Justice

by Blake, Russell

  “Mission accomplished.”

  They were already ten minutes away when emergency vehicles streaked by on the freeway, a helicopter in the air over the river flying toward the wreckage. All air traffic to the airport was closed for the remainder of the day. The evening news would call the incident a terrorist attack of enormous proportions, further evidence that extremists were at work in the Americas, the only positive being that they’d mistaken a private plane for a commercial airliner, where the casualties could have been in the hundreds.

  Dozens of suspected Muslim agitators were rounded up in the following days, and Iran was roundly implicated as being behind the savage attack. Nobody believed its denials, and, although eventually most of the suspects would be released for lack of evidence, the press continued to flog the story until another atrocity filled the airwaves: the mass murder of an entire family by a twelve-year-old boy, high on drugs, who had been disciplined by his mother that afternoon for poor grades on his latest report card.

  Chapter 25

  A symphony of horns sounded an atonal contretemps in the gridlocked Buenos Aires traffic. The SUV containing Tara and Matt sat immobile several miles from their destination in the financial district. Eduardo had the radio on; the primary topic of conversation between the two pseudo-comedians who had the top-rated morning show was the huge strike and protest being staged that had caused the city to grind to a halt – a common occurrence in Buenos Aires.

  Tara’s phone rang. Eduardo turned down the radio so she could hear the call.

  Dante’s distinctive baritone boomed at her. “Maria, the plane situation is handled. But you owe me a rather large amount of money for the ordnance we had to use.”

  “That’s great news, Dante. But what happened…and how much is a lot of money?”

  “Apparently there was an attack. A missile. Blew it out of the sky.”

  Tara smiled. “Wow. That is rather final. I like your style.”

  “Yes; however, the missiles are rather expensive.”

  “As I would expect them to be. How much are we talking?”

  “We had to use two. The first one didn’t home in for some reason,” Dante lied.

  “Hmmm. So how much?”

  “A hundred fifty thousand.”

  Tara pretended surprise, but had expected a number in that range based on her knowledge of the cost of the devices.

  “Are you joking?”

  “My dear, that was the acquisition price. I covered the cost of the…errand…myself.”

  Tara hesitated. “That was very generous of you.”

  “I’m confident you’ll think of a way to make it up to me.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll have my group wire you the money. Can you email the account information?”

  “I’d prefer to give it to you in person. I don’t like that sort of thing floating around, what with the American NSA spying on all email messages. No offense.”

  “None taken. That’s very prudent. When will I see you?”

  “That depends on how your day goes. Where are you?”

  “Stopped dead in traffic.”

  “Ah, then you must be trying to get downtown. The protest is all over the news. Nothing’s moving.”

  “How long is it anticipated to go on for?”

  “Another hour. But it will take several more for things to get back to normal.”

  “I honestly don’t understand your country sometimes. Why do they allow this sort of thing?”

  “It’s called freedom. The population is rather sensitive to being able to voice their disapproval now that the days of the secret police are over. It’s a mechanism to ensure those dark times don’t return.”

  “Still, it’s inconvenient.”

  “Everyone’s in the same boat. Try to relax. Hopefully you aren’t on a tight schedule.”

  “No. I’ll be fine.”

  “Very well, then. Call me when you’re done, and then come by my headquarters.”

  “I can probably do that. What’s the address?”

  Dante gave it to her, and she repeated it back to him. “I’ll call first.”

  “Perfect. Good luck with whatever you’re planning to do. Hopefully it’s not overthrowing the government. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to running them all out of town on a rail,” Dante said, fishing for information.

  “Nothing so dramatic. Just a few mundane errands.”

  Tara disconnected as the radio switched from the laugh track that greeted every other utterance of the radio hosts to a breaking news bulletin. Tara reached forward and switched it off as she heard the first words about a terrorist attack and turned to Eduardo.

  “How long do you think it will take to make it to the bank?”

  “If the protest disperses when it’s supposed to, maybe another hour after, as traffic moves again. So two hours, at least.”

  “Damn.”

  “But remember that everyone is equally disrupted, so the chances of many of the bank workers having gotten there before we do are low. Everyone takes it in stride. On a day like today, nothing is going to run on schedule.” He shrugged in defeated acceptance. “You get used to it. Just another headache.”

  Matt leaned forward. Carl pushed him back into the seat. “Easy,” he warned.

  “Why did you turn the radio off?” Matt asked.

  “I’m tired of the noise. Not that I need to explain anything to you.”

  “It sounded like something big was happening.”

  “There’s always something big happening. If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about anything but getting into the lock box and retrieving the diamonds.”

  “I’ll get you into the vault.”

  “Then that’s all you should be concerned about.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Leonid paced in front of his desk, the Moscow skyline in the background. The picture window was double-paned bulletproof glass – purely precautionary, given that his private security company headquarters was located in one of the better neighborhoods near the Kremlin. He was on the telephone with Lyon, France, speaking to his contact at Interpol, who had called him as the day was winding down.

