Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series)

by Loy, Tracie Ingersoll

  “It’s a domestic issue between your girlfriend and her ex. Now, if she doesn’t pay taxes on the money, then it becomes an IRS issue. If the ex chooses to pursue her in court, then it becomes a civil issue. From our standpoint, you’re clear. By the way, scuttlebutt is you’ve got a real keeper. Congratulations.”

  Jack thanked his boss and was somewhere between relieved and even more pissed off. In forty five minutes, he had three people making comments about his relationship with Cassie. Why can’t people just mind their own business?

  Very surprised at Cassie’s e-mail, he read it twice, and then stared at the screen. She was sorry. If he hadn’t gotten so hot and stuck around, she might have even said it to his face. Christ, she drove him nuts. She made him hot and hard. Crap. Jack wadded up paper and tossed them one after another across the room, trying to score a basket and get her off his mind. It kept coming back to one thing: she had him by the balls. So what the hell was he going to do about it?

  Jack grabbed his coffee cup and headed to the break room. He stood in the doorway and observed his agents. They were all sharp, but he didn’t think any of their minds worked like Cassie’s, except maybe Heather’s. He stopped at her cubicle, and she looked up. Jack didn’t blame her for not saying anything.

  “Do you do Internet banking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which bank?”

  If she thought the question odd, she didn’t say. They banked at the same bank. Jack returned to his office, found the bank’s routing numbers, and two others. He jotted them down and took the paper out to Heather.

  “Look closely at these numbers. Do they mean anything to you?”

  After several minutes, she shook her head. “They all have the same amount of numbers, which tells me they are similar in some way, but exactly how, I don’t know.”

  “Thanks.”

  Jack returned to his office and studied the numbers he’d written down. Like Heather, he would not have figured out what they were. But Cassie had. Her memory was excellent, and her mind worked around numbers and facts. The cupcake situation bugged her, and yet he blew her off. He’d hate to be up against her in a court of law. She would take down her opponent with a simple detail.

  Jack read Cassie’s e-mail again. He hit reply and tapped in, “Thank you. Have your check. Where should I send it?” Within a minute, his e-mail chimed. Cassie was online.

  “Please deposit my check in my bank account.”

  Yeah, right, which one? Why not? he thought.

  “Which one? USA or Cayman?”

  “Funny.”

  “Info please.”

  Her bank had a branch not far from the office. “I can do that at lunch. Where are you?”

  “Ferry Dock Café.”

  A twinge of disappointment needled him. “How did you get there?”

  “I rode my Mom’s bike.”

  That surprised him and made him smile.

  “At some point we need to talk.”

  “Can’t. My phone doesn’t work up here.”

  He almost sensed an attitude. “I’ll figure it out.” He signed out before he could read her reply.

  The afternoon flew by. Like he promised, he gave a briefing at three, which lasted for a couple of hours.

  On her way out, Heather said, “Glad to see you’re in a better mood. Not perfect, but better.”

  What the hell was it with these women and their attitudes?

  At nine, Jack walked into his condo. He poured a hefty scotch and stood at the window, looking out over Seattle. The night was clear, and he saw the cargo ships sitting out in Elliot Bay. He sipped his drink and calculated various scenarios. He kept looking back toward the bedroom, wanting to see Cassie walking toward him with her hair bouncing, wearing his flannel shirt half open. Jack wanted her like he’d never wanted any woman before.

  The bottom line was he couldn’t protect Cassie one hundred percent. Constantly having to look over her shoulder or hiding out on the island for the rest of her life was not an option. The Russians were more ruthless than the old-school Italian mob.

  At ten, he made his decision and called. “I’m accepting your offer.”

  “When?”

  “Any time after six tomorrow night and all the way up to eight Monday morning.”

