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The Mile Marker Murders

Page 26

by C. W. Saari


  “Will do. And there’s another thing. Derek Barnes finished going through all of Terry Hines’s contacts. He doesn’t think there’s any foreign connection or co-conspirators, but Hines did send several e-mails to an Andre Neff in Vienna, Austria. Derek couldn’t dig up anything on him. Since Hines is still a fugitive, it’s possible he could reach out to anyone. Do you want me to research this Neff character?”

  “Yes,” Bannister said. “It could be important.” Was it possible the Andre Neff they were investigating was identical to this Andre Neff that Hines had contacted? Another coincidence? “Would you call me immediately with your results?” he asked.

  “For you, absolutely.”

  Bannister gave Germaine the office number and waited for the fax. In five minutes he held in his hand the list of names. One of the two CIA representatives was Caleb Williamson. From the NSA was Stacy DiMatteo. One of the two DIA representatives was Francis Gillespie. If a mole had given this list to Kuznetsov, it might explain how he was selecting his targets.

  His eyes traveled to the name from the FBI.

  Special Agent Lisa Jessup. He had to look at it twice. He knew Lisa Jessup—she worked on one of the Russian squads. And she was meeting Robin that afternoon to show her the townhome she hoped to rent to her while on assignment in Los Angeles.

  Andre didn’t know if he was being followed, but today he wasn’t taking any chances. He used all his training inside the mall. He looked at reflections from store windows. He walked into a bookstore and went to a far corner where he picked up a book. Looking over the top of it, he tried to see if there was anyone inside the store who wasn’t browsing. He left the bookstore and entered a women’s lingerie shop and casually looked at intimate apparel for ten minutes before leaving. He’d carefully planned his exit from the mall.

  When he ducked out the mall’s side door, he immediately walked fifty feet to the entrance of the parking garage. Glancing back, he saw no one was following him. He walked through the dimly lit lower level of the garage and out a side entrance near Glebe Road. He walked briskly one block to Wilson Boulevard. He timed it so he caught the light green with the walk signal flashing.

  A half block further on the opposite side of Wilson Boulevard was Christophe’s Florist. Andre walked in and looked out the front window. Seeing no one following him, he ordered a dozen roses. Andre declined the clerk’s offer of a box. He paid cash for the flowers, pushed open the large glass door, and went to his left. As he turned the corner, he put his knapsack down on the top of a newspaper box, using it as a table. He took out a Macy’s Department store shopping bag he had picked up the week before when scouting his route. The flowers fit neatly inside. So far, so good. It was 3:55 p.m.

  Five minutes later he was at the entrance to Keystone Mill Commons where there were sixteen townhouses, eight on each side. His target’s home was the last one on the left. He walked down the sidewalk until he came to the end. He stopped briefly, placed the Macy’s bag by his feet, and looked around. He saw no one outside. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a brown baseball cap, which had FTD in yellow block letters. He’d had the lettering done at a tee-shirt store the previous weekend. He switched this hat with the Redskins baseball cap he’d been wearing and stuffed that one into his knapsack. He lifted out the bouquet of roses and folded the shopping bag, putting it, too, inside his knapsack. He unzipped his jacket, felt his gun, and adjusted his cap. Satisfied, he walked up the six brick steps of the end unit and rang the bell.

  “I couldn’t find the office directory listing the agents’ phone and pager numbers,” Bannister said. Roger Bell was still glued to the computer monitor.

  “This must be your lucky day. It’s right here. I was just using it.”

  “You going to be here a little longer?”

  “I was planning on leaving at five. Why?” Bell asked.

  “Maybe I’m getting a little paranoid about this case, but I’ve got to check something in Arlington. If everything pans out, I’ll call you in half an hour.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The numbers for both Dwight and Lisa Jessup were listed. First, Bannister called Lisa’s cell number and got her voicemail. He then called the home number and got their answering machine. She might not be home yet, he thought. This wasn’t going as smoothly as he wanted. And the more he thought about it, the less he liked it. He decided to drive out to the Jessup’s residence. He wanted to talk to her about the list and the intelligence assignment Germaine had faxed.

