by Hawk, Nate
Niko had known that Jennifer met the other woman at the French Bistro each week: same day, same shit. It provided the perfect avenue to channel Bekhan’s anger towards her. Niko knew if he played it right, he could take care of three problems at once: working alongside the careless Bekhan, working under Abbas (and his damn visions) and taking out Jennifer, a loose end from his past. All three issues would be taken care of and his hands might just be clean of any legal problems.
That day at the bistro, Niko had strung Bekhan along like a horse and a carrot. It was a carefully choreographed charade. The explosives that would never come through, (surprisingly!) hadn’t come through that day either. Bekhan was predictably upset and he caused a scene as Niko was sure he would. It only took eleven softly spoken words that played on Bekhan’s misogynistic psyche, to cause him to boil over.
“The nosy woman with the green eyes is listening to you.”
After Bekhan stormed over and drew his weapon, the hook was set. The second woman had almost messed it up with the mace but that had turned into a joke. She had missed, at what, five feet? All Niko had to do was escape unnoticed and mold Bekhan’s attention in Jennifer’s direction. If she had noticed Niko, the plan could become unraveled, depending on how much she had told her cop boyfriend. It was delicate, yes, but achievable.
Niko had repeatedly mentioned that he had overheard Jen say she would be at the marathon. She’d even given a location: the finish line.
“She must be dealt with,” Niko had later told Bekhan. “I sure hope the Syrians can deliver or we are in big trouble. You’re in big trouble. She can identify your face, Bekhan. Surely, you understand what must be done?”
Niko laughed out loud at the predictability of Bekhan’s simple mind.
***
Chapter 19
ASAC Lynch was too close to the Boston Marathon Bombing investigation. His friends had been blown up after he’d slipped up on the composite sketch of Bekhan. He knew he held plenty of personal blame for what had happened. He couldn’t sleep. He had become obsessed with making progress on the case. He was at a loss with how to proceed as a friend to Kelly.
“Special Agent Trent Wheeler with HIG calling here, for ASAC Steven Lynch,” the man said to the secretary before repeating it one more time.
“Hands,” the exhausted ASAC said drearily, as he greeted the agent. “I appreciate the call. You guys break down that little prick?” he asked, sure that Hands Wheeler would only call with results.
“Yeah, of course. It took all of fifteen seconds. Listen, I wanted to give you a full report here to catch you up. First, this asshole claims that there were only two of them involved in this attack,” he began, before being interrupted.
“Yeah, yeah. What would you expect him to say?” the ASAC commented dryly.
“Here is the thing. This guy apparently didn’t know how deep his brother was involved. The older one, the dead one, you know… turns out that jerk has been to Dagestan recently for Terror Training 101. He wasn’t employed here in the States and his whereabouts have been unclear since he returned here to US soil…”
“Look, Hands, I know all of this,” the ASAC snapped. “The American public knows all of this! It’s on the damn news cycle twenty-four hours a day. Just lose the introduction and give me some info that I don’t already know.”
“Yeah, OK… so basically… so the dead guy, Bekhan, was apparently involved in some bigger scheme, possibly involving Syrians and military-grade explosives. This asshole over here in custody tells me the Syrians were supplying the explosives but as far as he knew they hadn’t delivered yet. So that is why Bekhan went rogue and set-up the pressure cooker bombs over there in Boston. His urgency and stupidity may have actually saved lives by not waiting for the more powerful explosives. Surely, they would have caused more casualties.”
“Hmm,” ASAC Lynch said, thinking back to what Kelly had said about the assault that Bekhan had perpetrated at the restaurant.
Hands continued, “His younger brother is telling us that a boxing coach named Niko may be involved, too.”
Hands paused and took a breath, reviewing his list of notes and reorganizing the direction of his report.
