by Brian Drake
“Oh no.”
“Oh, yes. CCTV footage gave us a nice shot of the two of you, Mr. Raven. From there it was a matter of tracking you or him down, and you aren’t exactly unknown in some quarters.”
“It’s a risk I’m aware of,” Raven said.
“Now you have run out of luck. Your reputation will finally bring your life to an end.”
“But you need the money back.”
“Osborne has it, you said?”
“You need me to find him, Geneva. I know things you don’t.”
She smiled. “Thank you for admitting the truth. Saves us a bit of time, doesn’t it?”
From another jacket pocket she produced a phone. While she hit a number, her eyes and the muzzle of the autoloader never left Raven’s face. Geneva said into the phone, “Do you have her?”
Tracy.
“Put her in the car and take her to the safe house. I have Raven. Send me two men to get him to the other car and we’ll meet you.”
She ended the call and put her phone away.
“You’re going to tell us everything, Mr. Raven. And when you’ve said your last words, I’ll shoot you myself.”
“We’ll see, Geneva.”
They jammed Raven into the back seat of a sedan with Geneva on one side and a goon on the other. A second goon drove. Since she only spoke French to the two men, Raven figured they didn’t understand English.
He had no weapon. They’d taken his phone too. No way to reach Clark. He wondered about Tracy. Was she hurt? If they hadn’t injured him, yet, they might have held back with her too. The torture would come later, he figured. Raven had no doubt he’d need a solution before they started. Otherwise, there was no way out. They faced brutal cartel thugs. It made no difference if they were from Europe or south of the US border. When it came to violence and depravity, the cartels were in a league of their own, no matter where they came from.
They surprised him by not tying a blindfold over his eyes. He decided it didn’t matter. He wasn’t expected to leave alive. They followed the freeway out of town and presently pulled off to follow a two-lane road. Raven might have guessed they were driving to the Osborne estate, but it wasn’t the same road. The driver continued along for another fifteen minutes. Their car was the only one present. The vehicle with Tracy must have already arrived at their destination.
Raven had seen Tracy in action. Her fighting ability wasn’t in question, but they hadn’t yet gelled as a team. What he hoped was she’d be already working on an exit plan same as he was. If they could follow each other’s signals, they might have a chance.
Might.
And then Raven laughed to himself.
“What is so funny?” Geneva said.
“I told Aaron this would happen. Except it wasn’t supposed to be me in the car.”
They drove into the mountains following the twisty road. At the end they stopped at a cabin about as isolated as the Osborne house. There was another car in the garage already. When Geneva and her thugs pushed Raven out, he heard the engine of the second car ticking as it cooled. The crew who had grabbed Tracy hadn’t been there for long.
Raven didn’t get a chance to look outside. The goons shoved him forward. All he knew was they were well outside Reno. It was going to be a long way back.
Geneva split off for another room while the goons steered Raven down a hall. They shoved him into an empty bedroom. He tumbled onto the carpet. The door slammed shut behind him.
“Welcome to the jungle,” Tracy said.
She sat in a corner against the wall. At least the carpet was soft. And brand new. Raven slowly rose to hands and knees. His head spun. “Where are we?”
“An unfinished cabin.”
“If only they’d grabbed us when Aaron was still here. They might have spoiled his plant raid.”
“Ifs and buts.”
“Uh-huh.” Raven stretched out on the floor. It felt good to finally lay down. A pillow would have been wonderful. He stared at the ceiling. “Guess we’re in for it.”
“Got a plan?”
“Working on one.”
“I have no intention—”
“Me neither.”
“I’m going to add this to Aaron’s account,” she said.
“Get in line,” Raven told her.
“We should have killed both of them at the mall.”
“Wouldn’t have made any difference, Tracy. I told Aaron this was going to happen.”
“Why did you help him?”
“He’s a friend. He saved my life once.”
“You still have your cut of the money?”
“Yes.”
