Dark Sky Falling

by Richard Ryker

  Jones could easily frame Marcus.

  Running out of options, Marcus bluffed.

  “So what’s your point? You know why I’m here. I haven’t done anything to you. Let us go I’ll leave you to your little kingdom here.”

  “I made that mistake years ago.” Jones chuckled. “And you came back.”

  “You can’t hold me in this office forever.”

  “You’ll be in Russian hands soon enough,” Jones said. “Just a matter of getting my facts in order. I haven’t decided yet if I want you involved in the murder…that might be too much trouble for me.” He walked toward the door, but turned to Marcus. “I do like to be careful, you know.”

  “What do you want, Jones? We can make a—”

  “Deal?” Jones simpered. “What do you have to offer me, Marcus?”

  Nothing, Marcus thought.

  “Exactly,” Jones said. “Like that little whore, Kamila, you don’t seem to know who you’re dealing with.”

  “Nor did you, obviously. She’s free and your man is dead.”

  Jones nodded his head as if considering Marcus’s statement. “True. It turns out she wasn’t worth the trouble she’s caused me. I’ve had better for thirty dollars.” He smiled. “American dollars I mean. But she’s gone now, and soon you will be too. You and the new missus here.” He nodded at Stormy. “Then I can get back to some peace and quiet around here.” He stepped out, locking the door behind him.

  Chapter 25

  They sat down and Alyssa stared hungrily at the soup and bread, pulling her eyes away long enough to give the aunt a nod of gratitude.

  “Weren’t you going to school there in America?” her aunt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “To be a doctor like Anna?”

  “A nurse.”

  “I see…did you finish?”

  “I didn’t like being around all of those women,” Kamila said. “Gossiping and giggling like little girls.”

  Just like you.

  Kamila spoke to Alyssa in English, “Don’t get used to being here. And stop smiling so much.”

  All Kamila needed was to find out her father’s location. But it wasn’t going to be easy to convince the aunt to tell her.

  The aunt looked from Alyssa to Kamila, noticeably curious about what Kamila had told the girl. Alyssa smiled even more at the aunt and, in Russian, said, “Thank you.”

  Kamila dropped her spoon against the bowl with a disturbing clatter. The aunt glared at Kamila.

  “What was that?” Kamila demanded of Alyssa.

  “What?”

  “You don’t know Russian.”

  “So.”

  “But you just said something in Russian.”

  “Just thank you. My mother taught me some words.”

  “And what else?”

  Alyssa paused and it seemed to Kamila that a hint of deception crossed her face. “That’s all I know. A few—”

  “Not true,” Kamila said, her voice wavering. She could not lose control now. “Just, stop.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Everything. Stop talking in Russian. Stop trying to trick me.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Eat.”

  The aunt interrupted. “She knows some words?”

  “No she doesn’t.”

  Kamila took a few sips of soup, but could no longer bear the sound of the aunt and the girl slurping, sipping, swallowing. She went into the bathroom and opened the bottle, dropping three Xanax into her palm. When she had swallowed them and turned off the bathroom sink, she heard laughing through the door. They were talking. The girl did know Russian. Marcus and Anna had taught Alyssa Russian, maybe even Chechen, behind her back.

  Kamila turned the handle, holding her grip on it so as to avoid making any sound, then pulled the door back quietly. It gave a squeak and Alyssa and the old woman stopped talking. They had been talking about her. All this time she had known everything Kamila had said to every person she had talked to in Moscow. She might even tell the aunt about the man Kamila killed. She would call the police and the Russian pawns wouldn’t understand it was self-defense.

  The Russians were looking for reasons to put real Chechens like Kamila in their jails, while turncoats like her aunt were willing to give a tip on a moment’s notice. Why were they doing this to Kamila? She only wanted to see her father. Kamila looked into the mirror, noticed the onyx necklace her mother had given her, touched it softly. Her mother would know what to do if she were here.

