Peter had fallen farther, but Kimberly landed just as hard. When Jack met with her two nights ago, he found it difficult to look at her. Scabs covered her face. Not long ago, she charged a thousand dollars a night for her company. Now only the most desperate man would go near her.
It only took twenty bucks for her to agree to help Jack. She didn’t say so, but he could tell she was scared of Peter. She wanted him away from her.
For another hour, Jack watched the building. People went on with their lives while he scanned their faces.
Kimberly’s window closed.
Jack slid out of the Charger and hurried to the opening where a back door should have been. The broken back door was off its hinges and leaned against the outside wall. Trash littered the darkened staircase.
Jack hugged the wall as he moved silently upward. The stench of urine hung in the air. The door on the first room he came to was wide open. Two mattresses in the corner had three people lying on each of them, asleep.
The second floor had a large common room. Two dilapidated couches ran along the wall closest to him and the one on the left. The place was packed with addicts sleeping anywhere they could. No one lifted their head as he hurried by. A man who sat on the floor at the end of the hallway stared past him—his eyes glazed and unfocused.
Jack slowed as he climbed the last staircase. The carpet on the stairs had been ripped out and the staples caught at the soles of his shoes.
Kimberly’s door was closed, but he heard raised voices.
“I don’t have anymore,” Kimberly said.
Jack moved to put his back against the wall.
“I need a hit. You only got ten bucks? I saw the guy who left. You got to have more.”
“He paid me with a hit. I swear. It’s all I got. Take it and just—”
Her words were cut off by the sickening sound of flesh slamming against flesh.
Kimberly cried out.
Jack stepped back. His foot smashed the door and the wood splintered.
Peter spun around.
One look at Peter’s wild eyes told Jack that Peter had not only boarded the crazy train but he was going full steam ahead.
Peter held Kimberly by the shirt with one hand. He flung Kimberly and barreled for the door. Jack snagged Kimberly before she slammed headfirst into the wall.
Peter dashed out of the room and down the stairs. “Cops! Cops!” he screamed as he ran by the common room on the second floor.
People flooded out into the hallway.
Damn it.
Jack pushed people aside as he tried to catch up to Peter. A tall guy with brown teeth stepped out of the doorway and blocked Jack’s way. The man raised his fist. Jack shoved him backward through the doorway.
People tripped over one another as they rushed to go down the stairs. One look at the crowd, blocking the passage as they shoved one another down the stairs, convinced Jack he couldn’t catch up to Peter that way.
He darted through the common room and over to the window. Jack pulled it open, climbed out onto the rusted fire escape and stopped at the end. He stared down two stories. The bottom of the fire escape was gone.
I can’t catch a break.
He grabbed the metal railing and swung over the side. His legs dangled down, and he let go. The packed dirt felt like hitting cement. Pain shot up his legs as he landed and fell into a roll. He tried to shake his head clear and saw the side door slam open and Peter scramble out.
Jack felt his large thigh muscle seize as he stood up. He forced his leg forward and limped for two strides before he broke into a sprint.
Peter yelled as he raced down the sidewalk. People scrambled to get out of the way of the disheveled man with crazy eyes.
“Freeze!” Jack ordered, but Peter broke left and dashed into traffic.
Horns blared as a truck swerved around Peter. Jack jumped sideways and the truck’s large side mirror barely missed his face.
Peter glanced back, and his feet hit the curb. He stumbled forward and fell onto the sidewalk.
Stunned pedestrians stared down at the man curled up into a fetal position. Peter moaned and writhed. He burst out crying.
Jack stopped and tried to catch his breath. His chest heaved, and he put his hands on his legs as he breathed in huge gulps of air.
A man stepped toward Peter. Jack held up his hand, warning him away. “He’s wanted.”
The man jumped back as though he almost patted a rattlesnake.
Jack walked over and stared down at the pitiful man lying on the sidewalk.
Peter whimpered loudly.