  “We got a match on the woman you’re looking for,” the Frenchman said.

  Leonid grinned wolfishly. “Really? That’s great news. Who is she?”

  “Well, we don’t actually know.”

  “Then what kind of a match did you get?”

  “We were sent images of two people, and she was one of them. I had your woman programmed in when you first sent me the information, and an hour ago the system alerted me to a match. That’s all I have.”

  “Who sent you the image? Where did it come from?”

  “Not so fast. I wanted to discuss the bonus situation you alluded to when I did this for you.”

  Leonid sighed. Of course. Now that the petty bureaucrat had something to negotiate with, he was going to put the screws to Leonid. “It’s very difficult to know what the information is worth until I know what the information is, my friend,” Leonid said.

  “It’s an image of your woman, who participated in a robbery and was caught on film. The robbery occurred less than eighteen hours ago. Is that current enough for you?”

  Leonid stopped pacing. “I’d say so. What do you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking a hundred thousand euros would be a nice way to say thank you.”

  “I’d argue that fifty thousand euros is a princely expression of gratitude for a location. Where the woman might no longer be, I might add. Obviously, if she’d been arrested and was being held, that would be more definitive, or even if you had an identity. As it is, you’re going to tell me a city, I presume, where a robbery took place, and from where she well might have already fled. Come on. A city isn’t worth a hundred thousand euros.”

  “If you have some other way of locating her, then you’re correct. If, however, this is your only lead…well, who am I to tell you what something is worth?”

  “Be reasonable. That’s all
I’m asking. A hundred thousand is robbery.”

  “Perhaps you should take some time to think about it. I must have misjudged how urgent this was. We can discuss it later, if you like. Take the rest of the day to consider my suggestion…”

  They settled on seventy-five thousand euros, to be wired to the functionary’s account that day.

  “I appreciate your continued generosity, Leonid.”

  “You got what you wanted. Now where is she?”

  “Mendoza. Argentina. The other side of the world. She was involved in a shootout at a casino there.”

  “A casino? Odd. But no matter. Send me the images you have along with any details. The sooner, the better.”

  “It will be in your email box within a few minutes. Pleasure doing business with you, Leonid. I’m always delighted to help a fellow traveler.”

  Leonid’s next call was to Filipov. “Your woman surfaced. The Grigenko matter. It’s time to formalize our agreement.”

  Filipov paused, and Leonid heard him muttering in the background before returning his attention to the discussion. “Excellent. I have appointments for the rest of the afternoon, but perhaps tomorrow?”

  “This is time-sensitive. I can be at your office within an hour. I’ll need one million transferred today for operating expenses. This will be expensive.”

  “A million up front! That’s preposterous. What guarantee do I have you’ll perform?”

  “I want the other nine, not the million – that’s my incentive. But we’re under time pressure. And it will take a lot to get my team to where she’s located.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Where I can find her. Do we have a deal?”

  Filipov considered Leonid’s demand. “Fine. With the caveat that if you aren’t successful, you refund fifty percent.”

  Leonid thought about it. “No deal. It will cost me at least two hundred thousand just to get my men deployed. And easily three times that much to source weapons there and enlist the cooperation of the necessary officials.”

  “Then we both have something at risk.”

  Leonid paused. “Eight hundred thousand. I just had to pay a hundred to a source to find out where she is.”

  “Six.”

  “You know what? Maybe you should contact some other providers and negotiate a better deal with them. My normal contract terms are a hundred percent in advance, with a performance guarantee and a full money-back policy. Perhaps you’d like to do this deal like a normal contract? Because, no offense, but I’m getting tired of horse-trading with you, and every minute I waste on the phone is one I could be preparing to get this woman.”

  Filipov was silent for a few seconds. “All right. Eight.”

  “Today. Before banks close. You only have a few hours. Same account you sent the half mil to.”

  “Very well. But Leonid? We can’t afford a failure here.”

  The tension on the line was palpable.

  “Is there anything else?” Leonid asked softly.

  “The wire will go out within the hour.”

  “Good. Oh, and I need a sample of the blood for DNA purposes. Just to avoid any confusion in the field.”

  “The photo’s not good enough?”

  “I like to be thorough. And frankly, appearances can be deceiving. They can be changed. There can be cases of mistaken identity. I don’t want to blow ten million terminating the wrong target. So just arrange for it to be available, and I can have someone pick it up. Today.”

  “Will do. It will probably take until the close of business.”

  “See if you can get it within three hours. I want to be in the air as soon as possible, and every minute I’m waiting is another she could be slipping away.”

  “Understood. I’ll make it happen.”

