Seibel came around the corner less than five minutes later. From this distance, about 300 yards, Lance couldn’t really make out the look on his face, but he was sure he saw a little frustration. It took Seibel about 20 seconds to make it to his car. He spotted the piece of paper on his windshield and stopped to look in all directions before grabbing it. He pulled the receipt off the glass and looked around.
Seibel opened the door and got in his car. Lance took his cue and turned toward the phone booth about 75 yards away across 6th Street. He was pleased to see that no one was on the phone, but wouldn’t have minded keeping Seibel waiting with a busy signal for a few minutes.
Lance arrived at the phone and expected it to be ringing already. It wasn’t and didn’t ring for another four minutes. Strange. He stepped away from the phone toward a crowded bus stop 60 feet away. The phone rang and Lance took the few steps back over to it. A few people gathered round the bus stop looked up in curiosity at the ringing. But he noticed some of the folks nearby didn’t look up because they were already looking at him. Uh-oh.
Preacher picked it up after the second ring.
“Look to your south and east across E Street.” The voice was not Seibel’s. “See the gentlemen with the black cap?” Preacher stepped back from the phone booth and looked at the man in jeans, blue denim jacket and black ball cap with a big yellow Pittsburg Pirates “P.” The guy was looking right at him. Preacher still had the phone to his ear as the voice spoke again.
“Now turn around and look at the two men sitting on the building steps.”
Preacher turned to see two men in business suits with ties loosened. From this close, he could see the matching earpieces each had in their right ears. Both just looked at him with expressions unchanged.
Preacher kept his eyes on them as he spoke into the phone. “Any more?”
“About six. All within 200 yards of your location.” The faceless voice at the other end of the line waited for his next question. A city bus pulled up to the curb on E Street. The assembled mass cued up to get aboard. Lance looked at the bus then back to the two gents on the steps. They both stood up as if prompted by sounds in their ears. His mind raced.
The voice spoke again, “You could get on that bus, but our people would just get on with you.”
“But at least I’d be moving. A moving target is tougher to hit.” Preacher replied.
“It’s very likely that a D.C. Metro police patrol car with another patrol in support would stop that bus very soon to detain and if necessary arrest a suspect in a recent robbery or maybe it’s a homicide.”
“Don’t they need a warrant for that?” The line to get on the bus was moving quickly now. He would have to move within 10 seconds to get on.
“Not really. Not when national security is a concern.”
“National security? What did I do to threaten national security?”
“There are lots of things one can do to place the security of our great nation in danger.” Sarcasm tinged the voice on the phone.
The line at the bus was down to two people. The two suits on the steps took several steps toward the bus just in case Preacher bolted for it. The last bus rider was about to step on the bus but then turned back to look at Preacher. It was a black woman and surprise, surprise -- she had an earpiece in her right ear. Preacher looked from her to the two suits now only steps from him. He then glanced to his right and to no one’s surprise, saw another nice looking guy in slacks, sports coat and black earpiece.
The bus pulled away from the curb.
“What now?” Preacher asked.
But just as quickly as the bus pulled away, up pulled a silver Mercedes with Seibel behind the wheel.
“Looks like your ride is here.” The disembodied voice was probably attached to a man with a smile on his face. They had him. “No scenes, no funny stuff Lance.”
The passenger side window rolled down and Seibel’s smiling face greeted him.
“What if I don’t get in?” Preacher spoke quietly into the phone.
“Just get in.” The voice was a little gruff.
With that, Preacher hung up the phone and whistled as loud as he could. In seconds, six men approached from different directions. Unlike the well-dressed men in suits and earpieces, each of these gentlemen sported black jeans and flattop black heads. Each had various amounts of gold around their necks and each obviously carried weapons under baggy clothes.
“Whadup G?” One of the men shouted from the middle of 6th Street. “We ain’t got no problem do we now?” He raised his arms in the air and beckoned each of his friends to take a position at the perimeter of the corner. One stood just off the bumper of Seibel’s Mercedes. Another stood just behind the guy in the blue sports coat. Another stood on the sidewalk behind the black woman. Each of the young men kept one hand tucked in clothing, gripping firearms.
“Don’t really know G.” Preacher affected an accent that sounded part Long Island, part Boston. “Like I said, I knew some folks was after me, but I didn’t know they was fake fuzz.”
“Fake fuzz. You got that down. These ain’t cops. You can tell by the threads. No cops got suits that nice. These here look like feds, but like you said, you ain’t done nothin wrong so the feds can’t just grab you.”
Lance moved from the phone toward the two suits. His walk had a definite saunter to it. Just a step away from them, he could tell by the blinking of their eyes they were getting messages in their earpieces. “I think these boys don’t want any kind of a scene out here G. I think they probably want to turn and walk away real quick like, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, that’s right. If they ain’t got no warrant and no cops backing them up then they ain’t got cause and need to step off.” The gang leader made his way into the center of the scene a few steps behind Preacher and only a few paces from the Mercedes.
Preacher turned to see Seibel talking on his phone. He spoke a few terse words into the receiver and hung up.
