Russian Law (Law Series ) (Volume 1)

by Camille Taylor

  Bits of spittle flew at Lucas’s face as the man spoke. He was tempted to step back out of range but he had no idea how itchy the police officer’s trigger finger was. He didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances. He didn’t want any bullet holes in his body. Lucas knew he was up shit creek if he didn’t find a way out of this mess.

  “I’m CIA. Check my coat pocket.”

  The officer made a threatening move forward. He spoke rapidly into his radio, most likely calling for back-up. He would probably only have another five minutes tops before he was arrested. He doubted the Russian court would rule in his favor – killing one of their agents and all. A bad agent but he could hardly prove that now could he? He would be lucky to make it to prison before being beaten to death.

  Well shit, this was not good.

  “You have no jurisdiction here. You are under arrest and your status will be decided after your case is reviewed,” the police officer told him.

  Things were going bad to worse. He had to get the fuck out of there. The officer came towards him, handcuffs at ready. This would not do. Lucas sprang to life as the officer moved even closer. He knocked the revolver from the officer’s hand before raising his elbow into the man’s face, breaking his nose. The officer grabbed hold of his nose, the blood gushing out. In a last ditch effort to retain the suspect, he pulled out a knife from his blue and red uniform and came at Lucas with the sharp dagger. He tried to move away as he was attacked with the knife, the blade slicing the palm of his hand when he moved too slowly. Lucas used his foot to trip up the officer, knocking him on his ass before escaping to the street and losing himself in the crowd of late evening partiers and shoppers.

  He didn’t like to think it, but he was currently up shit creek. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the Russian Government would convict him before they would even look at their own. Everything was slowly falling together and he knew he had been set up. Lucas wasn’t about to take that sitting down. Someone from within the government was calling the shots and he wasn’t playing nice. Lucas knew he needed help, needed to contact Jim and explain what happened and get Jim to run interference with Director Mishkin while they organized his extraction. There was nothing worse than being stuck in a foreign country with no bag and no passport to get out. Both were in Elena’s office at SVR Headquarters in Yasenevo. There was no way of getting to them without being caught and possibly killed. He doubted he’d get a fair trial let alone given time to explain his actions. Worse, he was without his gun, having to leave it in Pochenchov’s nightclub as he made his escape. He was a dead man walking and he knew it - a marked man. His ego wasn’t big enough to be bruised by admitting he needed help. The life of a CIA Special Agent couldn’t afford such stupid frivolities. He would take anything he could get. Only problem was where could he go for help without fear of being shot?

  He crossed the street, moving at a brisk pace. He could hear the emergency vehicles stopping outside Pochenchov’s nightclub and knew it would be all over the news soon. He needed to get some place safe. Somewhere he could think and regroup.

  An image of Elena popped into his head - lovely Elena, all creamy skin and silky hair, smelling of gardenias. He had never much thought about a woman’s perfume but hers along with the rest of her had been a constant thought in the back of his head. Even with the last couple of hours he had just endured, the thought her brought a smile to his face.

  Elena.

  Lucas knew he didn’t want to involve her. He would do anything not to have to drag her into this mess he made. She didn’t need that and she certainly didn’t deserve it. She was the only one who had helped him since he got to Moscow. But she was his only chance. He only prayed she was who she seemed to be.

  He pulled out the card she had given him from his coat pocket. Elena’s name was written proudly on the front in Russian Cyrillic characters along with her office numbers. He would only use them in case of emergency. He would like to avoid that option if he could. Now that he had a starting point he was feeling slightly better, the knot in his stomach stopped tightening inside of him. Next stop was a phone booth.

  Yellow Pages was world wide right?

  Chapter 7

  Michael Ducane smiled when he heard the news of Alvin Pochenchov’s demise. He sat at an old oak desk in a small farmhouse west of St Petersburg. He was glad the CIA Special Agent finished him off. It saved him time killing the Russian bastard once his job was completed and it got the special agent of his back for a while.

  Michael knew he was the reason the agent was in Russia. Agent Zimtovich’s body had obviously been discovered and now a full investigation was underway. He must be extra careful from now on, make sure he doesn’t make any stupid mistakes. It would also be a good thing to keep his head down low, at least for now until the heat died down. He had no plans of being captured any time soon – if ever.

  It was a good thing he had gotten the shipment from Pochenchov when he had, Michael mused. He did not have time to find another weapons dealer. Especially one that was so well connected. Despite Pochenchov’s slimy demeanor he had certainly come through with the goods.

  Ducane cut the malleable plasticized adhesive of C4 into a large block, just small enough so that it would go undetected but still large enough that it would create quite the explosion. The C4, which was of top quality was one of the many items requested that had come from Alvin’s black market dealers, most likely courtesy of the Russian Army.

  The C4 was made up of RDX explosive and plasticizer. The small compound was often used in bombings including the 2010 Metro station bombings in Moscow. RDX is often used in professional fields and is more powerful than TNT , gunpowder or dynamite. In the past he had worked with all types of explosives, using whatever he could get his hands on. Now he had the luxury of choosing even the most expensive or elusive chemicals to create the type of devastation he wanted.

