“It’s Azzam!” she shouted and began to run down the stairs, her eyes on the women and the cart where the young couple was still fixing their hot dogs, just as the woman with the stroller was passing. Vladimir was still twenty feet away but closing fast on the cart.
Above her, Yvgeny also saw the danger. He’d also recognized Azzam, as well as the woman with her, Nadya Malovo. “Stop!” he shouted at his father, pointing at the cart. “It’s a bomb!” He started to shout again but was cut off by a loud bang and a blow to his back. He tumbled down the stairs.
Standing at the top with his gun drawn, Boris tried to draw a bead on the tumbling Yvgeny. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. He was only supposed to keep track of the Karchovskis and report back anything unusual. There had certainly been enough of that over the past few months, which had helped his bank account swell many times over. After all, young prostitutes were expensive.
The string of unusual events began when he recognized the district attorney of New York as the dinner guest of his employers, the Karchovskis. That alone had been worth more than Vladimir paid him in a year. There had been an additional bonus when he reported that, according to the butler, who’d been eavesdropping but innocently as he simply liked to gossip, the Karchovskis had given a photograph of a woman named Azzam to the woman, Marlene.
Today, he’d called the telephone number he’d been given for such things to report when the old man was going on his walk and who would be with him. The implication was that he shouldn’t expect the old man to return…ever. The son would then die in an apparent “mob shooting” that the police would write off as a battle between rivals. But the arrival of the woman had caught him by surprise, as had their sudden decision to walk to the boardwalk to find Vladimir. He’d called on the way to the boardwalk to relay the news.
You’ll have to kill him, the man on the other end of the line had said. He can’t be allowed to interfere.
Nyet! Boris, frightened, had said. I would be a dead man.
You will be a dead man if you don’t, the other man said. Kill him and then go to the house in Brooklyn and await further instructions. We will take care of you then.
What about the woman? Boris asked.
The other man was silent for a moment before sighing, Well, she was supposed to live a bit longer…but this is as good a time as any. She is too great a threat. I don’t know what she has been told by your target.
Boris had weighed who frightened him the most-Yvgeny Karchovski or the man on the telephone-and decided that at least he could kill Yvgeny and maybe survive. Betray the other man and death would not only be assured, it would be drawn out and painful. So when Yvgeny yelled his warning, he’d pulled his gun and shot him in the back. He aimed again to finish the job when his attention flicked to the woman at the bottom of the stairs. Too late, he realized she was pointing a gun at him.
Marlene pulled the trigger, killing the big Russian at the same moment that the hot dog cart exploded. Surrounded by a case filled with thousands of ball bearings, the C4 plastic explosive tore the young couple and the mother with her infant apart.
Twenty feet away, Vladimir would have met the same fate, except that hearing Yvgeny’s shout followed by the gunshot, the first of his burly bodyguards had grabbed the old man and thrown him to the sand off the boardwalk. The bodyguard had jumped on top of Vladimir, while the second bodyguard turned his back to the hot dog cart, both men using themselves to shield their boss.
Marlene wasn’t knocked off her feet by the blast but had heard the deadly missiles as they’d whistled past her. She saw the two women running across the park and took off after them. However, they had too great a head start and reached a car that was waiting for them, jumped in, and with tires burning, took off down Atlantic Boulevard.
Everywhere was pandemonium, some cars had screeched to a halt on the street. People were running in various directions, most away from the explosion, but many toward it as well. Screams, shouts, sirens shattered the boardwalk’s usual serenity.
Cursing, Marlene turned back for the boardwalk. She saw that Yvgeny had already reached the spot where she’d last seen Vladimir. He was kneeling in the sand as she ran toward him; he’d removed his coat to place it under his father’s head and that’s when she saw the body armor. She paused only long enough at what remained of the young woman, her infant, and the young couple to see that they were beyond help, and kept running to Yvgeny.