Preacher yelled at Seibel, “Hey man, that’s a no parking zone. You know you gonna get yourself a ticket hombre.”
As Seibel got out of his car, his jacket flapped open to reveal the gun holstered under his right armpit. His demeanor was now totally different from the multiple personas Preacher had encountered in Dallas or on the phone. Seibel walked past the young black gangster standing at his rear bumper and past the ringleader to Preacher. His smile now gone.
“Another excellent job Lance.” He was within two feet of Preacher and spoke in a low voice just above a whisper.
“How’s that?” Preacher tilted his head.
“This little circus; I assume you found your friends on some street corner and paid them a little tip to join in on some fun with folks in authority?”
Preacher smiled and looked over Seibel’s shoulder to TJ, the gang’s leader. “These fools think they got everything figured out man. They think you all are a street corner gang.”
TJ replied, “Oh I been on a few corners and this one right here just happens to be one of ours, especially after 6 p.m. You know we charge a permit fee to assemble here.”
Preacher laughed and turned back to Seibel. “What do you think about that? You all are going to have to pay a little tax for your show here Seibel.”
“How much?”
“TJ, what’s the goin rate for a… circus? I think that is the word for this.”
“This here looks like at least a $200 circus. That sound right boys?” TJ turned to his gang and received general agreement if not a plea for a higher fee.
Seibel just smiled and laughed. He then looked to each of his team members and nodded at each. “Lance, you do not fail to surprise at every turn.”
“Thanks, I try.”
Seibel leaned in close and TJ took a step closer. The gang leader was now invested in this deal. Seibel whispered in Preacher’s ear. “You have some very unique skills Preacher.”
“Something is either unique or not. There are no degrees of uniqueness.” Preach
er whispered back.
“That’s your mother talking.”
Lance just looked at him and squinted. The fact that Seibel knew about his mother’s nasty habit of correcting others’ misspoken words and statements should have surprised him.
“What now?” Lance raised his eyebrows.
“Now you get in the car with me and we go get some dinner.”
“And then I sleep with the fishes?”
Seibel laughed again. “No, even worse.”
“Worse?”
“You join the Army, Private Priest.”
“But dinner first right?” Lance asked.
“Right.” Seibel smiled.
“Can TJ and his boys come along?” Lance asked.
Seibel turned from Lance and his demeanor once again changed completely. He was truly a chameleon. He put a broad smile on his face and raised his hands up above his shoulders and lowered them slightly. It was a signal. With that, each member of his team turned and walked from the corner. The two suits split; the woman headed east on E Street. The sports coat turned north on 6th and got into a car idling at the curb that Lance had seen but not included in mix.
Seibel turned toward TJ and reached slowly to his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. From it he pulled several bills.
“Thank you for the use of your corner sir.” He spoke in a cockney accent. Damn funny.
TJ didn’t take the money right away. He looked to Lance. “Looks like show’s over hombre. You cool?”
“All our friends are leaving.” The streetwise urban accent Lance had affected moments ago was gone as well. “Thanks for your help.”
TJ took the money from Seibel and stuffed it in his pocket. “If you say its cool brother.”
Lance laughed. “Don’t know about cool. But I guess I’m gonna get some dinner out of the deal.”
“Make sure you get a good steak and order two bottles of champagne. Let the feds spend a pretty penny on you.” Lance and his new gang leader friend took a step toward each other and shook hands. It seemed like Lance’s handshake had a little more soul in it than TJ’s. “Keep it cool my brother.”
“Cool and easy G.” Lance clasped TJ’s hand in both his and laughed. TJ’s walk away from them was pure street. He had worked on it for years. Lance and Seibel stepped over to his Mercedes. Just then a police cruiser pulled up behind Seibel’s Mercedes with lights flashing. Seibel waived at the officer and hopped in. Lance got in the passenger side.
Seibel put it in gear and turned to him. “Why do I think this police car isn’t just here because of my illegal parking?”
“I’m sure Officer Salinas back there has been watching all this fun from a safe distance.” Lance replied.
“Officer Salinas?”
“He’s originally from Jacksonville, Florida and has a son starting at defensive end for an Alexandria high school team as a sophomore. He’s already thinking college, SEC schools are watching him.”
“Nice.” Seibel turned back to the road and his driving, but the smile stayed on his face.
Lance smiled too. He had no idea who the police officer in the car behind them was. He’d never met him, never seen him before. But details make all the difference to a good lie.
Chapter 17
This operation took only 17 days, instead of 11 weeks.
Marta pulled the trigger of her Glock and the man’s right foot exploded. He collapsed to the ground screaming and moaning. Still trying to catch his breath.
She and Nir, her closest confidant in this new life as a rogue KGB operative, had chased the man across a bridge, through four apartment buildings and into this alcove next to the Sava River in Belgrade. It was 3:14 a.m. Their chase lasted a half hour and covered some very picturesque properties. But none of them had stopped to take in the beauty.
His name was Jordan Ostrovic and he had run from Marta because she knew what he’d done. He’d sold Soviet secrets to the west. Ostrovic knew his jig was up the instant Marta, instead of his contact, showed up at the designated location. He didn’t know, couldn’t know because it had just happened, his contact would never meet anyone ever again. His head now had a couple of extra holes.