  Things were getting too complicated. She had to stop them from talking. She would never get the aunt to tell her where her father was if the aunt and the girl got too close.

  Kamila opened the door and walked into the kitchen. They would not even look at her. They sat there scraping the last drops of their soup as if there were nothing to hide. These two were crafty.

  “Are you going to eat, Kamila?” Her aunt asked.

  “I’m not hungry,” Kamila said. “Wasn’t it you who suggested I was getting fat?”

  “Not fat. Just making notice of the difference between the girl and you.”

  “Don’t compare me to her, or her mother.” Kamila picked up her bowl and brought it to the sink.

  “Don’t waste that,” her aunt said, her back turned to Kamila. “It can be saved for later.”

  “Sure,” Kamila said, and poured the full bowl of soup down the sink. When she turned around, she knew Alyssa had been watching her. “Don’t say a word,” Kamila said in English.

  “About what? How you kidnapped me? How you murdered that man?”

  “You both need to get some sleep,” the aunt insisted. “We can talk about how to find your father tomorrow.”

  The aunt had a guest room and fixed up a bed for Alyssa. Kamila could sleep on the couch. Even though Kamila had asked her to stop, the aunt continued saying things in Russian to Alyssa. The girl did not respond, but Kamila knew she understood. Right now it was small talk—simple words explaining what she was doing, asking her if she was tired. Kamila knew it was all for show and that if she stopped listening or stepped out of the room, they would start plotting again.

  Deciding what they were going to do with Kamila.

  She sat on the couch and watched the woman and child carry blankets and sheets into the guest room. Maybe the couch was a better place after all. It allowed her full view of the house, just in case they tried anything. Her thoughts began to tangle again, her eyelids drawn together like magnets to metal.

  The Xanax working already.

  No. It was a different sensation, and there was no sign of the familiar tinge of serenity that came just before sleep when she took the meds. Now there was only distrust, fear, confusion.

  Everything that had happened in the last few weeks filtered over her eyelids, still frames from a grainy video. The airport, Moscow, the man’s throat, and dark, unfamiliar Grozny. Yes, even hell had become unfamiliar. She fell back on the couch and surrendered, wicked currents pulling her further and further away in a sea thick with red poison.

  Chapter 26

  Jones hadn’t been clear about his plans for Marcus and Stormy. He wanted them out of his little kingdom for good. That much was obvious. Whether that meant handing them over to the Russians or something more ‘permanent’, either way it meant Alyssa wasn’t safe. And the longer they spent under Jones’s control, the further away they were from catching up with Kamila.

  As for his part, Dmitry seemed surprisingly nonchalant about the prospect of being turned over to the Russian authorities. Especially considering how the government had treated others from his newspaper. But trying to figure out Jones’s plans was a waste of time. It wasn’t going to be good for all any of them when he got back. Marcus had to make sure they were gone by then.

  Marcus put his shoes on, a task much easier with his hands in front of him.

  There was the rattle of keys against the door handle.

  “Is
it Jones?” Stormy asked.

  “Get up,” Marcus said. “Both of you. Stand over there.” He pointed to a spot about five feet in front of the door.

  “Why?” Dmitry asked.

  “Just do it,” he whispered.

  Outside, the man cursed as he struggled with the lock.

  Marcus stepped behind the door. “Don’t look my direction.”

  The door opened far enough so that it shielded Marcus. One of Jones’s men stepped into the room, holding a tray of sandwiches and water bottles.

  “Wasn’t there three of you—”

  Marcus stepped out from behind the door and kicked the man behind his right knee. He followed that up with a shove and the man tumbled to the floor. Water bottles rolled across the carpet, one stopping at Dmitry’s feet.

  “Thanks,” Dmitry said, bending down for the water.

  “Go!” Marcus said.

  The keys were still in the door. Hands cuffed, Marcus followed them into the hallway and pulled the door shut. He turned the key, locking the door and pulling the keys out.