The first bodyguard was dead. His pants had been torn off by the blast and his legs looked like someone had put them into a meat grinder; however, the fatal wounds had been to his head. The second man was severely wounded and moaning on the sand as Yvgeny turned him gently over, speaking softly in Russian. Even their heroics might not have been enough, except that both men had been wearing Kevlar body armor, which had absorbed the worst of the ball bearings and blast.
Other than a hard fall for an old man and some scrapes, Vladimir had survived the blast. With his bodyguard no longer weighing him down, Vladimir was picking himself up off the sand.
“I am all right,” the old man said. “You two must leave. Yvgeny cannot be here when the police arrive and neither can you, Marlene. It would be too hard to explain. But first here…” The old man reached into the inside pocket of his linen suit and handed her a note card on which was written an address. “If it’s not too late, I believe that you may find Mr. Kane at this address in Aspen, Colorado. But hurry, Marlene, events are moving quickly and as you can see, these people will stop at nothing.”
24
Special Agent S. P. Jaxon peered over the rock wall with his field binoculars. There was no movement in the mansion on Red Mountain, the aptly named rust-red ridge opposite the town of Aspen. But he knew there were anywhere from a few to a half dozen or more armed terrorists inside the house, as well as the owners-a Saudi prince and his family who were being held hostage. He also hoped that one person in particular had been trapped when agents of the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security, the Aspen Police, and a Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office SWAT team surrounded the property.
The various federal law enforcement leaders had arrived at the Aspen Square Hotel in downtown Aspen singly or in pairs, ostensibly tourists in the Wild West town of movie stars and wealthy tycoons ready to party. With the help of the hotel manager, a former FBI agent who’d retired young to run a high-end ski lodge, they’d assembled in the hotel meeting room where a sign on the door proclaimed that the room was closed to all but The Greater Cleveland Rotary Club members and their spouses. They’d also been joined by Homeland Security agent Vic Hodges, who’d apparently worked his way into the terrorist cell and was reporting to them at considerable risk to his life if one of the bad guys spots him with us, assistant HS director Jon Ellis noted to the others.
“Think he’s in there?” Marlene asked.
Jaxon lowered his binoculars and looked over at Marlene Ciampi, who’d walked up to kneel beside him at the wall. “That’s the information you gave us and Agent Hodges confirmed. Kane’s supposed to be in the main house with the hostages.” He paused to glance back at the mansion. “You ever going to tell me where you got this address? I mean, Aspen was on the list because the Green Opal jewelry store is one of only a dozen in the country that sells Carlos Torres chess sets. But the owner didn’t remember the pieces we showed him.”
Marlene smiled grimly. “I could tell you but-”
“-you’d have to kill me, I know. Isn’t everybody tired of that one yet?” Jaxon said. “Maybe someday when we’re old and gray, you’ll tell me.”
“I’m already gray, but it’s a deal,” she replied and thought, If you only knew.
Immediately after the bombing, Vladimir had insisted that they leave before the police arrived. So Yvgeny and Marlene split up, agreeing to meet back at the Karchovski house as soon as they could work their way there without being noticed. There, they’d argued about the next step, including what to do with the address she’d been given by
Vladimir.
The old man had been the one to track down Carlos Torres, who was on vacation aboard a yacht in the Mediterranean, and had his man hand deliver one of the knights sent to Dugan that Marlene had taken with her. She’d figured that the FBI had the others, so when Vladimir had asked to “borrow” one, she’d consented. Funny, she’d thought when she handed it over, I trust an ancient Russian gangster more than I do anybody in the FBI, except Jaxon.
Torres had identified the piece as belonging to set Numero Dieciocho…I know each of these pieces as though they are members of mi familia. This exquisite creature is lost from his family, which I believe resides at the Green Opal jewelry store in Aspen, Colorado.
When Vladimir’s men visited the Green Opal, the owner had again claimed amnesia-until he was taken for a midnight helicopter ride and held upside down out the door over a thousand-foot drop above the Roaring Fork Valley. Then he’d suddenly regained his memory and said that a certain Saudi prince had purchased not one, but two of the Torres sets. The prince had been accompanied by a beautiful young woman whose only imperfection was a large mole on her cheek. She’d warned the store owner to avoid discussing the purchase of the chess sets with anyone, and something about the way she looked at him said it was worth his life to cross her.