“Yeah, look, Hands, my team looked into the boxing coach. He hasn’t been seen since the bombing. His car is at his residence and we sent the Hostage Rescue Team in but nobody’s home. We found his ID stuffed inside an electrical outlet and ground effects from the landlord’s stolen truck discarded. Niko is suspected in bombings and assassinations ranging back ten years or more. He was part of a high profile kidnapping case years back. Our material witness on the case didn’t cooperate so we had jack-shit. Currently, we still have jack-shit… other than a vehicle theft. And of course we have now put out a nation-wide APB on him and the truck.”
“That’s one reason I’m calling. We have a complication here. Special Agent Owen Tucker with the CIA and General Baldwin of the DoD are both insistent that the Syrian connection and this boxer, uh… Niko Plotnikov… that this information become Top Secret. You’ve got to pull that APB,” Hands said. “Now.”
“Well, shit! You’ve gotta fucking be kidding me! You know we can’t act on this if…”
“Yes, sir. We all know they just want their own skin in the game. It’s bullshit, they know it and we know it. They are telling me that this info will pull apart their own respective investigations into a Syrian arms dealer and other sensitive investigations currently ongoing in Europe.”
“Damnit! I’m sure Langley and the Pentagon already have liaisons on their way to my office now to tell me the good news. SHIT! They really expect me to walk away from that part of the investigation? I’ve got friends dead in the street, over here,” he screamed in anger.
“I understand, sir. Just don’t shoot the messenger.”
ASAC Lynch sighed heavily.
“All right, is that all you’ve got for me?”
“Mostly, yes,” Hands said, redirecting his attention to his notebook and then adding, “Well… it seems that that the older brother, Bekhan, had some obsession with one of the spectators and apparently he selected her as a target for one of his explosive devices.”
ASAC Stevens’ gut wrenched hard and his heart skipped a beat. Now the truth was coming out that was sure to finish wrecking his health and his career.
“Yeah,” he said, as he struggled to retain his composure. “We’re aware of that,” he admitted. “Just make sure the last fact doesn’t get out to the press, OK?”
“Well these guys are certified wack-jobs, either way. Listen, the press is not getting anything from me.”
Hands never talked to the press. The fact that the ASAC was trying to save his own career and the privacy of his long-time friend, didn’t factor into the situation.
“Thanks, Hands. Send me the full report ASAP,” he said gloomily as he hung up.
Lynch replayed the conversation over and over in his head. He continued walking down the hallway to his office where the cloud of guilt maintained its overhead position, hovering with him to his next chore of the day.
***
Chapter 20
Kelly was in thought of Jen and Kristin and the assault case. He remembered that she had called him after the unbelievable lunch experience at Le Fromage. She had been terrified. There had even been something animalistic in her voice. Kelly had asked himself what Boston was coming to if a couple of women couldn’t eat lunch downtown without being assaulted. The version that Kelly had received was that some nutcase had pulled a gun while ranting on about the pork the women were eating. Kelly was familiar with Kristin’s failed attempt to hose down the unidentified man with mace. The second man’s identity was unknown as well. Jen had said that his facial hair was thick and that she didn’t get a good look. Kelly had taken Jen’s words at face value. He had no reason to think she would hide things from him. He had no idea that he was way behind the curve. Kelly was sure the whole episode was Kristin’s fault. Drama seemed to follow her everywhere she
went so she made an easy scapegoat.
The Boston Police department had been understaffed with no real leads to follow on Jen and Kristin’s assault case. To make matters more complicated, Kelly worked with the Gang Unit. He tried to help the kids that were still reachable and he always provided his very best to the unit and the city. The problem was that there wasn’t a gang angle to the assault. It was only one out-of-control man having lunch with another.
Despite there being no “gang” angle with Jen and Kristin, and with no leads to go on, Kelly applied his reputation and position within BPD. He was able to convince Sergeant Gibbs to allow a police sketch artist to work with Jen to compose a likeness of the man who had brandished the firearm. Kelly had passed the drawing around his department in the days following the event but nobody had recognized the man. He even sent it to his friend ASAC Lynch with the FBI but hadn’t heard anything back. Kelly realized then that the assault was no longer a priority so his thoughts drifted on to other memories.
