles of banknotes shrink-wrapped in cellophane.
These were the only two rooms I could see from the corridor, and I had no idea if there were more; and if there were, what they might contain.
But I’d obviously found the nerve center of the Ovcharka’s operations here in Boston – well, Kane had, anyway – and I was frantically trying to work out a plan that would best capitalize on my good fortune.
The sensible thing, of course, would have been to call the police, or maybe the FBI. But as I’d already discovered, you couldn’t necessarily trust the cops in this town, and I didn’t know if they also had the Feds penetrated.
I couldn’t know for sure how many people were in those rooms, or where they were positioned; hell, I didn’t even know if there were more than eight people in the room I could see, never mind any rooms that I couldn’t.
Slowly but surely, however, a plan did eventually begin to form in my mind.
The only problem was that it was probably suicidal.
Chapter Nine
I took a good look around the storeroom, now that I was fully inside. While Kane had kept watch, I’d dismantled part of the wall piece by piece, using the small crack as my starting point and working until I’d made enough of a space to crawl through. I was getting used to squeezing my body through ridiculously small gaps, and this time I managed it with no problems.
The storeroom was larger than it had looked through the crack in the wall, and there was a single steel door on the far side that led further out. I wasn’t sure if this room connected to the other that I’d seen, where the meeting was taking place, but I didn’t think so; the distances didn’t really work out.
I crossed the room, machine pistol at the ready in case someone should discover me, and approached the steel door. There was a sliding metal viewer, and I cagily edged it ever so slightly open, peering through. I instantly saw that I’d been wrong; the next room was the place where the twins were holding court, it was just much bigger than it had appeared from the awkward angle I’d seen it from before.
It was a large, plain basement room with only a moderate amount of effort put into its furnishings; there was the odd folding chair and bench, and a few card tables dotted about the place. There were a couple of laptop computers on those tables, but nothing much else of any real importance.
There were more than eight people, though; I could now count an even ten, as I saw two extra guards posted in the corners, holding large-caliber handguns at the ready. Their attention was on the door at the other end of the room to mine, and I understood why; as far as they were concerned, the room I was in was empty, and there was no other way in or out of it, so the only door they had to be concerned about was the one they were watching.
The men were all still talking, and – harsh as the Russian language sounds – I couldn’t tell if they were chatting or arguing. They were naturally demonstrative, and I even found it hard to tell through their body language. But the good news was that they were still busy, one way or another, which gave me the time I needed.
I closed the metal viewer, and turned my attentions back to the storeroom.
It was time for the first phase of my plan.
I was back in the corridor a few minutes later, armed to the teeth with the gang’s weapons.
I hadn’t known whether the arms cache was for sale, or for use by the Bratva; but either way, I had raided it with glee, replacing my used and waterlogged guns with nice new shiny ones.
I had also taken the liberty of using some of the other items I had found there, and was now waiting by the crack in the wall of the second room for the next phase of my plan.
I checked my watch, counted down the seconds.
Three . . .
Two . . .
One . . .
The blast from the C4 plastic explosive that I’d found – and set with a timer – was sudden and horrific in its intensity. I watched as the steel door was blasted off its hinges, taking out one of the Russians who’d been sitting nearby, knocking him flying into the table next to him. Man, chair, table and laptop computer collapsed to the floor, as the rest of the Russians reacted, jumping to their feet and racing toward the gaping hole left by the shattered door.
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Flames licked forward from the storeroom, but the twins ordered their men forward, obviously keen to check on the damage to their goods.
The two guards, meanwhile, covered the main door while some of the others drew their own weapons, looking this way and that for the attackers.
It was at that moment that the second explosion went off, rupturing the wall I’d been watching through. I’d moved to the side to avoid the blast, but as soon as the wall was down, I turned back and hurled in two flashbangs – stun grenades that produce a deafening sound along with a blinding flash of light, designed to disorient anyone who gets in their way.
I’d prepared myself for the noise, and hid out of the way to avoid the flash; and as everyone in the room reacted instinctively by covering their eyes and ears, I turned into the gaping hole in the wall and started unloading with a Heckler and Koch UMP40 submachine gun that I’d ‘borrowed’ from the arsenal.
I took out the two guards first, with two lightning-fast double-taps to the chest. The UMP was so much better than the MAC-10 I’d fired earlier that day, it was incredible; the rounds hit where you wanted, every time.
I switched across the room then, taking out the other men who’d managed to pull their weapons. I almost felt sorry for them – the men were so disoriented by the stun grenades, they had no chance of fighting back; and within the space of less than ten seconds, the only two remaining alive were Pyotr and Grigory Kozlov.
I raced toward them through the smoke and confusion, smashing the butt of the UMP into the side of the first twin’s head. He dropped to the floor, and I was just turning my attentions to the second when Kane started barking at the main door.
I knew what it meant – reinforcements were on their way.
But the second twin – recovering fast – used my distraction to make a grab for my weapon.
I let him take hold of the barrel and move it to the side; watched as his other hand went for a weapon of his own, a gun in his belt; reacted quicker than he did, pulled my own pistol and fired a single shot down into his foot.
He screamed in pain, hand moving away from his weapon, and I swung the butt of my gun into his temple, dropping him like his brother.
The incident had caused me precious time though, and the door was already opening.
I took a deep breath and readied myself.
It was time to see what else this building had in store for me.
Chapter Ten
I’d retreated behind the broken wall that separated the room from the disused corridor, using whatever brickwork remained for cover as the first Russians pushed through the doorway.
I didn’t know how many there were, and didn’t want to let them show me; but I did know that if I didn’t do something immediately, they would soon be inside, fanning out through the room, multiple targets in multiple locations.
But on their entry through the doorway – however many there were of them – they would be vulnerable.