  Michael set aside the block of C4, and started making his own recipe where he was able to tweak the cocktail to make it a more concentrated explosion, adding it to the already procured blocks. He cautiously poured out each chemical to the precise measure, never more and never less, making sure none spilled onto his gloves to burn his skin. With deft and knowledgeable movements, he mixed the multitude of ingredients together as if baking a cake which he thought absentmindedly as his entire attention was on the delicate work in front of him, was exactly what he was doing. He gently stirred the combined chemicals in a stainless steel bowl with a whisk and when he was almost finished, added Paraffin to help to stabilize the explosive during transit and movement.

  Once the mixture dried it would be an off white color and would smell of sulphur and should one have the need to taste it would be a bitter tang. Not that he would be eating it and luckily for him had a escort past the guards and the dogs that were trained to scent explosives – although that was not supposed to be an issue, his contact having advised him that the scent dogs will be useless on the day. He didn’t care how his contact accomplished this, only that it was done by the time Ducane arrived.

  Ducane added the negative and positive wires needed into the block and tested the signal from his remote to the metal panel attached to the C4. The light flicked green, stating it was ready for a trial run before switching the receiver off. He had done this many times before. He would have preferred spending more time to perfect the solution before he was required in St Petersburg but time was limited so he had to work fast. Had he been in America he could have used his contact’s there rather than going through Alvin and his black market thugs but he had to make do with what he had. Michael had decided to make the bomb from scratch than buy something already made, first so he could guarantee it would go off when he wanted it to and not before, not after or not at all. Second he needed something that could go undetected through metal detectors and he loved putting his own mark on his work.

  Michael Ducane picked up the white rectangle of C4 and took it outside. He stomped through the thick snow that covered the ground
and placed the charge inside the nearby barn and set the timer for three minutes. He turned away and casually made his way back the porch of the farmhouse and turned to watch the force of the bomb as it exploded. He needed to make sure that the blast area was sufficient. If not he would have to modify the quantity of RDX until it was. The force of the explosion shook the farmhouse, the glass of the windows rattling slightly before shattering. He nodded to himself as he took in the fire that consumed what was left of the barn.

  Michael Ducane shivered through his thick woolen coat and long johns. Jesus this was an unholy place he thought and vowed that this would be the first and only time he would take a job in Russia. He didn’t like freezing his ass off in the middle of nowhere. He stepped inside the farmhouse and shook off the snow from his jacket, swearing as a snowflake fell down his shirt opening and slid down his back. He had a little more work to do here and with any luck forty-eight hours from now he would be on a flight to Canada where he would rent a car and drive home through Canada’s limited border defenses.

  Chapter 8

  Elena was dead tired, after spending the evening in Director Mishkin’s office, being subjected to his tirade about ‘that American’ and that he had better be apprehended shortly and that the US had a lot to answer for sending a rogue agent to them, Elena had been happy to see the back of his door. She had decided to work through the rest of the night and finish up her reports and take the day off. The sun was just beginning to rise above the tall buildings and she lifted her knees higher to accommodate for the evenings snow fall.

  God, what had Lucas gotten himself into? she wondered. There was no way he was getting out of this. If she was Lucas, she would be getting herself to the nearest airport and flying back home. Let the Politician’s smooth over troubled waters, that was what they were there for.

  She had walked to the Metro station in Yasenevo and boarded the train on the Kaluzhsko-Rizhskaya line and headed home, after changing trains further on down the line and walking in the early morning’s cold air, she was ready for a hot shower and climbing into bed to fall into a long, deep slumber. She had gone from being on top of the moon yesterday to exhausted and worried today.

  Elena made her way from the Metro station towards her apartment in Pushkinskaya, she could feel the cold temperature seeping through her winter clothes as the day promised to be a cold one, at seven-thirty it was only minus one point six degrees, set to drop further throughout the day. A good day to stay at home snuggled in bed with a good book and a steaming cup of hot chocolate, she mused as she ambled up the stairs of the apartment building she had once shared with her husband and finally reached her floor. She walked over to her door and fiddled through her purse looking for her key.

  “Don’t you know you should already have your key ready before you get to your door?” a voice asked her from behind. Startled she turned around and stared in shock at Lucas, her hand resting on her chest above her heart in hopes to calm the pounding organ.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered. “The entire SVR are out looking for you. Not to mention the MDV. You are an extremely popular man, what in God’s name were you thinking?”

  Lucas stepped forward into the light of the corridor. His hair was covered with a dark beanie, his scarf hanging down at an odd angle, his clothes that were rumpled yesterday now sported dirt and blood and he thought he smelt worse than any locker room he had ever been in. He looked like he had had a rough night and not from having a good time. It had taken some time to locate a phone booth at least one with a phone book. It had taken forever for him to match Elena’s name with an appropriate address and even longer to get an English translation and when he did he find her, she had not come home and he had spent the entire night sitting in the dark crevice opposite her doorway.

  “You’re my liaison,” he said simply.