“Is it—”
“Part of my plan?” he said. “Bet your ass. But if you find an opening before me—”
“We will have no trouble coordinating, Raven.”
“Call me Sam.”
“No,” she said.
30
Raven sat up and frowned at Tracy. “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t like getting too familiar with people.”
Raven lay down again. She had her own Rule One (No Roots) same as he did. And why not? The mix of roles and personas she’d had to develop over the years, the danger and mistrust, made hyper-vigilance a natural byproduct. And those who were hyper-vigilant built walls to protect themselves. They never knew who might stab them in the back. When you didn’t know friend from foe, you trusted nobody.
“Lousy way to live, Tracy. I don’t like roots either but you can’t close people out entirely.”
“It’s none of your business. I thought you of all people would appreciate keeping secrets.”
“Clark knows my history,” Raven said. “My past isn’t a total secret.”
“Whatever.”
Before Raven said more, the door opened and four thugs entered. Two for each. The pair Raven had ridden with in the car grabbed him. The other two grabbed Tracy. Neither resisted. The goons marched them out of the room and down the hall. The group descended steps to a lower floor. More unfinished space at the end of the steps. A crisscross of wooden frames and ceiling beams, with only a few of the gaps filled with sheet rock, made up the space. On a folding table lay hand tools and a power drill.
The drill made Raven shiver. The Irish Republican Army had used drills to torture British agents. He’d have to work fast. Once Geneva started with the drill, game over.
The goons forced Raven and Tracy into metal folding chairs and they sat beside one another. The goons spread out but not too far. None of them made any move to tie Raven or Tracy. The pistols they wore on either belt or shoulder harness were deterrent enough. At least until they became an advantage. If Raven hustled fast enough.
Geneva finally joined them. She chuckled at the sight of Raven and Tracy seated and moved to the table with the tools.
“Where is Osborne?”
Raven said, “We think he’s in Ukraine, or on his way.”
“Why?”
“Not sure.”
“Does he have my money?”
“Last I saw of the money was Zurich.”
“Really?”
“I’ll tell you the whole story if you want.”
Geneva turned from the table, folded her arms, and said, “This I’d like to hear.”
Raven began with how he met Osborne in Paris, how they planned to steal the drug money, and why.
Geneva laughed. “You’re a sucker.”
Raven shrugged. “He used our friendship against me.”
To Tracy, the French woman said, “And you, darling?”
“Just a girl along for the ride,” Tracy said.
“This is fascinating,” Geneva said. She picked up the drill and held it in both hands. “It’s almost too ridiculous to believe.”
“I told you,” Raven said, “we have a mutual interest here. Let’s work together.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve admitted you’re both idiots. What’s the benefit to me?”
Raven blinked. H
e had to answer fast. Geneva was tapping the side of the drill with her trigger finger.
“We know his contact in Ukraine,” Raven said.
“Tell me.”
“Let’s make a deal.”
She snapped an order to two of the thugs who stepped to Tracy’s chair and held her in place on either side. Tracy fought against their iron grip, then gave up. Her hot eyes watched Geneva.
Geneva went to Tracy and held the drill over her right knee. Tracy struggled some more. One goon held her head while the other knelt to control her midsection.
Geneva looked at Raven. “No deals, Mr. Raven.”
The French woman pulled the trigger. The drill’s shrill motor filled the room and the thin bit with its pointy end spun. Tracy screamed. Geneva laughed. She let go of the drill’s trigger and the shrill noise faded.
“I don’t want to get blood all over my jeans,” Geneva said. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll kill you both fast.”
The goons let go of Tracy. She breathed hard. Sweat coated her face.
“I can give you part of the money,” Raven said.
“What do you mean?”
“My cut. It’s in my bank. In Zurich. Between the money and the name of Aaron’s contact, we deserve—”
“You deserve nothing!” She lunged at Raven, switching the drill to her left hand. She slapped him with her right. The sting hurt and Raven’s face twisted in pain. “You took from me the man I loved! This isn’t only about money!”