I checked Kane was away from the danger zone, by my side, then pulled the pin on the concussion grenade I’d taken from the armory, and launched it at the doorway.
I’d left the fragmentation grenades back in the storeroom – with a wounding radius of about fifty feet, I knew I would be in as much danger in these cramped conditions as whoever I threw them at. The concussion grenade, on the other hand, relied on explosive impact rather than flying fragments for its killing power, and had a casualty radius of only six feet.
The theory was confirmed instants later, as the grenade exploded in the doorway; I felt the concussive blast of hot air travel across the room, but the damage was only done locally – when I looked around the wall, I saw bodies scattered in and around the doorway. Bodies lay bleeding, ripped apart, while arms and legs lay everywhere, muscle and sinew rendered open. The screams of pain and the smell of burnt flesh reminded me of Iraq.
It was a gory mess, but I’d achieved my aim; and as the smoke cleared, I moved out from behind cover and approached the fiery doorway, UMP aimed at whoever might appear.
A second later, two men in dark suits began to try and clamber in, already firing their handguns before they’d even got a target. I was more patient, and aimed before I fired.
I took both men in the chest, and they went down hard.
I raced forward, moving to the side of the door at the last moment for cover; Kane darted through as my lead scout, and I waited for his call.
He barked once, and I turned through the doorway, UMP ready to fire; but Kane had been right. There was nobody left.
We were in a hallway, with a set of short stairs leading up to another door above.
I crept slowly upwards and, when I reached the door, I cracked it open ever so slowly.
There was no instant response, and so I opened it further and slipped out, keeping low and immediately racing forward to avoid any incoming fire.
But there was none; we were in a small underground parking lot, containing three ambulances and a couple of medic’s cars. I let the door swing shut, saw that it was disguised to look like the surrounding wall. A secret entrance. Cute.
I wasn’t sure if this was the only way in or out, or even if there were any more rooms hidden within the subbasement; but I was sure that I had definitely outstayed my welcome. With all the noise we’d made, I knew it wouldn’t be long before building security, or the police – hell, maybe even the army – descended on this place in force.
I just hoped I had enough time to take my two hard-earned prisoners with me.
With any luck, they would be the key to everything.
Part Four
Chapter One
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Christine Cooper demanded, as she pulled open her front door, wearing a night dress and a look of fierce anger.
I’d left the nursing home with the Russian twins tied up and bundled into the back of the ambulance, passing a huge array of emergency vehicles traveling in the opposite direction, sirens blaring.
I’d driven on a circuitous route through the streets of Boston, wondering where to take Pyotr and Grigory. I needed somewhere quiet to question them, where I could hide the ambulance and not have to drag two bodies through the streets.
I was driving near to the university when I thought of Christine. She’d mentioned a house, not an apartment, during a bit of small-talk at the pub, which meant privacy; and I’d not seen a ring on her finger, which meant that she potentially lived alone. And with no other friends in Boston, I looked up her address and went to pay her a visit.
She lived in a quiet neighborhood, and the two-story house was pushed back a decent distance from the road; I’d parked the ambulance high up the driveway, in the shadows of some trees, but really wanted to get it inside her garage, out of view completely.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly, ‘but I’ve got nowhere else to go. I need your help. Please.’
Eventually, she sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘What do you want me to do?’
I left Kane watching over the twins, who were still trussed up in the ambulance that was now hidden away in the garage, and gratefully accepted the coffee Christine made me. I’d been right; she did live alone, which was perfect for me.
The Russians could wait for now; Christine had translated the DVD, and I was curious what she had found out.
‘This one was different,’ she told me. She was dressed now, and sat on the couch with a coffee mug of her own. ‘It wasn’t a list, but orders.’
‘Orders?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, it was quite brief really.’ She pushed over a transcript, which I read as I drank.
C.E. ready to do deal, needs to see ownership documents, details of real estate deals already completed. Arrange as soon as possible, request that O. meet directly. Need to sort out security issues and timings. Respond via usual channels.
‘C.E.?’’ I asked.
‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t entirely clear, with differences in our alphabets, but I think that’s what it was.’
‘Any idea who C.E. is?’ I asked.
‘Well, since you ask,’ she said, passing over some computer print-outs.
I looked down at them, saw it was corporate information taken from the website of a firm called Mondial Holdings, Inc.
‘You asked me to look into who might be wanting to redevelop the Old Harbor area,’ Christine said. ‘And this company kept coming up in online searches, they’ve been looking at the area for a long time, have a heavy interest in it. Apparently already bought up quite a bit of real estate directly.’
‘And C.E.?’ I asked.
‘Turns out the real estate division, Mondial Developments, is run by a guy called Chet Elkins, he’s the CEO.’
She passed over another couple of pages, background info on Elkins from the website, plus news articles and commentary. She’d been busy, that was for sure.
Chet Elkins was forty-four and – according to one newspaper report – one of the richest men in Boston. He’d been involved in construction, real estate and urban regeneration for a long time; he’d owned his first construction company at the age of twenty-one. He was a go-getter, and knew how to grease the wheels; he counted numerous politicians and local celebrities among his friends.
But he’d also been in trouble before – accusations of tax fraud, employing illegal immigrants in construction, using dubious accounting methods, and many more had dogged him over the years, although he’d never been convicted of anything.
One paper carried a story making even more unpleasant accusations, how he’d strong-armed some of his deals. But again, there was no hard evidence.
But on the whole, this was definitely the kind of guy that would be willing to do business with the Russian mob, if it got him what he wanted. Which in this case, would be one hell of a lot of money.
THE THOUSAND DOLLAR CONTRACT: Colt Ryder Is Back In His Most Explosive Adventure Yet! Page 13