  Before leaving the office, Bannister called the technical supervisor for an update. Their subject was still unaccounted for and teams were watching his car. Bannister copied down phone numbers he might need and headed downstairs to the office’s underground garage. He’d call Doug Gordon after meeting with Lisa Jessup.

  During the past eight days, Andre had intercepted and recorded a dozen cell phone calls to Lisa Jessup’s number. He knew her schedule for this Saturday. He knew she would be expecting a visitor within thirty minutes. That visitor was the second half of his plan.

  The townhouse door opened a crack in response to his knock. Andre saw the brass security chain, and peering from behind it, a white female with short, brunette hair. She had an expressionless look on her face and quickly took in Andre’s appearance, her eyes shifting upward for a second at the yellow “FTD” on his baseball cap.

  Andre smiled. “Afternoon, ma’am. Flowers from Dwight. I need to get a signature.”

  She unfastened the chain and opened the door.

  “You might want to put these on the counter first,” Andre said.

  “Sorry. Sure. Step inside.”

  Lisa took the flowers and turned around to walk the few steps to her kitchen counter. Andre reached behind and slowly closed the door. He noticed she was wearing a white sweatshirt, blue jeans, and was barefoot. She wasn’t carrying anything. When Lisa turned around, beaming, she saw a black automatic aimed at her heart.

  “Who are you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “What do you want?”

  Andre had thought this through. He didn’t want this agent to think he was planning to rape her or kill her. He didn’t want her screaming or making a run for her gun, which he knew was probably close by.

  “I came for some papers Dwight has. They’re important to my people.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Dwight doesn’t have any papers here. You must have the wrong person.”

  “No, he’s the right person. It’s something he couldn’t tell you about until you both were in Los Angeles. I know he’s there now.”

  Andre could see the look of bewilderment in Lisa’s eyes. He was enjoying this, playing with her mind. “I know you’re both FBI agents,” he said. “As soon as I find what I’m looking for, I’ll leave. I’m not going to hurt you, but I have to tie you up. Cooperate with me and there won’t be any problems. I’m not going to gag you. But don’t even think about screaming or I won’t hesitate to shoot. Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

  Lisa did as he ordered.

  “Get down on your knees,” Andre said forcefully.

  He waited until she complied. “Now, cross your legs in back. I’m going to handcuff you, so just follow my commands.”

  While Lisa was on her knees, staring into the rungs of a kitchen chair, Andre reached into a side pocket of his backpack where he had three hypodermic needles. Quietly holstering his gun, he carefully removed one syringe and moved quickly to Lisa’s side. With his left hand, he pressed down on top of her interlaced hands. With his right he stabbed the needle into her neck.

  A loud, slow moan was the only sound Lisa made as she fell face-forward. Her head thudded into the living room carpet.

  The room was quiet.

  Andre pulled on his thin leather driving gloves, walked back to the front door and turned the deadbolt, relocking the door. Looking at his watch, he figured he had about fifteen minutes before the visitor arrived. He grabbed the unconscious body of L
isa Jessup by her feet and dragged her into one of the bedrooms in back and closed the door. She wasn’t going anywhere. Walking back into the living room, he glanced at the kitchen table and saw a lot of paperwork and a calculator. It looked like Agent Jessup was paying bills before traveling to Los Angeles. Andre put his backpack to the side of the front door and eased himself into a comfortable chair facing the door.

  Robin didn’t like being early, and she hated being late. She liked to arrive right on time for appointments. At 4:25 p.m. she pulled in front of Lisa Jessup’s town home. She glanced up and saw the numbers on the door. With the Jeep still running, she turned the visor down and flipped up the lighted mirror. She touched up her lipstick before getting out of the car.

  A minute later she rang the bell and was surprised when a man answered the door.

  “Hi, I’m Dwight Jessup,” he said. “Are you the young lady who’s interested in renting our house?”

  “That’s right. I’m Robin Mikkonen.” Robin held out her hand and the man shook it. He was wearing gloves. “I thought you were in L.A.”