  “This way.” Marcus rounded the hallway corner, colliding with an Embassy staffer.

  Stunned, Jen lifted her head. “Marcus?”

  “Um…”

  “What are you doing?” She looked down at his handcuffs.

  “Jones,” Marcus said. “He had his thugs bring us here.”

  Eyebrows furrowed, she glanced at Stormy and Dmitry. Dmitry turned, showing Jen his handcuffed hands.

  “Maybe we could discuss this somewhere more private?” Dmitry said.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  Jen led them down the hallway where she unlocked another door.

  The room was dimly lit and lined with computers, hundreds of wires yellow and blue were pinned against the wall. A large air conditioner hummed at the back of the room. “It’s the server closet. No one comes in here at this time of day.” She closed the door. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  Jen took the keys from Marcus and unlocked their handcuffs as he explained the body they’d found at Kamila’s motel, and the apparent connection between Jones and Kamila.

  “Jones running an escort agency? That’s a serious accusation—”

  “Serious or not, it’s true,” Stormy said.

  “Right now, we just need to get out of here,” Marcus said.

  “Okay, I believe you,” Jen said, resting a hand on Marcus’s arm. “Let me see what I can do.” She turned to Dmitry. “I see you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again, too.”

  Dmitry took a break from massaging the marks on his wrists and gave a slight bow. “Nice to see you as well. And in case you forget, I am in debt to you for this little adventure.”

  She smirked. “You’re welcome. I’ll be back.”

  Several minutes passed.

  “How do we know we can trust her?” Stormy said. “She could be telling Jones where we are.”

  “We can trust her,” Dmitry said in a matter of fact tone.

  “Jen wouldn’t do that,” Marcus agreed.

  “How do you know?”

  “I just do. I know her better than—”

  “Better than what?”

  This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with Stormy. Now, or any time. Yes, he’d been with Jen, but that was a long time ago.

  “I just know her, okay?”

  “The more important question,” Dmitry said. “Is how long will it take for them to notice the man we left in the room is missing.”

  Jen opened the door, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

  “What’s this?” Dmitry asked.

  “Maintenance staff clothes,” she said. “Hurry up and put them on.”

  “Why?” Marcus asked.

  “I’m trying to get you out of here, Marcus Shelton. If you don’t want to get dressed in here, you could go out into the hallway and show the whole Embassy your briefs.”

  “Briefs? How’d you know?” Marcus asked.

  “Prove me wrong,” Jen said with a wink.

  Stormy sighed then made a gagging sound.

  “I agree,” Dmitry said. “Get a room.”

  Marcus’s face reddened. He really wasn’t very good at this ex-girlfriend thing. If he kept it up, he would lose what little credibility he had left with Stormy.

  “Sorry,” Jen said, flashing a half-hearted smile at Stormy.

  Stormy unraveled the plastic covering. “These are overalls. They go over your clothes.”

  “Oh. My mistake,” Jen said.

  A few minutes later the three of them looked like a rather attractive janitorial crew.

  “Now what?” Marcus asked.

  “Now you get out of here.”

  “Aren’t they searching the place?”

  “Not as much as they would be. I told a little white lie.”

  “Such as?”

  “I mentioned that I saw you all running past toward the main entrance.”

  “Won’t they figure it out when they talk to the front guards and they say no one passed?”

  “I’ve been here a long time. These guards come and go,” she said. “No one believes half of what anyone else says around here anyway.”

  “Let’s go,” Marcus said.

  “I’m taking you out the back door through the service entrance. You need to find a different place to stay, if Jones knows where you are.”

  “She’s actually right,” Stormy said.

  “Thanks. You could stay at my apartment tonight.”

  “All of us?” Stormy asked. “Wouldn’t that be a little crowded?”

  “I have a couch, a love seat, and a queen sized bed,” Jen said.

  “I think we’ll figure something else out,” Stormy said.