Tracy shouted, “He played us! It was all Aaron’s plan! We’re nothing to you!”
Geneva pivoted to Tracy. “You’re so right, darling. Hold her head while I drill out one of her eyes!”
Geneva took a step toward Tracy as the thugs resumed their grip. Tracy let out another scream barely overpowered by the whine of the drill.
Raven stuck his left leg out.
Geneva tripped. Worse, she fell forward with the drill screaming at full power and Raven knew there would be no better chance than now.
Geneva shuffled to correct her fall but gravity had her. Instead of plunging the spinning drill bit into Tracy, she collided with the thug holding Tracy’s legs. The man tried to move but wasn’t fast enough. Geneva smashed into her compatriot. The drill punctured his left arm, went deep, and his scream joined the chorus.
Raven jumped out of his chair, grabbed the back and swung at the thug coming at him. Metal struck skull and the thug checked out. Raven tossed the chair at the second nearest thug, who ducked. Raven dived for the one he clocked out as the other dug for his pistol. Raven rolled away as the thug fired, but in his hand was the unconscious goon’s gun and he used it to good effect. He fired once and gave the gunman a third eye in the middle of his wide forehead.
Raven, still on the ground, swung the pistol in Tracy’s direction.
The goon with the hole in his shoulder had a sheet of blood down his sleeve and on his shirt. He scrambled for the table, crying, yelling. Geneva was on hands and knees trying to get on her feet.
The last goon standing had Tracy out of her chair and tried to pull her in front of him as a shield. Tracy stomped on one of his feet, smashed a bony elbow into his face. With a yell he wrapped an arm around her neck and held tight.
Raven shifted his aim and shot Geneva in her plump rear end. With a howl she stopped trying to get up and flopped on her belly.
The goon with the drilled shoulder reached the table and grabbed a wrench. He threw it at Raven, who let it fly by, and then aimed for the man’s right nostril. He pulled the trigger and gave the goon a nine-millimeter nose job. The slug caved in his face as a bonus.
Tracy and the last goon continued their struggle, Tracy unable to break the man’s arm from around her neck. But she scored another hit with an elbow strike. The man’s nose was smashed and bleeding.
Raven swung the pistol around and Tracy jerked her head out of the way. Raven triggered another round and a chunk of the goon’s jaw splattered on the sheet rock behind him. Then he let go, and as Tracy dived for the floor Raven fired a final time and the goon collapsed.
He turned his attention back to Geneva and her bleeding behind. She started to crawl toward the table. She moaned a lot.
“Nuts,” Raven said. He stood and went to her, grabbed a shoulder and flipped her onto her back. Her face, a mix of pain and rage, jaw clenched, reflected only hate echoed by the fire in her dark eyes. Raven shot her in the head and then her eyes were as dead as the rest of her.
Tracy retrieved a pistol from the floor and said, “Nice one.”
“Let’s get out of here. Who’s got the keys to one of the cars?”
It didn’t take long to find the keys.
31
Tracy drove back to the hotel. It was late in the day and Raven felt very tired after the fight. Tracy wondered if Clark was looking for them as she parked the car. Raven hadn’t bothered to call since he figured she would. They laughed, then called him from the car. Wilson sounded relieved when he heard their voices.
“What went wrong?” the CIA man said.
Raven explained.
“Why couldn’t they have shown up sooner?” Wilson said.
“I made the same joke,” Raven told him.
“Get up to the suite. We need to go over the latest and it’s no laughing matter. Sam, your theory is probably correct. Washington is shitting itself with the idea.”
Tracy chimed in, “We need some time, Clark.”
“You have thirty minutes.” Wilson ended the call.
“Yay,” she said as she put the phone away.
“I don’t work for you guys anymore,” Raven said, “so I can tell him to screw off.”
Tracy exited the car and Raven followed. She said, “See you in thirty minutes, Raven.” He grinned but didn’t argue. They went their separate ways back to their rooms.
