Rise: Luthecker, #2

by Keith Domingue

  It was by design, the idea of ever increasing scarcity. It was a necessary fiction in order to create the fundamental rule of supply and demand. It was simple—without scarcity, there could be no profit. And profit was all that mattered.

  But time was running out on this design, and Parks knew it. And he was aware that James Howe knew this to be true as well, regardless of the machinations of Coalition Properties. It was the only explanation for Howe to enlist Parks’ aide to begin with. Both Parks and Howe knew that there was only one answer left, only one way out available to those few who had the means, and that was control. Not just of resources but of people. But unlike Howe, Parks had a sense of destiny. He wanted his place alongside the greats—Alexander, Marcus Aurelius, Genghis Khan. Control was simply a means. And, somehow, Alex Luthecker was the key.

  Parks turned at the sound of his office door opening. It was David Two-Good.

  “He’s been spotted,” Two-Good said.

  “And the girl?”

  “No. Just him. Apparently he’s alone. The Russians are tracking. And they’re itchy to get their hands dirty.”

  “They’ll have their opportunity soon enough with the others. Did you make it clear to them that if they touch Alex Luthecker, or the girl, in any way, I will slit their throats personally and kill their entire families?”

  “Yes, sir. Very clear. They understood.”

  “Good. Is everything else ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s get this done,” Parks said as he exited his office, Two-Good right behind him.

  Alex walked the block of 120th at a fast pace, but not so fast as to arouse suspicion. With nothing but his Kali sticks strapped to his back, he could easily ditch the two lumbering hit men that trailed a block behind. He darted around a corner, knowing they would pick up their pace.

  It was decided when Alex left the abandoned Metro 417 terminal that it would require approximately two hours, using three vehicles, to move the thirty-eight refugees the seven mile distance from the 108th block to the terminal. They had given Alex a half an hour head start to get the attention of those who watched the Block. Once Yaw and Officers Rodriguez and Coleman scouted the area and confirmed all was clear, they would begin to move the people, as quietly as possible.

  To the protest of Nikki, Alex had insisted that he travel alone. Any diversion he would provide held the possibility of conflict, and Alex felt more comfortable if he was allowed to maneuver on his own. He felt it best if she helped with the refugees, knowing that there would be safety in numbers and the company of the LAPD officers. The group had agreed, but in the end knew it was Alex’s decision alone. Alex reassured Nikki that she had nothing to worry about; he had a great deal of experience being ghostlike, and if he did not want to get caught, it would not happen. After she reluctantly agreed, he kissed her goodbye and left Metro 17 in search of those who were staking out the Block.

  They had been easy to find. After a quick scouting route that took him over several rooftops and in and out of alleys, Alex found that there were only two of them, and they were sitting in a black Chevy Suburban that screamed private security. And as was common with security units, they made their presence known as a show of strength. As such, they were purposefully in plain sight, parked at a meter on 110th Street. Even though it was past 11pm and dark, Alex could tell by the shapes of their faces and small movements in the vehicle that the men were Slavic, Ukrainian specifically, both twenty-four years of age. Alex got their attention by simply crossing the street in front of them. They were out of their car and pursuing on foot in a matter of seconds.

  Alex stopped at the corner and checked his watch: 11:27pm. Winn, Nikki, Yaw, Chris, and the officers should complete the relocation in less than an hour. He heard the Russian men behind him, their footsteps first then their labored breathing. He smiled as he eyed a fire escape and proceeded to scale it toward the top of the building. As he waited for his pursuers, his smile disappeared as he felt yet another piercing sting shoot through his skull. It caused his knees to buckle. The pain was far worse than it had been in the past.

  Christ. Not now, Alex thought, as he instinctively put his fingers to his temples. His hands trembled, and he fought to control it. Then he remembered the gift that Kunchin had given him during his visit to Tibet, which he still carried in his pocket. He removed the small stone carving, Seng Ge the snow lion, from its resting place and focused on the stone creature to distract from the pain. He ran his fingers over the intricate lines that made up the animal’s face and felt the details that turned the stone into paws. He noted that it still felt warm in his hand and realized that the sensation helped soothe the tremors. He lifted his head at the sound of the Russian men approaching, hearing their footsteps first, then their breathing. He spotted them entering the alley below and made sure they saw him, before he quickly put the figure back in his pocket and sprinted across the rooftop.

  “What the hell?” Camilla whispered as she held a bundled and sleeping baby on her shoulder.

  “We’re clearing everybody out. And you need to take Kylie and clear out too,” Yaw told her.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Alex said we have to.”

  “What’s going on?” She looked back and forth between Yaw and Winn. “I want to stay. I want to help.”

  “You do that best by being eyes and ears on the outside,” Yaw told her, before he handed her a prepaid cell. “Find a hotel. Wait until you hear from me. Do you have enough cash?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Go now. If you need anything, or if anything happens…”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “I love you.” Yaw gave Camilla a kiss, before gently kissing his daughter on the forehead. “You too, little one. I’ll see you soon.” He looked up at Camilla. “Don’t forget your sticks.”