  Marcus could sense both Jen and Dmitry staring at him. Jen’s apartment was an option. But Stormy wasn’t buying it. As for Jen, it was as if she was purposefully antagonizing Stormy. If his daughter wasn’t missing, if Marcus wasn’t already involved—if that’s what you called it—Jen’s apartment would be just fine. More than just fine. He shook the image out of his head.

  “Stormy’s right. We can make other plans.”

  Jen’s smile faded just perceptibly. “Okay.”

  “We really appreciate you doing this though. You’re putting yourself at risk—”

  “I could stay at your apartment if you need company,” Dmitry chimed in.

  “I think you’re needed elsewhere,” Jen said, nodding at Marcus and Stormy.

  Jen poked her head out the door and waved to them. Stormy was the last out. Jen pulled Stormy aside, but still close enough that Marcus could hear their whispered conversation.

  “I’m sorry, Stormy. I just can’t help myself sometimes,” Jen said.

  Stormy neither smiled nor frowned.

  “He’s a great guy,” Jen said. “You’re very lucky.”

  “He’s not mine,” Stormy said.

  “I know Marcus—”

  “I think that’s been established,” Stormy said.

  As much as he liked the idea of two women vying for his affection, this wasn’t the place to argue over who belonged to who. Either way, Stormy wasn’t going to be happy with him.

  “I’m just saying. Trust me, he’s yours. If you want him. If not, send him back my way.”

  Marcus and Dmitry reached the corner.

  “Let’s go,” Marcus said.

  Before you too kill each other.

  They followed Jen down one hallway, then another until they reached the service elevator. She pushed the key into the slot and pushed the elevator call button.

  Someone called from down the hall. “Any sign of our escapees, Jen?”

  Marcus started to turn. “Don’t,” she whispered. “It’s security.”

  If they recognized them, Jones would make sure they didn’t escape a second time.

  “Act normal,” she said. Then, in a louder voice at Marcus. �
��I told you, Jones is sick of freezing his butt off. And who pays the price? Me, with his constant whining. Get it fixed, now.”

  The elevator doors opened and Marcus, Stormy, and Dmitry entered quickly. Marcus pushed the first button his hand reached.

  “Sorry about that,” he heard Jen saying to the approaching guard. “I figure our fugitives are long gone by now…” The doors closed and they lost the rest of the conversation.

  Chapter 27

  Alyssa rolled over in the bed, the blankets bunched comfortably to one side, her head resting on the cool, soft pillow. For a moment it was as if she were home in her own room. But the smell was different, and even though the light was just beginning to fill the sky, through an opening in the curtains she could see the windows of the tall building across the street. This wasn’t her home. There wasn’t the tree in the backyard or the birds singing or her dad calling her to get ready for school. She heard the door open and she turned, thinking it was Kamila. It was her great aunt. The aunt smiled at Alyssa and motioned for her to come, then put a finger over her lips to tell her to keep silent.

  The night before, during dinner, the aunt had been trying to tell Alyssa something. But she didn’t understand. Like everyone else, the aunt didn’t understand English. Alyssa understood just a handful of Russian words her mother had taught her. But even though she didn’t understand her, the old lady was kind, and Alyssa hoped the aunt still might be able to help her.

  Alyssa left the bed and followed the aunt into the bathroom, where she pointed to a bar of soap and a towel before leaving. On the bathroom counter she had laid out some of Alyssa’s clothes. She picked up a shirt and smelled it. Clean. The aunt must have washed clothes all night. She really was nice. The first person Alyssa had met since home who actually seemed to care about her.

  Alyssa showered and dressed and when she came out into the living room Kamila was still asleep on the couch, her head covered by a pillow. Her aunt was by the front door, holding Alyssa’s coat. Again she motioned for her to follow. They were leaving. If the aunt knew Kamila, that meant she might know how to find Alyssa’s father. Or at least someone who could speak English. Alyssa felt a flicker of hope flutter in her stomach. She might be going home.