  “I was just getting ready to leave. Lisa’s in back changing. She’ll be right out.” He pointed to a chair. “Do you know what you’re going to be working once you get to the Washington office?”

  Before Robin could answer, the phone in the kitchen rang. After three rings and no movement from her host, Robin asked, “Do you want to get that?”

  “No. Let it ring. We’ve been getting some nuisance calls lately.”

  “Lisa, this is Special Agent Ty Bannister.” Robin heard the familiar voice come over the answering machine. “When you get this message, please call the Operations Center right away. Have them patch you through either to me or Doug Gordon. It’s important.”

  Robin didn’t even have time to think about why Ty would be calling Lisa Jessup when her cell phone started ringing.

  “Excuse me for a second. I need to get that,” she said reaching into her purse.

  “Let it ring.”

  She looked up to see a gun pointed at her.

  After four rings, the phone stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Robin asked. “Where’s Lisa?”

  Bannister thought Kuznetsov was their guy. He was the killer. Everything fit. He matched the profile. He had been there in Vienna with Cal and Lillian Wells. He’d had a relationship with Wells. He was a tennis player, a professional intelligence officer, and a man with a cover that gave him freedom of movement. He had met Sparky Gillespie. Now Sparky was dead, too. Kuznetsov had a storage locker. He could have killed them there. Something had triggered Kuznetsov’s violence. His brother was killed by an American missile. If Lillian Wells had given him HIV, it meant an American had issued him a death sentence, too. Maybe that had caused him to snap. Somehow he’d gotten a hold of a specific list of American intelligence operatives and was using that as a death list.

  Bannister backed off the accelerator, realizing he was doing fifty in a thirty-five mile zone. He was growing increasingly agitated. Lisa Jessup’s name was on the list, same as Cal’s. And Robin would be meeting with Jessup right about now. And Kuznetsov had given his tail the slip—no telling where he was, or what he was doing.

  Bannister didn’t like the situation at all.

  He re-checked the address for Jessup’s residence. Her unit was on the far end. He saw Robin’s Jeep parked in front as he backed into the row on the other side. He called her cell phone as he walked toward the steps. It was irritating to him, hearing her voicemail again. She probably didn’t want to be interrupted during her tour.

  Just as he was about to ring the doorbell, Bannister heard Robin’s voice inside, strong, demanding: “Where’s Lisa?”

  Something was wrong.

  He drew his gun and stepped to the side of the landing away from the peephole. He rang the doorbell and waited. No response. He rang the bell again. He had to get whoever was in there to open the door.

  “Lisa, it’s me, Adam. Come on, open up. It’s cold out here. I’ve got your package.” He didn’t want to identify himself, and he counted on Robin recognizing his voice and realizing he knew she was in danger.

  “We’re going to the door.” Robin felt the heat of his breath in her ear. “Tell whoever it is that Lisa’s sick. You’re a friend from the office and might have to take her to the emergency room.” He had Robin’s left arm pinned in a hammerlock behind her and the gun pressed into her back. As Robin turned the deadbolt, she noticed the security chain was unfastened.

  “Hi,” said Bannister. “Where’s Lisa?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s sick. I’m Robin. I work with her.”

  “That’s too bad. She called me earlier and asked if I’d stop by the management office and pick up a package for her.” Robin’s eyes quickly darted to her left. Bannister shoved the door open with his left shoulder and spun to the right, rushing into the middle of the room. The force threw Robin and Kuznetsov back into the wall. Bannister’s gun was in his right hand alongside his leg. Kuznetsov recovered in a second. He switched his left arm around Robin’s neck and was standing behind her with his gun aimed at her right temple.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said to Bannister.

  “Where’s Lisa?” Bannister asked, knowing he had a couple of seconds. He didn’t think Kuznetsov knew he was holding a gun behind his right thigh.

  “She’s resting,” Andre said with a smirk on his face. Robin didn’t take her eyes off Bannister.

  “I have a word for you,” Bannister said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Bahldung!”

