by Brian Drake
The War Business
A Sam Raven Thriller
Brian Drake
The War Business: A Sam Raven Thriller
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2021 Brian Drake
Wolfpack Publishing
5130 S. Fort Apache Rd. 215-380
Las Vegas, NV 89148
www.wolfpackpublishing.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-64734-749-9
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-64734-751-2
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
If You Liked This, You May Enjoy: Skills to Kill
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About the Author
The War Business
This fourth Sam Raven adventure is dedicated to our cat, Buster, who walks across my keyboard in an effort to improve my books (it’s actually his way of guaranteeing my attention when he wants food).
So far has only managed to type lines like:
xcsgdhyrfutgikhojkiutrdkvgyublfjnioegtbkdmh;
Wegfdftyrt678iolkjhgtr5678;
and
ghjk987654edfghjcvbhytre34567890plkjhgfds.
Sometimes he hits an unknown combination resulting in my laptop freezing haha. Always back up your work!
Of course, looking at the example above, he might be onto something…
1
Sam Raven stifled a grunt and arched his back. The rope binding his wrists tightened. The woman behind him laughed. She was having way too much fun.
“Does it hurt?” the woman said. “I’d hate to think I’m losing my touch.”
“Feels like a massage.” Raven gritted his teeth. “I actually have an itch on my back. Since you’re in the neighborhood?” She jerked the ropes again and Raven groaned audibly.
“Think you’re funny?”
“I’m hilarious,” he said.
“Your imaginary friends agree.”
“They’re not all bad, you know.”
The top edge of the chair dug into his back and made sitting without squirming difficult. He fought the urge to shift. Nothing would make him comfortable for the time being. The strain in his right shoulder and upper back grew with each passing second.
Zenya had tied the rope well.
“Tight as I could make it,” the Russian woman said as she stepped in front of Raven. “You should feel numb in a few minutes.”
“Can’t wait.” Raven tugged once for show and tugged again to see exactly how screwed he was. He was strapped like a mattress in the bed of a pickup. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Great.
The only other man in the room watched from the corner. Zenya looked at the other man. He left the corner and joined her.
They made an odd pair in the low light of the storage room. The bulb over Raven’s head shined bright, highlighting them as well as the boxes of booze stacked in the room.
The man said, “You have interfered with our plans for the last time, Mr. Raven.”
“You can kill me right now,” Raven said, “if you’re going to throw B-movie lines at me. I expected more from you, Yuri.”
“How I tell you we are done with you is my business.” The stocky Russian, shorter than the woman beside him, thumped his broad chest. He dyed his hair black but forgot about his mustache; it showed flecks of gray.
“Those diamonds do not belong to you,” Raven said.
“You are as much a mercenary as I. You want them for yourself.”
“No, the family you stole from hired me to get the diamonds back.”
“And since you have failed, they lose the diamonds and the cash they paid you. Isn’t Mr. Raven unlucky, Zenya?”
“Total jinx. He’s an idiot. A moron. A complete and useless—”
“You’ve made your point, my darling,” the stocky Russian said. He turned back to Raven. “And you. You made a mistake trying to get me at my bar. We spotted you as soon as you walked through the door.”
Raven grimaced again. His aches were turning to dull throbs. “No plan is perfect.” He tried to shift his right arm but the rope only bit into his skin.
“I know my knots, Mr. Raven.” Zenya smiled. “I’m an expert. When I tie a man, he doesn’t get out. He’s totally at my mercy. Still having a good time?”
Raven felt sweat on his forehead. If he was walking out alive, he’d need to depend on previous arrangements. He glanced again at Zenya and began to doubt those arrangements still existed. If she wanted the diamonds for herself...
The tall red-headed woman wore a blouse and skirt combo and stood with her hands on her hips. The pose was a sure-fire way to attract the attention of any healthy male. She even had an effect on Raven. But her face showed contempt. Her dark eyes examined him as if he were a lab rat. Tied to the chair, he felt like a trapped rat. Maybe she’d feed him a piece of cheese if he asked nicely.
“Do I get to hurt him now, Yuri?” she said.
“By all means, my darling.”
“First,” Zenya said, “I’m going to slice off your eyelids.” She bent over to put her face close to Raven’s. “Then I am going to slice off your cheeks. After that—”
“Kill me by talking too much? Damn, Zenya, between Yuri’s bad movie lines and your motor mouth I wish you’d have shot me two days ago.”