  “I’ll get back to you.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Cassie waited by the row of mailboxes for the Van Man to pick her up and drop her off at the ferry. Once she’d formulated her plan, she’d called and made arrangements. At Friday Harbor, she would transfer to the ferry into Sidney on Vancouver Island. Cassie didn’t think Sergei had the capability to track her computer footprint, but she didn’t want to take a chance. The more layers she put in place, the better she felt. Vancouver Island was out of the country.

  Once onboard the Sidney bound ferry, Cassie changed her appearance. She wiped off her lipstick and tucked her hair up in a stylish knitted hat that she’d found in the mudroom. CCTV was everywhere, and she needed to be careful. In Sidney, she made a point of being first off, where she walked briskly, keeping her head down, to a Starbucks a few blocks from the terminal.

  Ordering up her favorite coffee combo, Cassie found a small table in the corner where she spread out her paperwork and tapped into Starbuck’s Wi-Fi using Jack’s laptop. She had less than an hour to create havoc before catching the returning ferry. Her first line of business was to check and see if Sergei had changed his passwords. By transferring only one dollar into his accounts, she could test it without signaling a deposit ding on a phone. The first account she tried did not work. He’d either changed his password or closed the account. She did not have time to try and figure it out. Cassie picked another account off her list. That didn’t work either, but the third and fourth did. She tried two more, which gave her a total of four accounts that she could mess with.

  Sergei used his phone for many things, and one of them was being notified when money had arrived in his bank account—ding, ding, ding. Picturing Sergei with his phone constantly dinging and then the money disappearing made her smile. His phone would be a regular doorbell. She rubbed her hands together, readying them for keyboard magic. Thinking it all through, Cassie decided to add various degrees of change to each transaction. To her, it was a message, but she didn’t think Sergei would see it. She didn’t care. Cassie transferred in amounts of over ten thousand dollars and change to each one of the accounts. She waited a few minutes; then she checked balances. Each account showed the transfer. Now that she had these four accounts with over ten grand in each, she transferred money between them, always leaving behind change.

  Cassie watched each transaction with glee. It was paper money to her, but not to him. If she lost it all in her game, she could care less. All she wanted was some pain and suffering on his end. Watching her time, she made her final transaction of transferring everything out, leaving behind one hundred dollars and change in each account. Waiting ten minutes, Cassie checked her balance in the Caymans, and it was all back.

  Koslov, you have a fun day explaining it all.

  Turning off the laptop, she stowed it back in the case, took off her knitted cap and replaced it with a ball cap, applied lipstick, and headed out the door. Once again, she walked swiftly back to the ferry terminal and got in line to return. She handed over her passport, answered the simple questions, and got on board.

  For a Friday afternoon, the Washington State ferry to Friday Harbor was semi-busy. Cassie headed straight to the upper deck and found a seat by the window. She kicked back and enjoyed the returning scenic ride. It was one of those days that the sun poked through the white puffy clouds, the water was smooth, and the islands were greener than emeralds. More than anything, she wished Jack was sitting next to her, though he would have disapproved of what she had done. And yes, she had thought about it cle
arly, and it still seemed like a good idea. Sergei Koslov was a predator and she was sick of men who preyed on women, or anyone for that matter. Maybe she couldn’t arrest them like Jack, but she could contribute to their misery.

  Waiting for the Hartz Island ferry to arrive in Friday Harbor, Cassie window shopped until she reached a cellular phone store where she ducked inside. After listening to the salesperson about the various plans, she decided her iffy phone worked well enough for now. It wasn’t such a bad thing to have space between her and Jack. It was time to figure out her life on her terms, and if she landed in mud puddles along the way, so be it.

  Once she reached Hartz Island, the Van Man picked her up at the ferry terminal and dropped her off at Blue Heron Lane. Cassie started walking down their lane and stopped. Yes, Armstrong was gone, but she still needed to be careful. Like Jack had coached her, she looked closely to see if anyone had come or gone during the day. It all looked good to her.

