The Chameleon

by Michele Hauf

  For his part Jack always looked like Jack, though the knit cap did disguise his recognizable shaved head. He’d pulled on a down jacket and zipped it up high to snug beneath his jaw and that blended with his stubble so cameras would have a difficult time defining his face.

  They walked through a neighborhood that was less elite now, and chain link fences edged one side of the street. Brick buildings were not all open businesses, and a car in need of a new muffler blurted past them.

  When Jack clasped her hand, Saskia cast him a smile. It was such an unexpected move. But it felt so good. Reassuring. But as Jack had said, he couldn’t promise her anything. And she didn’t need a promise.

  Perhaps a bit of hope though.

  With all this walking her leg was bothering her. The knife wound pulsed with every step she took. Her non-existent kingdom for an aspirin.

  With a tug, Jack pulled her down an alleyway littered with a few broken wood pallets and fluttering sheets of yellowed newspaper. Once again, he shoved her against the wall. But this time the shove didn’t hurt. Instead, it owned her as Jack’s kiss took away the question she’d been about to ask.

  Just when she began to question her alliances he always seemed to pull her back in. Tug on the rope and keep her close. Just as she had done with him in Helsinki. And it was working on her. She’d already gone beyond the point of no return with him. She knew that.

  When he ended the kiss, she sighed. A smile glinted in his gray eyes. But really, they were bluer now that she really looked. Yeah, the irises resembled a cloudy sky. She’d not really noticed them before. Hadn’t wanted to make that step. The eye color stage. Because that was when things got serious.

  So, she had stepped into serious now.

  Jack’s face suddenly changed. He winced.

  Saskia heard the whizz of something passing by her head. And the impact of whatever that something was hitting the brick wall. She tasted spattered bits of brick on her tongue. Reacting, she dropped her body weight to the left, gripping Jack’s shoulders as she did so and brought him down with her.

  Now she noted the red dash across his cheek and over his ear.

  “You’ve been hit.”

  * * * *

  “Sniper,” he barked. Pushing her aside to sit up, Jack scanned the area. Across the street, the buildings were only three stories tall, but that could have been the only origin of the shot. “I’m going after him.”

  To her credit, Saskia didn’t argue, she followed.

  Jack didn’t worry about running head-on into another ambush. A sniper generally took the shot, then got the hell out of there. He had to have been trying for a kill shot. In the brain. But who was he working for? Was this how the ECU took out their operatives who thought to go off the grid?

  Dashing across the street, he flipped the bird at a honking car as it put on its brakes to avoid hitting him. Saskia blew the driver a kiss and caught up to Jack, but he wasn’t slowing. An alleyway between two buildings led him around the back of a laundromat. And he saw a man jump off the metal stairs hugging the building, glance over his shoulder at him, and run.

  A long dark backpack was slung over the runner’s shoulder. A rifle case. He leaped for the top of a dumpster set up against a fence, and made the landing, but the lid wasn’t metal, and his footing slipped on the plastic cover, toppling him backward to land on the ground with a yelp and what was either rifle parts breaking or bones crunching.

  Jack landed the man’s chest with a knee and swung a fist up under his jaw. Saskia stood back, keeping lookout.

  “Who do you work for?” Jack asked.

  The man spat blood at him.

  “Is that so? Well, I’m right sorry about this, bloke, but I’m going to have to do some rearranging with your ribs and kidneys.”

  The next blow connected his knuckles with the man’s right kidney. He groaned and spat up more blood. But then he did something odd. He said something in Russian, and then smiled a wide and bloody smile.

  “Oh shit!” Saskia plunged to the ground and slapped her palms to each of the man’s cheeks. “He just said he’d see you in hell. His mouth is starting to foam. He had something in his cheek. Cyanide. Don’t touch it!”

  The two of them stood back and watched as the shooter’s body flopped uncontrollably a few times. Foamy spittle drooled out of his mouth and his eyes rolled upward. And then he collapsed. Dead.

  “We have to get out of here.” Jack turned to assess the surroundings.

  Cars swished by on the street down the alleyway. They stood behind an older apartment building, but he didn’t see any movement behind the curtained windows.

  Saskia bent and tore open the shooter’s shirt.

  “What the hell?” Jack asked.

  She tapped the black tattoos on the man’s chest. “This will tell us who he is and who he is working for. I suspect it’s bratva,” she said. She tugged out her cell phone. “I need to take some pictures and send them to Chester.”

  “Don’t send it to Chester from here. He’ll locate us.”

  “I’ll wait until I get to the laptop and send it to an anonymous drop box. But we’ve got to move on this. I need a report on what the tattoos mean.”

  “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “But I do know they are mafia. We’ve got to call this in. We can’t leave him here for the police or even the journalists to find.”

  “There’s a phone booth down the block.”

  Saskia stood and walked swiftly, but she called back. “You got some change for the phone?”

  He tossed her sixty pence.

  She caught it and said to him as he paralleled her, “I hope that safe house is as safe as you think it is. Because now we’ve got the Russian mafia after us too.”