  Kuznetsov frowned, trying to decipher what it meant, but Bannister saw that Robin instantly recognized the TaeKwonDo word for “instep.” She stomped her heel into the top of Kuznetsov’s foot and dropped to the floor.

  Bannister raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

  The room was rocked by three blasts. Pain seared Bannister’s chest, spinning him sideways. The Russian must have gotten off a shot. As Bannister lost his balance and slammed into the floor, he knew he’d squeezed off a second shot. He gasped and pushed back the pain that was engulfing his consciousness. He looked through the cloud of smoke that hung in the air and saw the body slumped against the wall. He could see that one of his rounds had struck Kuznetsov through the right eye. A second had smashed into his neck.

  Robin jumped to her feet, screaming, “Oh, God, Ty, you’ve been shot.”

  Bannister asked, “Are you all right?”

  Robin rushed over to him as he sat up in the middle of the floor, bleeding from a wound below his left armpit.

  “I’ve got to call 9-1-1,” Robin yelled.

  “No! Wait a minute. Listen to me.” He spoke slowly and firmly. “I’ll make the call. Let’s find Lisa. Can you help me up?”

  With Robin’s assistance, Bannister got to his feet and saw the closed bedroom door. With gun still in hand, he kicked it open. Lisa Jessup was lying on her stomach on the floor. He knelt down and detected a weak and rapid pulse.

  “She’s alive. He must have drugged her.”

  “Ty, why did Dwight Jessup want to kill us?”

  “That’s not Jessup. That’s Andre Kuznetsov. He’s our serial killer.”

  He could tell nothing was registering with Robin. Their ears were still ringing because of the gunshots. The smell of gunpowder and blood clogged the warm air. His left side was starting to hurt like hell. He wanted to get Robin focused. He wasn’t worried about himself, but he didn’t want her going into some kind of shock. “Whatever you do, don’t touch your face with your hands,” he said to her. “You have blood splatter from Andre in your hair and all over your back. He may have AIDS. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to make some calls,” he said

  “We’ve got to stop the bleeding, Ty. I’m going to go find a towel.”

  He laid his gun down and groaned with pain as he shed his leather coat. He saw the hole near his left armpit. “
I believe it’s a through-and-through shot,” he murmured, as Robin ran back in the room with a towel. She wrapped it tightly under his arm and over his shoulder.

  He called 9-1-1.

  “This is Special Agent Tyler Bannister with the FBI. There’s been a law enforcement officer shooting at 111 Keystone Mill Commons, Arlington. An intruder has been shot. He’s dead.” Bannister took a second to catch his breath. “I have a bullet wound to my upper chest. Another agent is unconscious. I believe the intruder injected her with a drug overdose, probably Percocet or Seconal.”

  “I copied that. Your call registers to a cell phone. Is there a landline at that location?”

  “Yes.” Bannister pulled the card out of his coat pocket and read the Jessup’s home number to the operator. She told him an ambulance and police were responding.

  In the knapsack beneath Andre’s crumpled legs, Bannister found three syringes. One was empty. The autopsy reports of the victims had been burned into his memory. He walked over and collapsed in one of the kitchen chairs. “Robin, would you press the towel on both sides? We have about five minutes to wait.”

  Bannister called Doug Gordon. “Where are you?”

  “At home in my den. Why?”

  “Have you got something to write on?”

  “Yeah, what’s going on?”

  “I’m at the residence of one of your agents—Lisa Jessup—it’s complicated. I’ll explain later. Kuznetsov’s dead. I had to shoot him.”

  “Jesus, Ty! What are you talking about? Are you all right?”

  “He got off a round and hit me once. I’m bleeding but I should be okay. The police and ambulance will be here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Am I missing something here?” Gordon’s tone was sending a clear message. Robin folded the towel over and again pressed the ends against his wound. The bleeding was slowing. Bannister winced but didn’t say anything.

  “I was going to call after talking with Lisa Jessup. Before I could do that all hell broke loose. You’ve got to trust me a little longer on this. Here’s what has to be done. Just listen and write.”

 

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