  “Grab your things. Come with us. We have to go,” Chris Aldrich said, as he stood at the door, looking inside the small apartment. He was met by the blank stares of three men and two women, all Cambodian. None of them moved. They did not understand English, but they understood tone, and in Chris’ words they sensed all-too-familiar danger.

  “Go with him.”

  Chris looked behind him to find Camilla, infant strapped across her chest, backpack and Kali sticks strapped across her back.

  The five Cambodians immediately sprang into action. Also very familiar with the need to act quickly in the face of danger, it took them less than two minutes to gather all that they needed in backpacks. They stood ready and looked at Camilla, the familiar face and matriarch of the Block, then at Chris, and waited.

  “I’m staying. You’re going to need my help with this,” Camilla said.

  “Right this way please, Mrs. Chen.” Officer Dino Rodriguez said to the frightened woman. He watched as she cradled her young sons, aged eight and twelve.

  “Don’t worry. Everything is fine. We just need to move you for now.” Everything will be okay,” the young officer reassured.

  Wary, she shepherded her young sons into the back of Rodriguez’s and Coleman’s police cruiser and followed them inside the car.

  Rodriguez carefully shut the passenger door of the Crown Victoria before turning to his partner. “I think you should stay here. Keep on the lookout. I’ll give the others a police escort, make it smooth and fast, three trips, and we’re done.” He nodded toward Yaw, loading up a late model Ford Explorer, and Chris Aldrich, loading up a perfectly- maintained twenty-year-old Honda Prelude.

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the old man.”

  Winn watched as Camilla, Yaw, Chris, and Joey Nugyen worked seamlessly as they organized the refugees to move. As the first group left, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash across his psyche.

  “I feel useless here,” Nikki said to him, snapping Winn from his thoughts. “What can I do to help?”


  Winn turned to Nikki. “Convince Camilla to leave.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Winn gave Nikki a brief smile. “You said you wanted to help.”

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” Phil Stoppard said, as he stood next to James Howe in Howe’s top floor Coalition Towers West office. Their eyes were locked on Howe’s desktop computer, which showed real-time satellite images of the 108th block section of Watts. They watched as a police cruiser led a Ford Explorer and a late model sedan, all filled with refugees, moved away from the block.

  “Why are we watching these people? Alex Luthecker is not with them.”

  Howe didn’t answer. He kept looking at the digitized images of people moving in an orderly fashion, and three vehicles, an SUV and small sedan led by a police cruiser, drive off, fully loaded with passengers.

  They’re bugging out, Howe thought to himself. What the hell is Parks’ plan?

  The phone in his pocket vibrated. Howe checked the call. It was the man himself. Howe answered.

  “Are you watching this?” Parks said.

  “Yes. I have concerns.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s all under control. You’ll have what you want soon. Enjoy the show.”

  Parks hung up before Howe could respond.

  “You know he’s toying with them. Leading them away,” Two-Good said to Parks, in reference to Luthecker. Two-Good and Parks had just arrived, and both men stood in an alley off of 109th Street, hidden in the darkness. The goings on of Safe Block were in clear view.

  “Perfect.” Parks took one last drag from a cigarette before dropping it to the pavement and crushing it out with his foot. He let out a huge breath of smoke as he watched the chain of three vehicles filled with refugees pull away.

  “Do you care where they’re taking these people?” Two-Good asked.

  “No. We’ll leave that to our Russian friends. Is everyone in place?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s get their attention.”

  Two-Good stooped down to a narrow, three-foot-long case at his feet. He flipped the latches and opened the cover. Inside, surrounded and well secured by form-fitting foam, was a rocket-propelled grenade launcher. Two-Good carefully removed the long, tube-shaped weapon from its case and clicked on the targeting switch. He calmly placed the RPG on his shoulder and aimed it at the refugee apartment complex that stood at the center of Safe Block.

  Two-Good took a deep breath then pulled the trigger.

  Alex turned and ducked behind a van parked along the street to catch his breath. His head felt like it was on fire, and it had taken all his strength to scale down the fire escape without falling. His headache was growing steadily worse unlike his headaches of the past. He took two more steps before clinging to the side of a parked vehicle to keep steady. Images raced through his pounding head—images of Kunchin, of Nikki, of Winn, of his friends, of Safe Block—but they were covered in a fog of pain, and he couldn’t make any sense of them.

  The one thing he knew for sure was that something was desperately wrong. He realized that he might pass out from the pain. His legs went unsteady, and he dropped to one knee.

  “Do not move.”

  Alex looked up to see Marcos Drugal and Andre Vasilevich standing over him, each pointing a Sig Sauer 9mm semiautomatic pistol at his head.

  “We have him. Now what do we do?” Vasilevich asked his partner in Russian.

  “We don’t let him move. We call for instructions,” Drugal said with a smile, happy that he found the elusive target. He holstered his gun and reached into his pocket for his cell phone, while Vasilevich kept both his gun and his eye on Alex.

  Alex shook his head to clear it, and focused hard on the Russian with the cell phone. His eyes moved back and forth with rabid intensity as he took in every detail of the man’s life.