The TV was still running in Kelly’s room and had been displaying a local channel. A sitcom had ended and was quickly replaced by the Five O’clock News. Kelly couldn’t believe the day was moving that slowly. The news anchor had boisterously announced to Kelly and anybody else listening, the death of one suspect and the capture and interrogation of another in the Boston Marathon bombing. Starting with the man justifiably killed by police, they put up a full screen shot of his face. Kelly couldn’t believe his eyes. He instantly recognized the man.
It was the same face from the sketch that he had been carrying around with him the previous few days before the bombing. This Bekhan, he saw now, was clearly the man that assaulted Jen and Kristin. It had to be the same man, Kelly thought. The news anchors were claiming that this man, this… Bekhan, had been the one who killed Jen and Brady and caused scores of other casualties. Kelly couldn’t believe what he was hearing and seeing. How did the same man assault Jen and Kristin and then kill Jen and Brady a few days later as spectators at the marathon? Kelly knew better than to believe in coincidences like that. He knew instantly that the man had intentionally targeted and killed his family.
At that same time Megan was making her final round before leaving for the weekend. She saw Kelly’s body tense up in a contortion of pain and fury. He was consumed with rage that robbed him of his oxygen and calmness, replacing it with heavy breathing and a tight, rigid posture as he arched in his bed. The knuckles on his hands lost all color as his hands turned to fists. He didn’t notice her walking towards him with concern and guilt on her face. He was oblivious to his surroundings, focused on something far away. She glanced at the TV and found the cause of his pain. She pulled the plug directly out of the wall, causing the TV to fall silent. She herself was furious, horrified that she had not unplugged the unit upon Kelly’s arrival. Even so, she had no way to comprehend the depth of what he had seen and now understood. Nor did Megan understand the length that Kelly had instantly decided to go to during that moment of horror, committing himself to hunting down every last person that was involved in the organization that perpetrated this bombing. When Kelly did find them, he wouldn’t be reading them their Miranda Rights.
He had turned pale white with the shock of seeing an actual photograph of the man who had killed his family. Little did the nurse know that Kelly had a picture of the bomber in the crate that he worked from in his car. She quickly added a sedative to his IV that would have taken the edge off of a mountain gorilla, sending Kelly reeling backwards into a world of numbness and institutional anonymity that he now knew all too well.
“I’m so sorry, Kelly. I meant to unplug that TV, first thing, when we brought you down here,” she said to him, blaming herself.
She realized that she had deep emotions written on her face so she quickly hid them. It was the even stranger feelings that gripped her inside of her chest, that were most moving. Kelly had a familiarity about him. She had never known Kelly but she had known a man like him. A man with the same level of determination to fight the evil forces that plague society. A good man whom she had married many years before. A man whose life she was not able to save.
As Kelly’s mind reeled towards nothingness, Megan exited his room to regain her composure. She hadn’t relived the death of her husband for sometime. She had thought that the overwhelming feelings of that era of her life were past her.
***
Chapter 21
Niko’s plan had been to clear out of Massachusetts right away. There was nothing there but questions that could only bring him trouble. On the other hand, Abbas was right about laying low. Niko didn’t want to drive straight to Abbas’ compound if there was an All Points Bulletin out for him. If that was the case he’d have to figure something else out. He would lay low for a few days just to be sure and then he would talk to Abbas about a solution that Jamaat Al Fuqra (and Niko) could live with. Niko covered the most distance during the first segment of the trip, that very first day. He travelled more than five hundred miles in what felt like a very slow ten hours. He wanted to get far away before he committed himself to finding a place to hole up. Every mile that he drove seemed to increase his confidence in completing a successful escape.