Further investigation by Vladimir’s men had noted a great deal of unusual traffic at the prince’s home by an unusually large number of serious, fit, Arabic-looking men, some of whom had been seen carelessly handling automatic rifles when they slipped out at night to smoke cigarettes.
After getting back to the house following the bombing, Yvgeny had led Marlene into the library where he poured them both a shot of chilled vodka. I will take care of this now, he said. He reached for the telephone and punched in a number, then spoke rapidly in Russian before hanging up and saying to Marlene, Forget the note my father gave you.
Sorry, I want this guy to pay as much as you do, but I think I better give this address to a friend with the FBI, she replied.
Yvgeny was visibly seething-not that she blamed him; she was angry, too. Angry about Jojola. Angry about Vladimir. Angry and sick to her stomach for the woman and her child and the young couple who’d been murdered.
Nyet! Nyet! NYET! Yvgeny had roared and threw his glass at the fireplace where it shattered. Who do you trust there? A friend with the FBI? He is going to go after these vermin by himself? No, he will have to tell others, and there are spies in that agency. No, I have tried it my father’s way and I have tried it your way, and it almost got my father and myself killed; a woman and a child…those young lovers…were butchered by animals. My father wanted to give you this address so that what needs to be done could be done the quote “right way.” But I am through with this right way. I will take this son of a bitch down to hell my way! And then I will hunt those two whores down and gut them myself like that young mother was gutted by their bomb!
Look, Yvgeny, Marlene said trying to keep the anger she felt out of her voice. I can hardly believe this is me arguing against taking the law into your own hands. I mean, I’m already in deep shit for leaving the scene without telling the police what I saw, and I’m ashamed to say I did it because I was worried that being connected to the Karchovskis might hurt my husband’s political chances. When Butch hears, he’ll drag me down to the precinct by my ear. But think about this: say you go to Aspen and kill Kane and foil his plot, no one will know the depth of this conspiracy. It will just be a gangland killing where, as far as the public is concerned, you’re all bad guys-somebody ends up dead, somebody else probably winds up in prison-and I’d be surprised if you do this without innocent people being put in harm’s way, too. But also, if you’re right about this conspiracy, won’t the Russian government and the terrorists just come up with a new plan?
And why wouldn’t they even if your FBI catches Kane and kills Azzam?
Because maybe Jaxon can get to the bottom of this and expose it for what it is, Marlene said, scrambling to come up with reasons that she didn’t necessarily believe. In fact, while her mind was debating him, her heart was telling her to go with Yvgeny and settle this score with Kane. But it goes beyond that. There needs to be a message sent that civilized nations don’t have to revert to lawlessness or to military rule to combat terror. The public needs the reassurance that the people with the duty to protect them are out there doing their jobs. Besides, if you kill Kane, the moles go deeper, the plans next time are better.
Yvgeny paced to the window. He smashed a fist into his hand, his whole body trembling in anger.
It’s what your father wants, Marlene had said not knowing what else to say.
She’s right.
Marlene turned and saw the old man in the doorway of the library. He looked somewhat worse for wear in his torn and bloody linen suit, a bandage on his forehead and another on his hand, but otherwise appeared to be okay.
Vladimir! she said and rushed over to hug him. Are you all right? What did you tell the police?
He patted her on the back. I am physically fine, he said. But my heart is broken for the innocent blood spilled because someone wanted to kill me. The police were hardly interested in what an old man who didn’t see much except sand had to say…. Now, I just want to clean up a little, then go to the hospital to check on Petre; it was his brother, Sasha, who was killed, and Petre may never walk again, though I believe he is too strong to die. He turned to address his son.
Marlene will carry the address to whomever she believes should take care of this problem, and you will do nothing in Aspen, he said. These savages follow no rules, they have no honor-even criminals such as we do not behave like these animals. If we fight them, and men like Kane, on their level, then we must stoop and become like them.