Yuri Panov laughed. “I wish too.”
Zenya slapped Raven. His face jerked to the right and the sting on his face made him forget the ache in his back.
“Then I will slice off your lips,” Zenya continued, “so you can no longer talk back like a naughty boy.”
“Promise?”
Another slap. Raven didn’t fight the low moan pushing up from his belly. He let his head hang down. Think of something fast, Sammy.
“Look at me, Mr. Raven.”
Raven raised bleary eyes at the redhead.
“Want to guess where I hide my knif
e?”
“Obviously not in your cheeks.”
“Ha! Guess again.”
“The same place you asked me to stick—”
“Nyet!” She raised a finger in warning. “I will show you.” Zenya grabbed a handful of her skirt, both hands at her waist. She dug her fingers into the fabric and pulled the hem up along her stockinged legs.
Raven watched the hem rise. He cleared his throat. “Torture mixed with a striptease would be great on the internet. Ever consider an OnlyFans account?”
“You have made your last joke, Mr. Raven.” Zenya stopped, holding her skirt up with one hand. With her left she reached for the exposed garter belt on her right thigh. The strap doubled as a sheath for a shiny stiletto. She drew the knife, let the skirt fall back into place, and transferred the stiletto to her right hand.
“Say goodbye to your eyelids, Mr. Raven.”
Zenya took a step forward.
Raven tried to swallow but his throat was dry.
Yuri Panov made a nervous squeak. Zenya glared at him.
“You must excuse me, my darling. I am a humble jewel thief, not a murderer. The sight of blood makes me nauseous. That’s why I hire people to kill for me.”
“Who said anything about murder?” she asked.
Yuri started for the door. “Please keep the mess to a minimum, my darling.”
He opened the door and went out. The door clicked shut. Raven and Zenya locked eyes.
“He’s gone?” Raven said.
“You idiot. You stupid, stupid—”
“Stop talking and cut me loose.”
She moved to the back of the chair. She sliced several times and the rope dropped away. Raven rubbed his arms and moved his right shoulder.
“You weren’t supposed to do this tonight,” she said.
“Spur of the moment.”
“You’re lucky I was here.”
“For a moment I thought you forgot our deal.”
“Never.” She smiled and reached up her skirt again. From her left thigh she pulled a compact nine-millimeter pistol. She handed the gun to Raven. It was warm from being close to her skin.
“What else do you hide up there?” he said.
She grinned. “Maybe you’ll find out in Paris.”
Raven checked the gun. A bullet sat in the chamber, ready to fire. “Don’t be late.”
“Don’t forget to show up.”
“Never.”
Raven started for the door.
“Hey.”
He turned.
“You should scream. Make it look good.”
“Nuts,” Raven said. “They’ll think you’re still talking.”
As her face flushed red, he opened the door and exited the storage room.
2
Panov’s Bar wasn’t large. Long bar on one side. Shelves full of bottles, most in various stages of fullness. The glass reflected the bright overhead lights with the aid of a long mirror. Hardwood floor polished smooth. Tables opposite the bar. Any “private business”, the sole purpose of the bar, happened in either of the two rooms next to the storage room.
Raven advanced down a short hallway with cautious steps. The two meeting rooms were on his right. They held no interest. The open doorway to the bar waited a few steps ahead. Panov was talking to somebody, a man named Gustav Kouralis. A killer from Greece. The man Panov paid to do the dirty work he said made him nauseous.
Kouralis had taken Raven’s pistol when they’d hauled him into the back. Raven wanted his gun. The small pistol Zenya provided would hopefully do the trick. Raven swung through the doorway.
Panov and Kouralis, on either side of the bar, Panov holding a bottle, stopped talking. Kouralis let his glass fall. It shattered as he made a grab for the gun under his jacket.
Raven fired once. Kouralis caught the slug in the neck and his scream resembled a gargle. He slid off the stool but didn’t fall. He staggered back as blood spilled down his neck to soak his shirt.
Raven shot Panov high in the chest, then shifted to fire at Kouralis again. The Greek fell dead. Raven slipped around the bar to where Panov thrashed on the floor. He made whining sounds coupled with pleading eyes and Raven shot him again and left him there.
Raven retrieved his Nighthawk Custom .45 autoloader from the Greek killer’s belt. When he turned, Zenya stood in the doorway watching with eager eyes.
