The War Business: A Sam Raven Thriller

by Brian Drake

  Petro moaned.

  Raven stepped over to the mousy man and used one more bullet to put him out of his misery.

  Tracy ran over. “Maybe we should take their car.”

  “Help me move the bodies.”

  She did.

  They were on the road when Wilson called Tracy’s cell. She answered and put the CIA man on speaker.

  “Where are you?” Wilson said.

  Raven gave the update.

  “All right, listen up. Things have changed and the Russians have a request…”

  Chumachenko paced his home office.

  He’d heard nothing from Draco. Nadiya and Petro had also failed to report. He’d given them ample time to do so. It meant only one thing. Raven and Tracy had survived and were now coming for him.

  “Orest?”

  He stopped in mid step and turned. Vikka stood in the doorway wrapped in a long coat and holding a suitcase.

  “I’m ready,” she said.

  He was already packed. All he needed was the briefcase sitting on his desk. The case contained a laptop and other necessary documents. “We shall leave immediately,” he told her. He went to his desk, grabbed the case with one hand and the phone with the other. He ordered the car brought around front. Chumachenko joined his wife, took her suitcase in his free hand, and they hurried down the hall. They passed mounted paintings and sculptures which had brought them so much joy for so long. They didn't give them a second glance.

  Only survival mattered now. The plan was still going forward; nothing could stop it. But they had to survive the two Americans if they were to see the glory of their effort come to pass.

  Sam Raven was proving a worthy adversary. Chumachenko wished their involvement had been one of allies rather than antagonists.

  The black Mercedes waited at the top of the circular driveway at the foot of the porch steps. Two guards would travel with them—driver and front passenger. Each were discreetly armed with Glock machine pistols. What remained of his modest support crew would stay behind.

  Chumachenko loaded Vikka’s suitcase with his already in the trunk. He kept his briefcase with him on his lap. The driver departed, following the curving driveway to the left. He straightened for the short run to the gate, now open, and the road beyond.

  The headlamps shined brightly, catching the immaculate lawn in the wide beams. Chumachenko had been proud of his lawn, though he’d never lifted a finger to care for it. He let his garden crew handle the chores. He’d see the lawn again, soon, once the problems were over and the plan in full operation.

  He took Vikka’s hand and squeezed. Her return smile was weak. Her hand felt cold. The Mercedes slowed to pass through the gate and turn right. The tires bit into the pavement and the Mercedes surged ahead with a blast of horsepower.

  The road curved, and another car came toward them. Chumachenko let go of Vikka’s hand. He started to speak to the driver but choked as the oncoming car veered into the path of the Mercedes.

  Vikka screamed. The driver stomped the brakes and activated the emergency brake. The car spun in a bootlegger’s 180-degree turn. Rubber burned as the tires screeched on the pavement. The Mercedes stopped with the front end pointed in the direction they’d come from. Brake off, pedal down; too late. Impact.

  45

  The rear collision jolted the Mercedes. Chumachenko and his wife lurched forward. The Mercedes, still in motion as the other car hit, fishtailed, and the other car didn’t stop. The front bumper ground into the Mercedes as it spun, forcing a violent spin out. The rear wheels left the pavement and the car jolted again as they dug into the shoulder. The Mercedes stopped half off the road. The other car halted at an angle, blocking the Mercedes from going forward.

  Chumachenko’s heart beat in his throat. Vikka hyperventilated beside him. He kept an arm around her and yelled for the guards to get out and shoot. He didn’t have to ask twice. They sprang from the car with machine pistols in hand. Chumachenko pressed his still-screaming wife to the floor and covered her with his body. The shooting began.

  Tracy slid out of the car and onto the pavement. Raven crawled across the seat to join her.

  Rapid machine pistol fire smacked into the car. Metal ripped and glass popped. Tracy fired her Scorpion around the bumper. Raven ran to the rear and added several bursts to the fray. Both shooters toppled as bullets tore through their chests and left red chunks of flesh splattered on the ground.

  Raven dropped the Scorpion and took out his .45. The checkered wooden grips felt good in his hand.

  “Cover me!”

  He didn’t wait for Tracy’s reply. Raven moved forward to skirt the front of the Mercedes. Two people in back. A man and a woman. The man raised his head. Raven grinned at the terrified face of Orest Chumachenko.

  “Get out of the car!”