Jack cringed.
Peter buried his face in his hands and wailed.
Jack squatted down next to Peter and softened his voice. “It’ll be okay. They’ll be able to give you something to take the edge off. Let’s—”
Peter pounced.
His hands smashed into Jack’s chest and pitched Jack backward.
They both fell onto the sidewalk, but Jack landed on his back.
Jack grabbed Peter’s wrists.
Peter’s broken fingernails clawed for Jack’s eyes. Peter’s mouth opened, and his head shot forward. Teeth clacked together as he tried to bite Jack’s face.
Jack held Peter’s wrists as he pushed on Peter’s chest.
Broken, brown teeth clamped shut as Peter’s muscles strained to break Jack’s hold. Peter’s head shot forward.
Jack felt Peter’s rancid breath on his face as jagged teeth chomped the air next to his cheek.
Peter’s snarling mouth got closer.
Jack punched Peter on the side of the head. The blow was fast and hard. Peter’s head snapped to the side and then swung right back, and his mouth sought out Jack’s face again.
Two more rapid punches had no effect.
Damn. It’s like fighting a zombie. I’ll kill him if I hit him any harder.
Jack held his hand flat and aimed for Peter’s throat.
The blow hit home. Peter’s eyes bulged even larger, and he fell off Jack.
Jack’s karate instructor’s words echoed in his head: if you can’t breathe, you can’t fight. He yanked Peter’s hands behind his back and quickly cuffed him.
Peter started to cry again as Jack carefully patted him down. Jack knew one used syringe could be as fatal as a bullet. He dragged Peter to his feet.
Peter doubled over, wailing, and begged, “I have to see someone. Please.”
“Shut up, Peter,” Jack growled as he pushed him forward. “I felt sorry for you a second ago, and you tried to bite my face off.”
“Please,” he cried. “I can’t go in. I can’t go in. I can’t—”
“Shut up. You just want to get a hit.”
“Take me to the clinic. They’ll give me something.”
“They’ll give you something at the jail.”
“Okay. Okay.” Peter walked with his head down as Jack pushed him across the street and toward the Charger.
Jack tried not to limp as he prodded Peter to keep moving. He added up all of the hours he’d put into chasing Peter. As he totaled up all of the nights he spent searching for him, his scowl deepened. People hurried out of their way as they saw the handcuffed junkie and the bounty hunter with the blazing eyes storming down the sidewalk.
Great. I’m a zombie hunter. Can things get any worse?
Chapter 5
~
Anatoli
Ukraine
Anatoli Belarus walked with his head high despite the rain. Fifty plus years had taken some of the edge off his staunch strut, but he still walked in such a manner that men would get out of his way—even if they didn’t know who he was. The man was the size and shape of a grizzly bear. With his barrel chest and head that hung slightly forward, he cast an imposing shadow on the cobblestones of the old quarter as he ambled down the street.
Because of the rain and the early hour, only a few people stirred. The ones who did gave Anatoli a wide berth. None met his eyes. They didn’t need to look at his face t
o know the man. His silhouette was enough.
He headed for the old coffee shop in the middle of the block. The glow from the yellow lights shimmered on the wet cobblestones. Pastries, cookies, and cakes sat on shelves in the display window.
Anatoli paused before he stepped over the threshold. He always did. He regarded his family’s crest carved ever so faintly in the lower right-hand corner of the marble threshold. It was the Belarus mark. For generations, all the men in his family had been stoneworkers. Artisans with rock. Every male had gone into the trade until Anatoli broke with tradition.
He pushed open the old wooden door and the little bell chimed. Behind the counter, an old woman raised her gray head, and her smile vanished. Her eyes darted to the floor. Anatoli could hear her mutter a curse from where she stood.
She leaned around the corner and spoke toward the back room. “Він тут.” Her tone was as cold as the water that fell from his jacket as he hung it up.