Upon seeing her, Ostrovic took off into the dark. Marta and Nir expected this and had worked out their plan to split up in advance. Marta tracked Jordan from the west side of Branko’s Bridge south along the banks of the Sava. Nir took a route up above them on the street to cut off the KGB double agent.
A Belgrade native, Ostrovic knew his way along the trail and into a series of low buildings nearby. He crossed a dimly lit street just ahead of Nir with Marta trailing. She motioned for Nir to stay to the right as they approached an intersection. She veered left to stay with Ostrovic. The KGB mole turned a corner 50 feet ahead of Marta. She could see him slow too much for the turn so she took a wide berth that brought her into the middle of the street as she reached a point where she could see around the corner. She dove to the pavement and rolled just as he fired four shots at her. Still rolling, she returned fire. With neither of their guns silenced, the quiet calm of the early morning was shattered.
Ostrovic was up and running a second later. She took off after him. His route took him into an apartment commons with four buildings stacked next to each other in the finest 1960s Soviet architectural style. Ostrovic ran into one and considered hitting the stairs, but Nir entered from another direction forcing him back out into the night. Marta came upon him then and was taking aim when he fired three shots at her, barely missing. He was a good, capable agent, at least in a firefight.
He took advantage of her dive behind a short wall to turn back into the darkness near the river. Nir was now closest to him as they left streetlights behind. Nir hung back on purpose. Ostrovic had already proven his ability to fire his weapon. Nir wondered whether the KGB turncoat had a spare clip with him or if he was down to just a few bullets?
Marta gambled that Ostrovic would turn south again when he reached the river so she broke off in that direction which put Nir and the man he was chasing hundreds of yards away. She was nearing the riverbank when she heard three more shots fired. They weren’t far away, maybe 150 yards to the north. She turned in that direction and took a few steps before plastering herself to a wall, blending her dark coat and pants with the shadow.
In the darkness, her mind wandered for a few moments. She thought about love for some reason. At 26, Marta still had her virginity intact. Not because she despised the act or even the thought of sex, no, she had refused to give anyone, any man, a semblance of power over her life.
She enjoyed the company of men and certainly thought she would have found a good partner to share her love with by now, but had been disappointed every single time she laid down her rules to those she was close to accepting.
Every time, every single time, she had gotten the same response. The look of fear in their eyes was unmistakable and all too predictable as she let them know any betrayal afterward would be met, not merely with death, but slow, painful agony followed by slow but certain loss of life. The first time she asked this of a man was at the age of 17 while at school in a Moscow suburb. The 19-year-old boy didn’t even try to hide his fear. He ran from the room and let it be known throughout the university that Marta was unhinged, dangerous even. She had embraced this reputation and found the respite from boys’ advances quite peaceful. It wasn’t long afterward that she earned the same reputation from the girls at the school after setting one of them straight on her relational needs. She had let the girl kiss her and then taken a small bite of the young lesbian’s ear along with a stud earring for payment.
Her values had not changed over the years. Love was something she had yet to experience. In its place she had drive, persistence, creativity. She believed she had done so well in her profession precisely because she did not have the encumbrances of relationships weighing her down. What she lacked in love and empathy she made up for in ingenuity.
Her gamble paid off. Ostrovic came running toward her on t
he path beside the river. She could easily put a bullet in his head as he ran under a lone streetlight. But she needed him alive, at least for a few minutes. When he was within a few paces, Marta stepped out while crouching and simply stuck her leg into his path. He tripped over her and hit the ground hard. Before he could recover, she was on him kicking him viciously in the gut and putting her boot onto his neck with gun aimed at his head. She could see him think about pointing his gun up at her, but she would surely drill him with a bullet clean through his forehead before he could get his gun in position.
“Drop it.” She said it in Russian, knowing full well this Serbian spoke the language. He complied. A few moments later, Nir rolled up on them. For good measure, he kicked Ostrovic in the mouth, obviously not happy about being shot at earlier.
Nir grabbed the double agent’s gun and pointed it at him as Ostrovic got to his feet holding a hand over his bleeding mouth. He struggled to pull oxygen into his lungs.
“Where is it?” Marta didn’t go into details with her question.
Between breaths, Ostrovic replied, “I threw it in the river back on the bridge when I saw you.”
She laughed at him. “So funny. You just threw away your only bargaining chip. Not likely Jordan.”
“I did. I tossed it in the water.”
“You’re wasting our time. Do you just want me to shoot you and get this over with?” Marta stepped closer, the gun just a foot away from the man’s face.
“No, wait. Please, I have children.” Ostrovic went all soft, like most men do.
“You should have thought of them before you passed secrets to the French and long before you started dealing with the Americans. You sentenced your offspring to a life without a father, at least until your beautiful widow marries another man to provide for her children and warm her bed.” Marta was cruel and direct as usual. She had never met Ostrovic before tonight, but had done her research on his personal, as well as professional life.
The Perfect Candidate: A Lance Priest / Preacher Thriller (No. 1) Page 12