He was sure that his false driver’s license and other documents would survive even the most careful scrutiny. Even so, he drove the speed limit the entire way. With the out of state plates on his SUV he looked like any other vacationer headed to Florida for a relaxing week. No one seemed to be interested in the man or his vehicle. He arrived in the vicinity of Richmond, Virginia in the late evening hours at which time he located an inexpensive roadside hotel where he paid cash for two nights. Surprisingly, he wasn’t very tired. In fact, he was still being fueled by caffeine and adrenaline and his innate will to escape and survive. He relished in the excitement and suspense that the last several days’ events had provided. The banality of his life in Boston was gone and his future could expand in several directions.
The second day after the attack had mostly been spent watching rerun marathons on the hotel’s cable channels. After a few hours he had begun to think that as an assassin, maybe he had missed out on a truly interesting career. Perhaps he should have opened a pawnshop and had his own reality show. Or had a show where he rebuilt old signs and Coke machines at outrageous prices so that wealthy people could relive their younger days. After a morning of TV he had felt cooped up in his room. He had taken a walk to get lunch and a newspaper but he thought it best not to stay out too long. Then he caught another series marathon that was somehow ridiculously addictive.
On the third day, after seeing nothing about an APB in the newspapers, Niko had driven on to Charlotte, North Carolina. He knew he was close to the compound but he also knew Abbas was right. Niko still thought it best to give it one more day before arriving, just to be sure that there wasn’t an ongoing manhunt for him. He drove west to Greenville, South Carolina, where he found plenty to do. He caught two movies, consumed too much greasy food and generally continued the same activities as the day before.
Niko knew it was time to speak to Abbas. He stopped for a cheap breakfast at a run-down interstate grill and read a paper that was full of Boston Marathon Bombing “quarterbacking”. The news lacked (much to his satisfaction) any mention of him. There was plenty of information on his two associates and the carnage that they had dealt but the plot seemed to end there. He saw that Bekhan had gotten himself killed, (no surprise) and that Bekhan’s younger brother had been captured. That idiot didn’t know anything. All in all, good news for me, he evenly considered as he now saw the event in somewhat better light. He was relieved to see that he wasn’t being openly hunted.
Niko eventually got back into the SUV and drove the final segment to the compound. He knew the layout and workings of the place already as he had been there before. Still though, changes had been made. Probably since Abbas was living at that facility full time now. After his predecessor had been killed, some holes in their security had apparently been filled
. Two men with turbans and beards, carrying AK-47s, manned the gate. The man doing the talking on the driver’s side had his weapon slung diagonally over one shoulder. His gun was hanging in front so that he could use his hands if necessary. The other man stood on the passenger side of Niko’s SUV with his AK slung diagonally, too, but it was grasped in his hands and at the ready. The man seemed to be a bit jumpy but a visitor to this area was probably rare, Niko figured. He made a mental note to mention the security improvements to Abbas.
After some radio chatter, Abbas Zaki arrived at the gate, a confident approach as usual, but nothing positive was to be found on the man’s face. Abbas was covered in blood as he greeted Niko. The blood piqued Niko’s curiosity but he didn’t ask about it.
“Ah, my friend,” Abbas began, conscious of his poor English. Continuing, and pointing with a blood stained finger, he said, “Park here and follow me to the community center.”
***
Chapter 22
By this time, Special Agent in Charge (SAC) of the Boston Field Office, Whitney Anderson, had returned back to work. She was not energized or refreshed from her nearly five-day trip to the Australian Outback. She was jet-lagged and pissed off.
She’d been pulled out of the bush with a list of bad news, starting with her bad timing and ending with the fact that the ASAC had a police sketch of one of the bombers on his desk, several days before the event. He’d even apparently had the sketch when he decided to take the Friday before the bombings off work to go fly around with his local cop buddy. What the hell? She’d already been fully briefed on everything she had missed when she told ASAC Steven Lynch to get her a cup of coffee and meet her in her office. Damn, he thought, five days ago I had progressed past this. Coffee? He was certainly smart enough to do what he was told, under the circumstances (two creams, two sugars). He quickly put a new pot on, waited for it to finish brewing and cautiously arrived at her office with a double knock on her mahogany door.