Anatoli made his way to the little table in the back. The smell of fresh bread hung in the air. He pushed the table back as he slid into the booth and glanced up at the clock. The little coffee shop wouldn’t open for another forty minutes.
A man in his seventies, bent from years of hard work, shuffled forward and locked the front door. He smiled and nodded to Anatoli before he shuffled back over to the counter. Minutes later, the old man came back with a plate of warm bread and cold ham. In his other hand was a cup of thick, strong coffee.
“Good morning.” The man spoke in a heavy accent. He smiled but his eyes stayed narrowed. “It’s supposed to rain the whole week.”
Anatoli looked the old man over. “You should take a holiday, Petr. Go down to the coast. It would be good for your back.” Anatoli gripped the delicate handle of the coffee cup.
The old man shrugged.
Once the words were out of Anatoli’s mouth, he realized how wasted they were. The old man would never take time off. Men like him worked until they were dead.
Petr had been Anatoli’s father’s partner in his stonework business until Petr injured his back. His father and others in the village had built this bakery for Petr. The people of the village had respected his father, but they feared Anatoli.
Anatoli humphed as he glanced back at the clock. His bushy brows knit together, and he scowled. Petr, seeing Anatoli’s changed demeanor, retreated to the kitchen.
Anatoli closed his eyes and focused. He never wrote anything down—only stored things in his head. That’s why he came to the coffee shop. To think. To go over his plans.
Right now, he had many gray areas that lacked detail and form. He didn’t like that.
Anatoli had paid his nephew Luka’s way through university. Since he’d graduated, Luka’s plans had grown larger and so had the profits. They’d started small, pillaging the old countries unaccustomed to new technology. Luka made up a fake website and used it to get people’s credit card numbers. Anatoli used his connections to sell the numbers. Luka’s computer skills combined with Anatoli’s knowledge of manipulating people turned quick profits. Modified banking emails, filled with tales of fake riches only if they acted quickly, unlocked a few bank accounts that were emptied even faster. Bogus porn, concert, and event websites followed. Here in the old Eastern Bloc nations, with little to no governmental oversight, it was easy. Anatoli had Luka hire a programmer, and they took existing viruses and modified them into ransomware. Now people had to pay if they wanted access to their own data.
Anatoli took a big bite of bread. He humphed. What he was doing now in virtual reality was no different than the real world. It was kidnapping and ransom, except it was done with bits and bytes instead of flesh and blood.
But Luka’s latest scheme was too grand. Anatoli worried it would never work how Luka planned it. Anatoli never touched a computer, but he understood more about them than most. Luka spent months trying to gain access to a tech company’s computer system, but the cyber security stopped him cold. The more Luka tried, the more he told Anatoli how much information people stored within the corporation’s latest app: VE-Life.
Anatoli did the math. This time, the target went beyond credit card numbers and bank accounts. Those were cheap change. A credit card sold for ten American dollars, but a clean medical record with a good Social Security number cleared twenty times that. They were digital gold. And Weston Industries had tens of millions of users who used VE-Life to store this information.
Anatoli came to the coffee shop for a month and did nothing but think how to get his target. Luka just about went out of his mind. They spoke every day, and every day Anatoli asked a new question or wanted more information, but young, impetuous Luka wanted action.
Finally, Anatoli had enough of his nephew’s whining. He slammed his nephew’s head against the table where he now sat. “Michelangelo studied a block of marble every day for four months before he lifted a chisel to the statue of David. Each day he came and looked at the stone. He watched it. Analyzed it. Until he was ready. When I am ready, then we will move.”
Anatoli realized they needed to get the data when it was outside of the company. His idea was the same as robbing a bank. “Do you go for the main vault with security cameras, alarm systems, and armed guards, or do you hit the lightly guarded armored car where you can change the environment to suit your plans?”