  * * * *

  The safe house was a flat in Brixton, where, Jack pointed out to her, not three blocks down from the infamous prison he had served two miserable yet boring years. It wasn’t a fine neighborhood, but Saskia had grown up in a similar sort. She followed Jack down a row of gray, blocky buildings. The distinct scent of trash rose even on this chilly day. Flames flickered in her periphery, and she noted a gang of teens huddled over a rusted barrel fire, warming their hands and lighting firecrackers.

  Up three floors and down a dark hallway, Jack punched in a digital code on the apartment door. The tech surprised her, especially for what was obviously low-rent housing, but then she realized it must have been added by the renter. Jack’s family? How strange was it that a family had to have a safe house?

  Not so strange, she knew from experience, as she followed him inside the flat which was colder than it was outside.

  “No one keeps the heat on unless the place is being used,” he commented as he walked directly to the thermostat. It clicked as he turned the dirt-smudged dial. “No food, either, but I don’t anticipate us needing to stay very long.”

  “It could take me hours. You got a laptop?” she asked, plopping down on a wobbly chair before a small pockmarked kitchen table. “I need to send those photographs of the shooter’s tattoos.”

  “Should be one in the bedroom safe. I’ll be right back.”

  When he returned, Saskia noticed the blood that had dripped onto his white shirt collar. It smeared down his cheek as well. She got up and snapped a few paper towels off the roll by the sink and wet them. Jack plugged in the laptop and turned to her.

  “Sit,” she said, and then touched the towels to his cheek.

  “I can do that,” he said.

  She shoved him so he landed in the chair behind him, then bent and carefully dabbed at the cut on his cheek.

  “Saskia.”

  “Jack, will you let me do the girlie thing, here? I won’t be able to concentrate until I know you’re okay.”

  “I’m bloody good. It was just a nick.”

  She glid
ed the towel over the top of his ear that had taken the most damage. Just skin torn off. Nothing major. “It’s lucky for you the sniper was such a terrible shot. But since when are snipers so poor to aim? This doesn’t make sense.”

  He inhaled through his nose and nodded.

  “And he wouldn’t have done the suicide thing if his job was only to wound you.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “That’s a major sacrifice for something so minor. He missed. He had been sent to kill.”

  “Yes. But which one of us?”

  He clasped her wrist, stopping her from her care. “My bet is on the ECU, and me.”

  “I’m not so sure after seeing those tattoos. The ECU is after the bratva, not working with them.”

  “You have a point. But that just makes everything a bloody mess.”

  “Well, you’re no longer a bloody mess.” She kissed him quickly, then turned and tossed the soiled towels into the bin beside the stove. And Jack grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply.

  “Thanks, Saskia.”

  She shrugged, like, sure no problem. “Why do you call me Saskia and not Sass?”

  “You don’t like being called Sass.”

  “How do you know? I’ve never said anything to you about it.”

  “You didn’t have to. I pay attention. Every time Clive called you Sass you cringed. Not so much when Niles did it, but a little. You hate the name.”

  That he had figured it out touched her right in the heart. Felt like a hug that she hadn’t known she needed. Saskia wrapped her arms around his shoulders and just when she would rest her cheek against his, she pulled away from the wound.

  “Maybe you need to bandage that.”

  “It’ll be fine. I’ll heal.”

  “Not without a scar.”

  “Will that make me less pretty?” He shook his head as if a glamourous woman shaking out her hair.

  She laughed. “I think scars are supposed to add character. And you are not a pretty man. You are handsome.”

  “I’ll take handsome.” He nodded toward the laptop. “You going to work your magic?”

  “Yes, I should hurry. I can send the photos to an anonymous drop box online so the ECU won’t be able to track the IP address back here. What’s our deadline for the cash situation?” She turned on his lap and opened the laptop.

  “Midnight. I’ll get a call beforehand with the drop-off location.”

  “That gives me eight hours to gather a million bucks. I can do that.”

  “Can you?”

  “I really can.”

  She twined her fingers together and twisted them outward as she readied herself to tap into the accounts she’d hidden in case of emergency. This was not the kind of emergency she’d been planning for, but the sacrifice felt right.

  But first things first… She grabbed her phone and emailed the photos to her drop box account.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  “There’s a shop on the other side of this apartment complex. I’ll run down and grab us something. Might even scrounge up some hot coffee.”

  “I’m in!”

  He kissed the crown of her head, then opened a closet by the front door. He pulled out a leather jacket and muttered something that sounded like a thanks to his father. “Back in two shakes.” He left her alone with a lock of the door behind him.

  Saskia sent the drop box link to Chester with the message:

  Is this how you bastards treat one of your own? Sniper shot at Jack. Or me? Is it ECU or bratva? Tell me what these tattoos mean.

  She typed in the address where they’d left the dead man and sent the files.

  “And now to make some magic happen.”

  As the first account flashed up on the screen, Saskia turned to look out the curtained front window. He wouldn’t leave her again. Would he? He couldn’t. She had the cash he needed to save his brother.

  “Come back, Jack. I’m in this now. And I need you.”