  Marcos Drugal was twenty-four years old. He was born in the Cherkasy Oblast section of the Ukraine. He was nearsighted and wore thick glasses as a child, corrected by radial keratotomy when he was eighteen. He grew up in constant fear of his father, who drank heavily and beat him mercilessly. Marcos’ father killed people, and Marcos found this out on his ninth birthday. This knowledge influenced Drugal more than any other. He joined the Russian Army to escape, got in several altercations, and was dishonorably discharged. He raped a village girl when he was twenty, and no one ever knew. He was recruited at age twenty-two by an oil baron, who hired him for private security. Like his father, he had started drinking heavily. He moved to the United States. Now, he feared a brutal man whom he’d never met but was doing this man’s bidding. He was told nothing about Alex Luthecker, only that he was not to touch him in any way, he should watch him, and report. It was for his own protection.

  Alex’s jaw dropped in horror. He realized that he had made a huge mistake.

  In less than a second, Alex ripped the Kali sticks from his backpack, and swung with the one in his right hand, the stick hitting Vasilevich gun hand. The maneuver shattered every bone in Vasilevich wrist and the radial and ulna bones of his forearm.

  Before Vasilevich could utter his first scream, Alex spun three hundred and sixty degrees and cracked Drugal across the jaw with the stick he held in his left hand, shattering the bone in several places and knocking the Russian unconscious.

  By the time Drugal’s unconscious body hit the pavement, and Vasilevich’s wails began to echo through the nighttime air, Alex was gone, running as explosions rocked the air, flames shooting high in the direction he was running toward, the 108th.

  “Camilla, you have to go. Now.”

  “But they’ll only listen to me.”

  Nikki grabbed Camilla by the shoulders. “They already have. And they’re moving. It’s time for you to go.”

  “But—”

  “Think of the baby strapped across your chest.”

  Before Camilla could reply, the apartment building behind them exploded.

  Alex turned the corner onto the 108th just as the second RPG shell hit the main apartment complex of Safe Block. The concussion from the blast nearly knocked him off his feet. He instinctively shielded himself from debris, and then saw that the building was engulfed in flames. Bodies littered the street, refugees, most knocked to the ground from the blast. Several stumbled along the block, delirious, injured. Alex ran head long into the chaos.

  He saw Winn lying on the pavement, his head bleeding. Alex immediately went to his side and helped the martial arts master sit up.

  “We got them all out, Alex; we got them all out,” Winn said, trying to stand, still concussed from the blast.

  “Where’s Nikki?” Alex asked as he helped Winn to his feet. They both looked to the sky when they heard a helicopter flying overhead.

  Nikki helped Camilla to her feet. When the blast hit, Nikki’s body had shielded Camilla’s, and Camilla had managed to turn away in time to keep Nikki from running straight into the child strapped across her chest.

  “The baby—” Nikki screamed.

  Kylie let out a huge cry as Camilla quickly checked the infant for injuries.

  “She’s ok.”

  “Go—”

  Nikki didn’t have to say another word.

  Camilla ran, disappearing in the darkness.

  Nikki watched Camilla go. If there was anyone who could survive on the street at night, it was Camilla. Now it was time to help the injured and try to make sense of what was happening. Nikki turned toward the blast site and she saw movement from the corner of her eye. Something struck her head, and everything went black.

  Alex saw it happen, less than five hundred feet away from him. He reacted, sprinting as fast as he could toward Nikki, toward the two men dragging her unconscious body into the side of a van. But he was too late. She was inside the van and the doors were closed before he could reach them. As he watched the van drive away, he let out a scream.

  Part II

  KARMA

  14

  Board of Directors />
  “He burned down three buildings in the middle of Los Angeles,” Glen Turner said as he looked over the seven-member board of Coalition Properties, before his eyes settled on the man seated at the head of the long glass table, James Howe. Turner, a small, severe-featured man with a thick head of black hair, was in his mid forties, and, save for Howe, was the youngest director on the board. “We’re lucky no one was killed,” he finished.

  Howe said nothing. He knew the others would want their say, and he would address their concerns only after everyone had said their piece.

  “And what about the girl? He kidnapped her in front of witnesses. What if this gets back to us?” Turner continued.

  After Turner spoke, all eyes turned to Howe. Howe looked over the board and it was clear that Turner was speaking for the others, and from the look on their collective faces only the final question truly mattered.

  Howe assessed the men that made up the directors of Coalition Properties. They ranged in age from forty-four to seventy-nine, and Glenn Turner was habitually the most vocal, and it was the eldest, Collin Smith, seated at the far end of the polished oak boardroom table, who spoke the least.

  “It cannot get back to us,” Howe said. “That was in part the reason I enlisted him in the first place. As far as anyone outside of this boardroom can tell, he has no relationship with Coalition Properties whatsoever. The court records show that his release from prison was based on a legal technicality. The records are also sealed per an agreement between the FISA courts and his lawyers. And there is little evidence Lucas Parks had anything to do with the fires in Watts. The police are already referring to it as a “gang related incident,” including the kidnapping, and I assure you, that’s where the investigation will end.”