  Not bad for a day’s worth of work, she thought.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  With his plan formulated, Jack left work at four, dropping off his Tahoe at the Chevy dealer. He explained to the service manager a very loud intermittent noise was coming out of the transmission and asked if they could look at it on Saturday and he’d pick it up on Monday. It didn’t, but it was a good excuse. He walked across the dealership to the Enterprise booth and asked to rent a car for the weekend.

  Arriving back at his condo at five, Jack packed a bag with every tool and weapon he might need. He then packed a smaller bag of clothing. Completely dressed in black, he left his condo at seven and headed to the Renton Municipal Airport where he parked the rental car at the fixed base operator, Air-O Inc., on the southeast corner of the airport. Like he expected, the Citation Ultra with the identifying tail numbers was waiting for him. Jack pulled on his ball cap and light-lensed glasses and walked into the foyer. Dressed in similar clothing to his, the two pilots greeted him and escorted him out to the jet. What a treat not having to deal with security.

  The pilots gave him a quick briefing, and they were cleared for takeoff. The jet reached cruising at thirty nine thousand feet, to arrive at their destination in roughly two and a half hours. He set his phone to wake him in two. Jack reclined his leather seat and closed his eyes. It could be a long night.

  Coming in to the Van Nuys airport, they descended over the mountains. Jack looked out the window at the stream of traffic on all the interstates swinging around. Even after ten, it was still congested.

  “Traffic on the grapevine doesn’t look too bad,” one of the pilots commented.

  He would be on one of those grapevines soon.

  They landed and taxied over to Clay Lacy Aviation where a hangar waited for them. With the engines shut off, they unbuckled and exited the jet.

  One of the pilots reached into a black canvas bag and pulled out a prepaid cellphone and a set of keys. “We were told you’d need these. Our number is programmed on one. The SUV is outside waiting.” He opened the bag for Jack to see in. “What about the Glock?”

  Jack smiled. Kip thought of everything. “No, I’m good to go.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to come along?” The guys grinned.

  “Thanks, but I’ll handle it.” Once a commando, always a commando.

  “If you can give us a head’s up, we’ll have the jet ready for you ASAP.”

  Jack shook their hands and headed out to the SUV that had a full tank of gas and tinted windows.

  Heading south on I-405, he exited at Sunset Boulevard for Bel Air. Jack found a place to pull over and double checked everything. Off the main drag, he kept it slow on the residential streets of Bel Air. Koslov’s house was nice, but there were plenty in the affluent community that were way nicer and hidden away on large lots. Koslov’s house was closer to the road with a smaller lot. It made for an easy look-see.

  He approached the house; three men exited. A Mercedes was parked in the driveway. Jack’s radar registered the man in the middle had no choice about leaving. He continued down the road, but made a quick U-turn, headed back, catching the taillights. The Mercedes traveled south towards I-405 but turned north on Sepulveda Boulevard. They stayed off the freeway, which was fine with Jack. It made for an easier tail. Almost back to the airport, the Mercedes made a right and then a left, and a couple more turns heading into an industrial area where the streets were empty. He backed way off, keeping his distance until he saw the auto turn. Guessing they were close to their destination, Jack stopped and used his phone to get a detail of the area. Like he thought, they were in a warehouse district. He turned off the SUV’s lights and headed down the street. Up ahead, a light shined on the chain-linked gate that barricaded the entrance. High privacy stucco fences on both sides of the gate kept people from snooping. Not knowing if cameras were around, he put his vehicle in reverse and backed up until he felt comfortable making a U-turn. A cargo container trailer that had seen better days provided the perfect place to park.

  Jack scoured the area with his night vision binoculars but saw nothing that indicated a security system in place. Gang graffiti covered the stucco, yet the area didn’t scream gang turf, which had Jack wondering if it was all a cover. Ready to go, he left the truck and jogged along the brush up to the fence. He crept next to it, watching the light shine on the gate and turn off. He found the wire supplying the juice to the light and yanked it hard, damaging it.