  Elena shook her head, “I think it’s a deal breaker when you shoot an SVR agent. They have witnesses Special Agent Gates. The SVR are looking at this as a direct hit on Russia. Director Mishkin has been ranting on all night about you. I’m afraid he has informed Special Agent in Charge Fitzgibbon about your circumstances.”

  Lucas shook his head, the night was getting worse. “The agent shot Alvin Pochenchov. I only shot him to defend myself. He never identified himself as an SVR agent.”

  Elena sighed heavily, her voice weary. “Alvin Pochenchov is a known criminal. The agent could have a number of reasons for shooting him. If he indeed did.”

  “He did,” Lucas interrupted. He wanted to make that point very clear.

  “Very well he didn’t identify himself.” Elena agreed, reasonably. “Still you should have allowed yourself to be brought in, asked them to contact me instead of running. It looks like you’re as guilty as sin.”

  “Shit Elena, surely you don’t believe that? I’m being set up.”

  “Of course I don’t believe that. You’re a very honest man Lucas. If I known anything at all it is that.” She rubbed her brow in frustration and wariness. “What a mess.” She looked at him, resigned. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you never to piss in someone else’s pool?”

  He smiled, somehow he had not expected such a phrase to come from Elena’s mouth and to him sounded downright hilarious. He realized that that was the first time since he had first left her office that he had smiled.

  “She did but it never stuck. I’m sorry Elena I hate to involve you but I really need your help, please,” he added for good measure. He was desperate and if she didn’t help him, he didn’t have a clue what his next move would be.

  Elena stared at him for a long while, just enough for his heart to sink before she let out a deep sigh and a whispered expletive. He didn’t need to know the translation to understand it was directed at him – or his situation.

  “Come on,” she said as she unlocked her apartment door and led him inside.

  The apartment was cozy. The heater had taken the chill out of the air. Her furniture was sparse, not over-crowding the small space, but completely feminine. The room was done in pink flowers and white lace, Lucas wondered if Nikolai had felt emasculated here or if it was just him. It took a very secure man to live here, he thought. There were a few paintings on the wall and several photographs over the fireplace adding life to the room. He noticed Elena had no time for plants and flowers.

  Elena hung her coat up in the closet and turned to face him, he looked terrible. The lack of sleep was taking its toll on him, the lines on his face had deepened and his eyes were bloodshot. He was holding his hand gingerly and she could see the knife mark and the resulting dried blood.

  “You’re hurt,” she told him, shaking her head, admonishing him like a little boy who was dirty. “I’ll get something to clean you up with.”

  She walked down the hall to where he supposed her bathroom was. He took another look about the room. The apartment was everything his was not. It was the type of place you wanted to come home to after a long day’s work. Warm and inviting, altogether homey of course the fact that Elena was also there could also be attributed to that. The photos on the fireplace mantle drew his attention. He walked towards them. He could see a smiling Elena clearly standing next to a handsome strapping man.

  Lucas assumed this was her husband Nikolai. Lucas reached out and picked up the wedding photo, his curiosity peaked. In the photo Elena was decked out in a fashionable white, simply designed but perfectly rendered wedding dress. The sunlight from the day hitting her wedding ring, causing multiple colors to shine through the diamond rock.

  Nikolai looked as dashing as any man could in his black suit, his dark hair and eyes adding to the allure of the tall, dark and handsome stereotype. His arm possessively around Elena’s waist. Two men stood on either side of Elena and Nikolai, the one standing by Elena had her eyes – a relative he assumed, the other standing beside Nikolai was roughly the same age as Nagregor, his dark hair gelled down, his eyes cold and hard. His hand rested on Nikolai’s shoulder, they were all smi
ling happily into the camera. He felt a pang of sympathy for Elena, she clearly loved the man very much and must have been devastated when he died.

  He was replacing the photo when Elena returned carrying a bowl of steaming hot water and some gauze and white bandage.

  “Nikolai,” she said simply when she saw what photo he was looking at.

  He nodded as he turned to face her as she sat down at the table. He sat beside her and she took his hand in hers and gently started cleaning it.

  It stung like a son of a bitch and to take his mind off the pain he started talking. “Who’s the other man, the one beside Nikolai?”

  “Nikolai’s best man Alexei Dimitrovich - another agent. They were great friends.”

  Lucas was starting to get used to the pain. He watched her beautiful face as she kept her head bowed, concentrating completely on his wound.

  “How long were you two married?”

  “Three years. He was my supervisor straight out of the academy.”

  “He was murdered?” he asked gently, already knowing the answer but wanted to keep open the discussion, immediately regretting the words when her hand tightened on his. He was about to apologize when she spoke.

  “Yes, he was murdered. I was working late one night and when I came home to our apartment there Nikolai was lying in a pool of his own blood. The place had been ransacked. The official statement was a robbery interrupted.”

  He caught something in her tone. “But you don’t believe that?”

  Elena shook her head. “Let’s just say ‘red flags went up’. Nikolai was a trained SVR agent, and to be taken by a common burglar? No. I don’t believe that.”

  Lucas was intrigued. “Signs of struggle?”

  Elena shrugged. “They thought so.”

  He looked at her face as she cleaned his wound. “Who is ‘they’?”