  Chumachenko spoke to his wife. She looked up. Tears blotted her cheeks. She argued and grabbed her husband as he opened the back door. He brushed her hand away. Chumachenko stepped out and straightened his coat.

  “I admire you, Mr. Raven. You’re a hard man to kill.”

  “Raise your hands.”

  Chumachenko complied. “I am unarmed. Not even you would shoot a man with no weapon.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve done it quite a bit, Orest.”

  Doubt flickered across the big shot’s face, but he recovered and took a deep breath. He resumed his business face. “What do we do now?”

  “I’m turning you and your wife over to the Russians.”

  “You think doing so will make them forget about the murders you have committed on their soil? You aren’t walking away from here, Mr. Raven. There will be consequences.”

  Chumachenko’s eyes flashed down. Then back to Raven. Raven pretended not to notice. The passenger-seat guard lay bleeding between them. His machine pistol was within reach if Chumachenko moved fast enough.

  “The joke is on you, Orest. We had a chat with the CIA on the way over. The Russians have raided the auto shop where you were building your truck bomb. There will be no war. Not the way you intended, anyway.”

  “What—”

  “It’s over,” Raven said. “Your buddies in the Kremlin have a few things to talk over with you. My partner and I get a free pass for handing you over.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?”

  Chumachenko blinked.

  Raven said, “How else would I know about the auto shop? Draco was too dead to talk.”

  “I’ll surrender,” Chumachenko said, “if you leave my wife out of this.”

  “Why?”

  “Tell them your investigation showed she had no knowledge, Mr. Raven, that is all.”

  “You haven’t told me why, Orest.”

  “Because this wasn’t only about me.”

  “You killed my friend. And you killed his father. I’m not granting any favors.”

  “My briefcase is in the car. Turn me and the case over to the Russians and they will have everything. Leave my wife alone.”

  “They’ll get the case anyway, Orest.”

  “I’ll give you the code to turn off the explosive pack.”

  “It’s rigged?”

  “Open it wrong and yes, the bomb within will be devastating. Do what I ask and you will have the code.”

  “No. I’ll tell them it’s rigged and they can defuse it. Who do you think you’re playing with, Orest?”

  Tracy said, “Raven.”

  “What?”

  “I hear them.”

  Approaching sirens. They registered with Raven too.

  And Chumachenko made his move.

  He dived for the machine pistol. His wife screamed. Chumachenko wrapped his hand around the gun, brought up the muzzle—

  The .45 in Raven’s hand roared once. Chumachenko’s head snapped back and he dropped flat. His wife kept screaming. She tumbled out of the car and grasped at his body with her face in his neck.

  Raven turned around. A black sedan with flashing cherry lig
hts, its siren screaming, approached. A troop truck full of Russian soldiers drove behind the sedan. The beams of their headlamps highlighted the wreck. Raven raised an arm to block the glare. He stood by Tracy as the vehicles stopped. The sirens cut off. Troops jumped from the truck. Four FSB officers exited the sedan. Raven and Tracy set their weapons down.

  Vikka Chumachenko’s anguished cries drowned out any other sound. Her screaming matched those of so many others sacrificed in the name of the war business.

  46

  “The information Chumachenko had on his laptop answered a lot of questions.”

  “The biggest one being,” Raven said, “how the heck did he and Osborne get together?”

  “And?”

  “And when did Aaron and his father have their actual reunion?”

  They sat in a small conference room at CIA headquarters. Raven and Tracy had returned to the United States less than 24 hours earlier, and the whirlwind trip from Ukraine and rush into debrief left Raven dizzy. He didn’t know how Tracy felt, but guessed the same. She sat quietly at the table next to Raven. Clark Wilson sat across from them with his laptop. Wilson consulted notes as they spoke.

  “From what Chumachenko recorded, the idea was hatched between Aaron and Draco while they worked on an oil rig in the Mediterranean.”

  “Makes sense,” Raven said.

  “Aaron brought it to his father six months ago. We don’t know how they reconnected; Chumachenko didn’t note the details, but Mark Osborne knew Chumachenko from previous deals. It was Mark who approached him.”

  Tracy said, “How did they know each other?”

  “Apparently Mr. Osborne has been dealing from the bottom of the deck a long time, but avoiding detection. Chumachenko made notes about everything. They’ve made numerous illegal arms deals together. We know who they’ve dealt with, how, and when. It was probably his insurance policy in case anybody pulled a fast one.”