  Because she wasn’t sure what her status with the ECU was anymore. But it couldn’t be remotely the same as it had been twenty-four hours earlier.

  Chapter 22

  Four hours later Saskia had set up a cash pickup not far from the safe house. She located a trusted fence she’d worked with in the past, who worked as a sort of money launderer. He would cobble together her money from three locations, and for a fee, bring it to her. Perfect.

  What she was giving to Jack was a good portion of her secret savings. But if she couldn’t do something good with it, then why let it sit around waiting for discovery by the ECU and eventually having it stolen out from under her?

  Tossing aside the empty bag of vinegar and pepper crisps, she wished that Jack would have brought back something solid and not just snacks. Her stomach did not like the sugary soda pop at all, so she switched to the bottled water. In the living room, Jack paced. He’d been good about not disturbing her while she’d wrangled her money. She turned from the laptop to announce she was ready—when her laptop rang.

  “Who the hell is that?” The look Jack gave her said he knew exactly who it was. She’d not expected a hack into the laptop but she wasn’t surprised.

  “Sorry. But I’m going to take this.”

  It was Chester Clarke at the ECU. He started right in. “We’ve ID’d the tattoos on the sniper. They indicate the man was a torpedo for the Siberian brigade of the bratva, as you’d suspected. Torpedoes are contract killers. This brigade can be connected to Clive’s actions. Clive must have reported Angelo, or possibly you, to his higher-ups, and the hit was called in.”

  Saskia eyed Jack as he waited for her to speak. “What’s the next step?”

  “We need you to bring in Clive Hendrix for questioning. We’ll get a confession out of him, perhaps a hit list, and that will bring us one step closer to the mafia. With the sniper’s body, we’ve only circumstantial evidence.”

  “I don’t think Clive will give up the mafia. He’s not got a death wish.”

  “We’ve methods of extracting confessions.”

  Saskia was sure they did. And she couldn’t stifle a shudder to wonder about it. On the other hand, narcing on the mafia? She’d probably have a tough time doing that and would go with whatever the ECU thought they could dish out.

  “You need to get in touch with Clive, set up a meeting,” Chester continued. “We’ll be there to bring him in. You have his contact info?”

  “I do. What do you want me to set the meeting up for? Just to chat? That’s not going to go well. The last time I saw Clive he left me for dead in a Helsinki ditch.”

  “Yes, a meeting. And you’re going to have to go back on grid, Saskia. This is highly unprecedented. We need to be able to track you. I know you’re with Jack Angelo. You’re protecting him. And that’s not going to go well for you.”

  “It’s a choice I had to make. Wait.” Her phone beeped, indicating another call. It didn’t ID the caller, but she had a suspicion. “I’ll get back to you, Chester. I think the dog just came sniffing at my door.” She clicked on to the new caller and Clive’s voice was cheery and not at all reminiscent of the heroin-addled bastard who had stabbed her earlier this morning.

  “We need to talk, Sass.”

  “Is that so? What? You want to finish the job? You want to stab the other leg now?”

  “I was high, Sass. I’m terribly sorry. Honest. I don’t know why I did that. I get crazy when I mainline.”

  “If I had known you had an issue with drugs, I would have never worked with you.” She noticed Jack’s keen interest, and mouthed “Clive.” “Where are you?”

  “London, of course.”

  “I thought you were going to meet Niles in Belize?”

  “I needed to make things right between us before I could go. I followed
you.”

  Of course he had.

  “That’s pretty extreme just to apologize.”

  “I didn’t say anything about an apology. I want to make things right. I need you for the next job, Sass. Your skills…”

  “Are apparently useless for your modus operandi. We never take anything, Clive. You don’t need me to tap into the main vaults. What the hell?”

  “I’ll let you in on the real operation if you’ll come meet me.”

  “Tell me now. Over the phone.”

  “Too dangerous. My people like to keep tabs on me.”

  The bratva. Ugh. Saskia wanted to drop the phone right now. Because if the mafia got a line on her, she would not live to see tomorrow. But then, they had already sent a sniper after either her or Jack. She was in deep. And that was not cool.

  “You think a face to face meeting is going to be any less dangerous?” She made show of blowing out her breath. She was stringing him along when she knew this is exactly what the ECU wanted. But it felt wrong. And so dangerous.

  Of course, that was what she did. Face danger and give it the middle finger. But danger had never come tattooed and reeking of the mafia before. Damn it, she hated this.

  Meeting gazes with Jack, she looked for something, anything, in his eyes. And she found there a deep respect and certain confidence that shimmered through her system and straightened her spine. Is that what love did to a woman? That was definitely going on in her heart right now.

  “Where?” she asked Clive.

  “In Peckham on the Left Bank.” He read off an address to her. “In an hour?”

  He was in a hurry. And she had a pickup in less than an hour.

  “I’m not familiar with London. I can make it in an hour and a half.”

  “That’ll work. Come alone. I know Jack is with you.”

  “We’ve…recently parted ways,” she said, thinking if Clive knew about the sniper hit, he might assume Jack had been taken out.

  “He’s gone? Where?”