“Are they dead?”
“Yes. Where are the sparklies?”
Zenya motioned for him to follow. She led him to an office at the end of the hall. Panov’s cluttered desk sat inside. The room wasn’t big enough for the two of them so from the doorway she told Raven where to find the briefcase. Panov stored it in a hidden drawer under his desk. Raven removed the case from the hidden compartment, placed it on top, and raised the lid. The diamond necklace sat in an interior pocket. Raven held the necklace in his hand for a moment. The shimmering diamonds had a nice weight to them.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
He shook his head and put the necklace back. Closing the case, he said, “It doesn’t belong to you either.”
She pouted. “You’re no fun. You’ll be boring in Paris.”
“Thank you for not lying to me.”
“I told you. No need to accuse me—”
“Zenya, for heaven’s sake, shut up.”
She folded her arms and looked mad.
Raven held the case in his left hand. “Better scoot. Your gun was a little loud.”
“Speaking of my gun—”
“You may have it back in Paris. Move your butt.”
“Yes, master,” she said. With a wink and lick of her lips, Zenya took off. Raven waited till he heard the back door shut.
Then he placed Zenya’s gun on the desk and exited out the back as well.
Nobody ambushed him from the shadows.
The caper started in London with the theft of an heirloom from an old money family. Their oldest daughter, celebrating her 21st birthday, was the latest in the line to enjoy a long tradition. Her grandmother passed down the necklace she'd received on her 21st birthday. The necklace was worth millions and had been passed down to the oldest daughters for three generations. The young woman's happiness lasted the evening; by morning, the necklace had vanished, and joy turned to sorrow.
Scotland Yard identified Russian jewel thief Yuri Panov as the culprit right away. He’d attended the party under an alias and posed as a rich Russian oligarch moving through social circles in the United Kingdom. When the Yard lost track of Panov, the family reached out to Sam Raven.
Raven’s underworld contacts said he might find Panov at his bar in Moscow. Raven traveled to Russia, where he bumped into Zenya Oromatova. She was a noted jewel aficionado (i.e., thief) who planned to steal the necklace from Panov.
Raven knew Zenya from two previous adventures. He knew how her mind worked. He proposed a deal. Help him get to Panov, and he’d split his $250,000 fee. He'd also split the promised million-dollar bonus for recovering the necklace. Zenya agreed. She was only interested in cash. Nicking jewels from rich families was the best way she knew how to keep her accounts full. Why get a real job?
Zenya worked her way into Panov’s confidence as a buyer for the necklace, and Raven did the rest. Albeit not as stealthily as planned. Luckily, Zenya kept up her part of the bargain.
Raven returned the necklace to the happy family and confirmed the transfer of funds. With a date in Paris, he didn't stay long in London, but hopped a flight to Paris. Upon arriving, Raven checked in at his favorite hotel, within walking distance of the Eiffel Tower.
He kept to a routine while he waited for Zenya, having breakfast and lunch at the hotel’s outdoor café. The locals and tourists gave him plenty to watch. The mix of languages became a game as he tried to identify which region of the world each tourist had come from. Except those who spoke English. He had an easy time picking out the Americans, Canadians and Brits.
Zenya arrived two days later.
“Hello, Sam.�
��
She pulled out a chair and sat before Raven responded. She wore her hair tied back, faded jeans, blouse knotted above her belly button. No makeup. Perhaps she didn’t want to drive the women of Paris to suicide by looking better than them.
Raven poured her a glass of wine from the half bottle on the table. He didn’t like wine and had a beer in front of him, with the remains of his lunch on a plate he’d set aside.
“Figured you liked red,” he said.
“You’re not funny.” She grabbed the glass before he finished pouring. Raven tipped the bottle upright to avoid a spill. He set the bottle down.
“White, then?”
“You tried to, how you say, jam me in.”
“Jam you up, actually. And ‘we’ haven’t used the phrase since the ’30s. You’ve been watching American gangster movies, haven’t you?”
Zenya leaned forward, elbows on the table, and Raven blinked. She looked mad enough to leap across the table and rip open his neck with her long nails. Which he noticed she'd painted red.
“You left my gun in Moscow.”
“It would have been boring getting out of the city without the Moscow police on your tail.”
“Nyet. It was easy. This is where you messed up. They can’t trace the gun to me.”