They lacked inside information, but Anatoli solved that issue too. He smiled faintly as he swirled a piece of bread in his coffee. It was far too easy to find possible targets to blackmail inside Weston’s headquarters. All executive staff had their own webpage that detailed their personal lives, and they were all very active in social media. Not only did he have access to their carefully prepared business lives but that data let him peek behind the curtain. Simple Web searches revealed not only their present but their pasts as well. Anatoli targeted the ones he felt were hiding something. From that culled list, he hired a private investigator to dig deeper. He had so many candidates it was easy to discover which ones he could manipulate.
The strong coffee warmed his mouth as he took a long draught. He never left the village, yet he had put a plan in motion on the other side of the world. Technology had made the world a smaller place. He wondered how many knew how dangerous it was now that a man like him could be anywhere.
Anatoli ripped a piece of crust off his bread. A stolen item was only as valuable as the price you could move it for. Steal a Rembrandt, and it would be so hot you’d only get pennies on the dollar. Because of that, Anatoli always put feelers out to gauge the possible return on his investment. There was only one problem. He brought Luka with him. His nephew’s biggest fault was pride. When the buyer scoffed at the idea of anyone getting their hands on tens of millions of accounts, Luka had blurted out the intended target—Weston Industries. That information traveled on the black winds. He dunked his bread in the coffee. Now his contacts in Russia were intent to have it as soon as possible. There had been no pressure—yet—but the Russian mob was not known for its patience; they expected results. If Luka failed, it would be Anatoli’s neck on the line.
Anatoli set the coffee cup down so hard that it chipped the little saucer. He frowned. He knew there must be many others who craved to steal the data first. Now he had to act quickly. That was why he sent his nephew to the States with the team Anatoli himself had handpicked.
Chapter 6
~
I’m a Fan
As the Bellmore estate came into view, Replacement sat up straight.
Bruce whistled. “That thing’s the size of a Star Destroyer.”
“We may be here longer than a week,” Phillip added.
The mansion was a magnificent two-and-a-half-story-tall residence, built in English Tudor style. It sat on a hill overlooking the Onopiquite Reservoir. Built in the early forties, the brick and stonework home rose majestically from the surrounding mountainside. At each corner and evenly spaced along the front were square towers that made it look like a castle. It had fallen into some dis
repair over the years—that was, until Pierce Weston purchased it. Over the last few months, a host of construction workers had upgraded and restored the estate back to its former glory.
“They want it all wireless, right? Top to bottom?” A smile spread across Replacement’s face.
“The whole shebangarino.” Gerald’s gaze slowly traveled down the length of the huge building. “Maybe I priced this job too low…” Gerald’s voice trailed off.
They drove through a grand stone entrance with two opened iron gates. On the right side of the driveway stood a small cottage house. The door opened as they approached, and a tall man in a sharp, gray suit walked out.
Gerald rolled down his window. “Good morning. I’m Gerald Mathis. We’re doing the wireless work.”
“Good morning, Mr. Mathis.” The man scanned his tablet. “May I please see everyone’s identification?”
Everyone handed over their licenses, and the man checked them off his list.
“Thank you, sir. Do you know where you’re going?”
“I know where to park. Thank you.”
The man handed back the IDs and stepped away from the car. As his tablet pressed against his coat, Replacement noticed his gun holster.
Gerald nodded and drove slowly forward again.
The long driveway wound its way past a manicured lawn and perfectly trimmed bushes. On the left end of the house stood a seven-bay garage. A massive stone stairway led to the main entrance in the middle. Gerald headed over to the right, to a smaller covered entranceway.
“Today’s going to be just prelim work,” Gerald explained as he parked the car and they all got out. “I want to confirm a list of questions I have before we get started.” He opened up the trunk and rummaged around.
Replacement looked around. “Are there other people working here now?”
Gerald glanced up from the trunk. “Nope. They all finished up. Ow!” He winced as he bashed his head on the trunk. Swearing, he walked in a circle and rubbed his head.
Replacement grimaced while Phillip and Bruce looked as if they were trying not to laugh.
DATA JACK Page 3