  Leonid placed the handset back in the cradle and stopped in front of the window, taking in the cloudy sky and the rush of humanity on the street below. Filipov was a weasel, but that was his role, and likely his nature. He couldn’t help it any more than a dog could help barking. But Leonid would have to watch him at the end, to ensure that he didn’t try anything slippery. The DNA was part of his proof that he’d successfully performed. With most clients, it wasn’t an issue, but Filipov was a special case, and Leonid didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him.

  He depressed the button of his intercom and called to his assistant. “Please get Team Alpha ready to go. ETA three hours. And I’ll need a private jet that can hit Argentina with only one fueling stop in Dakar.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Leonid’s next call was to his contact with the SVR – the Russian foreign intelligence agency. The discussion was short and sweet.

  “I need an asset in Argentina,” Leonid said.

  “We have several. How highly placed?”

  “As high as possible.”

  “It’ll be expensive.”

  “I expect it will be.”

  “When can you meet?”

  Leonid considered how much time he’d need for the Filipov meeting. “Give me two hours.”

  “The usual place?”

  Leonid checked his watch. “I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 26

  Jet blew water from her nose and mouth as her head burst from the surface of the river. Paco popped up next to her after several seconds, coughing as he gasped for breath. They treaded water as they got their bearings.

  She pointed to the shore. “Are you injured? Think you can swim that far?”

  “Just bruised, as far as I can tell. Nothing feels broken,” Paco said, speaking with the authority of someone who was more than passing familiar with breaks. “What do you think, about a mile?”

  “About that. Let’s get going. It’s only a matter of time until helicopters and boats make it here, and I want to be long gone by then.”

  “Right. Don’t want to get hung up for days dealing with the authorities.”

  “Exactly. Do you know this area?”

  “Sure. I spent many years in BA. That breakwater should be a marina.”

  “I can’t believe they shot us out of the sky.”

  “I know. That’s a first for me. They must really want to stop you.”

  “I’d say that’s the understatement of the year.”

  They began swimming, pulling hard for the shore. The fifty-eight degree water temperature leached into their bones, tiring them even as they neared the rocky slope. The Rio de la Plata sports stadium loomed in the near distance, its red and white striping like a monument, making it easy to stay on course. A helicopter tore over the water from the airport; Jet gave silent thanks that they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the crash site to be undetectable – at least from the air. The inevitable search and rescue boats were a different issue; she expected them to be deployed at any minute, which spurred her on to greater effort.

  They passed a buoy marking the entry to the channel that led into the Puerto Nunez marina and shortly after were hauling themselves up onto the gray rock beach, their clothes dripping mocha-colored streams.

  “We need to get out of here and find a vehicle,” Jet said, winded from the exertion. She felt in her pocket, retrieved the Glock, and drained the water out of it. “Good thing these are waterproof.”

  “Shit. I lost mine with all the excitement.” Paco paused and looked around. “There’s a parking lot for the marina over there. If there are any cars in it, I can get one open in no time.” He extracted his iPhone from his pocket and looked at it ruefully. “I think it’s safe to say my cell phone isn’t going to be working any time soon, or I’d call my contact and have him come get us.”

  “Do they have payphones in Buenos Aires, like in Mendoza?”

  “They still have some, but there’s no telling whether there will be one at the marina.”

  “What about guards?”

  “Probably a parking attendant. But we can always run the barrier if we get a car.”

  “I’d rather not have the police looking f
or us from the word go. Let’s look for a phone first. You remember the number?”

  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  “At least it’s warm out. Our clothes should dry in twenty minutes or so. Maybe half an hour. But we won’t freeze.”

  “After surviving a missile strike and a crash landing, that would be a lousy way to go.”

  Jet moved behind a clump of nearby bushes and shrugged out of her top, taking care to wring as much water out of it as possible before pulling it back on and repeating the process with her pants, after dumping out her shoes. Paco did the same out in the open and they were relatively dry within two minutes, if slightly more wrinkled.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “We look like vagrants.”

  “No argument. But once we’re dry, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  They set off for the marina, where masts bobbed above several long buildings on the nearest bank. When they arrived at the nearest, they walked along the perimeter, noting a few cars in the lot. At the far end they came to a pay phone. Jet gave Paco a smile. He fished in his pocket for a coin and dropped it into the slot. He closed his eyes, searching his memory for the number, and finally dialed. The conversation lasted twenty seconds, and when he hung up, he looked relieved.

  “It’ll take a little while for him to get here. The airport’s a madhouse. The police have shut down the roads leading to it and are searching all the vehicles coming and going.”

  “That makes sense. How long did he think it would be?”

  “Maybe half an hour.”

  “That’s too long.”

  “He also said that the protest has closed down the city center, so nobody’s going to be getting near the bank for a while. Your target will be contending with the same issues we are, so there’s no point in agonizing over it.”

  “I want him to get us as close as possible, and then we’ll make it the rest of the way on foot, if we have to. I don’t want to assume they didn’t make it. How far do you think we are from the bank?”

  “Maybe ten kilometers.”