Raven turned on the shower and tried to soap up but his hand shook. He leaned his head against the stall wall, let the hot water stab at him, and let himself shake. Geneva Ramsden’s had been a close call he never saw coming, despite Wilson’s earlier warning. He hadn’t seen them watching him. He could never allow himself to slip again. Next time he might not be so lucky. With a deep breath he finally settled and finished his shower. He didn’t go looking for food because he figured Clark would have something. What he did instead was lay down and doze for his last 15 minutes before the new briefing.
Clark anticipated their need for food and had a tray of hot sandwiches and drinks waiting. They sat around the dining table. Wilson referenced his open laptop and a large map of Crimea, also on the table, as he spoke.
“We’re talking about a powder keg and it’s going to explode,” he said.
“The analysts think my false flag theory is good?” Raven said. He bit into a roast beef sandwich.
“Yes,” Wilson said. “The short version is, Crimea is firmly under Russian control. After they annexed the peninsula in 2014, it started the war. It’s officially a low-intensity conflict, but come on, war is war.
“In Crimea,” Wilson said, “we have a split between Russian forces, Ukrainian nationalist rebels, and a citizenry who favors the Russians. The nationalists have been engaging in acts of sabotage since the annexation. Not a lot, two or three times a year, but they’re making Moscow nervous. They've blown up power lines, Russian supply lines, and other small strikes. They want to make Crimea as tough to manage as they can so Russia gives up. The Russians usually respond with mass arrests looking for the instigators.”
“Some things never change,” Raven said.
“The power station bombings caused a lot of problems, and Moscow sent more troops. There are now close to ten thousand Russian soldiers in Crimea. They back up local authorities.”
Tracy jumped in. “The Nationalists make the perfect group to frame for a false flag.”
“Exactly.”
“Do we have an idea of their target?”
“It’s a big one.” Wilson drew a circle on the map.
The circle was in the middle of a short gap between Russia and Crimea, the Kerch Straight. “Here is the Crimean Bridge,” he said. “Links the two countries. It was a big deal for the Russians to build it, and the Ukrainians did everything they could to stop them. They failed. If anything happened to this bridge, Moscow would respond with force. No doubt in anybody’s mind.”
“They have the explosives to do the job, too,” Raven said. “What does the president think of this?”
“He’s already talking to Moscow. Also, the secretary of state is hosting a video conference between Russian and Ukrainian reps to see if we can’t get some cooperation. There’s too much ground to cover. Your primary job is to get Aaron Osborne, and we don’t care if he’s dead or alive. We want the bombing stopped too, but we can’t expect you two to do everything.”
“Will we have any help?” Tracy twisted off the cap of a bottle of water and drank.
“We don’t have anybody in Crimea at the moment. Our personnel are at the embassy in Kiev. They can monitor from afar, but no, you two are it. We have journalist cover identities worked out.”
Raven said, “What about Aaron’s cell phone? Any activity on it?”
Wilson shook his head. “Not yet. He may have ditched it.”
“Chumachenko can lead us to him,” Tracy said, “if all else fails.”
“Remember Chumachenko is a major public figure, has friends in the Kremlin, and won’t be a cinch.”
“Clark, come on. It’s me.” Raven grinned.
“Wipe the mustard off your lip, tough guy,” Tracy said.
Wilson laughed. Raven sheepishly used his napkin.
“Chumachenko has an office in Kerch, and a big house outside the city,” Wilson said. “I’ll send the details to your phones.”
“When do we leave?” Tracy said.
“Tomorrow morning. From here to JFK, then Air France to Paris, where you’ll pick up your Crimean connection. Enjoy fourteen hours of blissful air travel.”
“If we’re reporters,” Raven said, “did our ‘network’ spring for first-class seats?”
“Sorry, Sam, you two work for an obscure blog nobody reads. Cheap seats all the way.”