  Should have had solar.

  The entrance gate was on an electronic keypad. Since he didn’t have the code, he snipped the top barbed wire at the very end and hopped the fence. He ran the short distance to where the Mercedes was parked by the loading docks and cement stairs that led up to the warehouse. It was always nice to know who he dealt with, so he snapped a photo of the license plate.

  Two other bays were to the left, and Jack chose the furthest set of stairs and picked the lock. Most warehouses were laid out in similar fashion, and he counted on this being the same. He entered a darkened hallway. A door to the right with a small window led into the warehouse portion. Jack studied the lay-out of the warehouse before entering. Low lights lit the perimeter of the inside. It appeared to be about a half a football field and empty. So where were the men?

  He turned the knob and it opened. Jack slipped inside and listened. Silence, but then he heard muffled screams, the kind that made his skin crawl. From the direction of the noise, Jack assumed offices were upstairs at the rear, and that must have been where the men had gone. Silently, he moved along the wall, circumventing the large building until he came to the stairs that were next to the elevator. Loud yelling in Russian echoed down to where he stood. He didn’t know Russian, but he knew anger, and these men were beyond angry. They were in for revenge.

  Jack located an identical set of stairs and elevator. Neither were good, too much exposure. He went looking for fire exit stairs and found them. Reaching the upper floor, he entered a dark foyer. Glassed offices lined the one wall. At the end of a long hall, a light shined, and shouting ensued. Jack worked his way through the offices, stopping in an area with a clear view of the victim.

  One heavily tattooed Russian had Koslov’s head jammed into an opened laptop, jerking him back and forth, screaming and sputtering at him. Koslov’s bloodied face resembled a raw steak just hacked off the side of steer. Jack had to hand it to him; he was as belligerent as the men who pounded the shit out of him. Something on that computer screen enraged all three of them. The only word he recognized was suka—bitch.

  Boss man never saw it coming, but Koslov’s knee came up and nailed him in the balls, sending him sprawling. Knowing what was going to come, Jack retreated back to the furthest office and took the outside stairs down. Screams echoed. If Koslov had been given a choice, right about now, Jack was sure he would have picked his method: a bullet to the head.

  Jack stood in the shadows and wa
tched two men leave the warehouse. Barely allowing the gate to open, they squealed through it, but something caught and it never closed. The Mercedes was long gone. He half expected them to return, so he waited forty-five minutes before venturing up to the second floor. Tied to a chair, Koslov slumped to the side, showing no sign of life, his face unrecognizable.

  “You sorry son of a bitch.”

  Koslov’s lip twitched.

  “Holy shit, you’re not dead.”

  A noise, somewhere between a groan and gasp escaped his lips. A bullet was too kind at this point.

  “Listen up asshole…” Jack had plenty to say and started, but then he changed his mind. He took his fist and with all his might, he landed one in the ribs, sending Koslov and the chair flying. “That was for Cassie.”

  Halfway down the hall, Jack stopped. He’d come here to do a job, and he needed to finish it for Cassie’s sake. Stepping back into the room, he stood over the body. Urine seeped out and puddled the floor around Koslov. At this point, he was certain the Russian was dead.

  Even though he felt no one was around, Jack was careful leaving the warehouse. He walked through the opened gate and sprinted to the SUV. He called the pilots to let them know he was on his way. Stopping a couple of miles away from Clay Lacey Aviation, he made an anonymous phone call reporting a possible kidnapping, detailing the Mercedes’s license and where they could locate the victim. He turned off the phone and headed to the airport. Jack parked in the same spot and handed the phone and keys to the pilot waiting at the locked front door.

  “Successful?”

  “Very.”

  Silently, they walked through the empty foyer to the hangar. The lineman had attached the tow bar to the jet and waited. Once inside the Citation, Jack buckled up, and the pilots briefed him. The lineman towed them out to the ramp, and they were good to go. Business was finished, and it was time to go home.