Then I will stoop, Yvgeny insisted as he walked over to plead his case. What do I care what people think of me, even though this would be for their welfare as well as my revenge. I will risk that the entirety of civilization does not follow me down this road to savagery, but sometimes only violence is capable of stopping the violent.
This is true, Vladimir had said. But there are differences in how violence is administered. Was it in compliance with the rule of law? A policeman who shoots a man about to kill someone, for instance. Or an army fighting to end slavery, which reminds me of a quote attributed to the great American president Abraham Lincoln: “Let us have faith that right makes might, and in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.”
Might for right and my duty is to kill Kane, Yvgeny growled, but his anger had gone from a hard boil to simmering.
And you may still be required to do your duty, Vladimir said. But first we will allow this system of justice to do its. However…he said, turning back to Marlene, …if your friend and his FBI are not up to the task, then I give my son permission to seek justice in his own manner with this zasranec, excuse my language, Marlene, but this zasranec Kane-an appropriate surname, as the mark of Cain, the killer of brothers, is upon him.
As Marlene turned to leave, Yvgeny’s scarred face had softened and, surprising her, he’d reached out and hugged her. Forgive my outburst, he’d said. You saved my life, killing the traitor Boris, and I repay you with a tantrum.
Marlene hugged him in return, then stood back and smiled. It’s okay. Kane has a way of putting everyone on edge and wondering who to trust. Maybe that’s part of his plan. But it won’t work with us, will it?
Yvgeny shook his head. No, not so long as cooler-and prettier-heads prevail.
Marlene punched him on the arm. Flattery will get you everywhere.
Everywhere? Yvgeny said, theatrically raising an eyebrow.
Well, how about a kiss on the cheek…between cousins by marriage, Marlene laughed.
Yvgeny sighed dramatically. I believe the saying is, “Beggars shouldn’t be choosy,” correct?
Close enough, Marlene said and gave him the promised reward.
On the way home, she called Jaxon and gave him the Aspen a
ddress and its importance without telling him the circumstances of its discovery.
That evening when Butch got home from work, she told him about what had happened. He’d wondered when Murrow came rushing into his office with news of the bombing if she was somehow involved. But seeing her face when she described what happened, he’d forgone any lectures on leaving the scene but won a promise from her to give her statement to Fulton, who passed it on to the detectives investigating the bomb.
She’d left out how and why she happened to be at the boardwalk other than “to meet an old friend,” and just happened to be “in the right place at the right time” to shoot one of the terrorists as he fired at members of the public. Her target had been identified as one Boris Nabakov, a Russian national in the country illegally. What his connection was to the terrorist bomb remained unclear, according to the press.
Citing safety issues for a witness to a capital crime, the police had refused to disclose the name or even gender of the armed civilian who’d shot and killed Nabakov. Witnesses had told members of the press about seeing an armed woman chasing two other women, possibly the terrorists responsible for the bomb. Meanwhile, the National Rifle Association had jumped at the chance to laud the mystery woman’s actions as a victory for the Second Amendment and urged all citizens to be ready to join the War on Terrorism by being ever vigilant.
Four days after the bombing at Brighton Beach Jaxon turned his field glasses on the SWAT teams making their way toward the mansion, dashing from one place of cover to the next. One team had already reached the guesthouse but reported it empty. Agent Hodges had confirmed Marlene’s information; he’d seen Kane in the house within the past week.
Speak of the devil, he thought as he looked behind him and saw Hodges trotting down the gravel road away from the house. Jon Ellis swore by the guy, but there was something about him that Jaxon didn’t like. It went beyond the Southern accent that he obviously laid on a little thicker whenever he was around Marlene or her daughter, Lucy, who’d driven up from New Mexico with her boyfriend. The guy’s just a little too slick, he thought. Maybe that came with the territory of being a deep plant; maybe you had to have a plastic, malleable personality to fit into whatever situation arose, but Hodges seemed to think this was all something of an amusing game.
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