  “Bad guys always write stuff down,” Raven said.

  “Osborne and Chumachenko had a few meetings, negotiated what either side would do, and put Aaron and Draco in charge of the rest.”

  “Ripping off the plant would have gone well,” Tracy said, “if we hadn’t been around.”

  “You two were never supposed to make it out of France alive. Chumachenko’s notes say he was very upset Aaron kept you around.”

  “He couldn’t do it,” Raven said. “He could con us into helping, but couldn’t bring himself to tie off loose ends.”

  “His Achilles heel,” Wilson said.

  “Why didn’t Draco’s mercs pull off the Dacourt robbery?” Raven said.

  “They were too busy infiltrating into the country for the hit on the plant,” Wilson said. “We have the routes and contacts they used to sneak in. We’ll plug those holes soon enough, believe me. Right now, the DCI has decided to watch the smugglers for a bit and see who else they bring in.”

  “Playing with fire, Clark,” Raven said. “Close down the pipelines before they slip somebody in really dangerous.”

  “Talks are ongoing,” Wilson said. “You’re not the only one in the building with that opinion, although you are the only non-employee saying so.” He smiled.

  Raven smiled back. His green “guest” badge only allowed access to certain areas of the building, and not without an escort.

  “What’s next?” Raven said.

  “Osborne Defense is under official investigation, and thereby all business and manufacturing has been halted,” Wilson said. “When the Feds are done the board of directors will likely shut everything down and dissolve the company. Aaron was an only child. No heirs to take over.”

  “They probably wouldn’t want to anyway,” Tracy said, “after what’s happened.”

  “We closed down a major arms pipeline and stopped a war,” Wilson said. “I think that’s enough for today, don’t you?”

  “There’s always next time,” Raven said. “And maybe we won’t be fast enough to stop it.”

  Wilson closed the laptop. “You’re always a waterfall of optimism, Sam.”

  “Been around too long.”

  “When does your plane leave for Stockholm?”

  “Three hours.”

  “Enjoy the jet lag. You’ve been coming and going so much your body is going to need a week to catch up.”

  Raven forced a smile. He wanted to say he was used to it, and maybe he was, and it was all the excuse he needed to take a long vacation.

  Until the ghosts called him again.

  The meeting ended with quiet sighs all around. They were exhausted from the fight and its personal toll. Raven only wanted to get home to Stockholm and his house boat and take a long break. Wilson escorted them out of the building where he and Raven said goodbye, and Tracy led him to her car.

  She drove him to Dulles. Traffic turned the thirty-minute drive into a forty-five-minute journey, but neither spoke. Every time he glanced at her to say something, the tightness of her jaw and grip on the wheel dissuaded him. She didn’t want to talk. She knew Raven was going to bring up her father, so he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t even bother to make a crack about the traffic.

  But when he saw the Dulles Airport Pond on his right, he knew they were getting closer to the terminal. If he didn’t speak now, they’d probably never speak again.

  “I was serious about helping you,” he said.

  She slowed for traffic heading to the departure building. Her shoulders sank a little, her face softened. She looked like she was about to cry. “I know,” she said.

  “If your father is out there, we can find him. Or we can find out what happened. You deserve to know.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” she said. “Part of me doesn’t want to know. Part of me wants to think he’s still alive and doing his job.”

  “But the other part—”

  “Knows he’s gone.”

  Raven pressed his lips together. He said nothing more. Tracy pulled up at the departure terminal and stopped the car. More traffic passed by on the left. The sidewalk to the right was already crowded with travelers, luggage, and airport attendants. Airport police directed traffic and blew whistles. Everyday airport chaos, and nobody knew, or cared, about the private drama playing out in one of the cars.

  Raven left the front seat to collect his carry-on and suitcase from the back. He shut the door. She powered down the passenger window as he leaned in to say goodbye.

  “Call me when you’re ready,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “Thanks for everything. Sam.”

  Raven smiled back, waved, and turned away. He couldn’t force her to do what she wasn’t ready to do, but at least he’d cracked the ice. She’d finally called him by his first name. As he reached the automatic doors, he looked back. She had already blended into the line of traffic and was gone.

  He entered the terminal to check in for his flight.

  The jet took off after a twenty-minute delay and Raven sat alone in first class. He absently flipped through the in-flight magazine with the shade pulled down over his window. He didn’t need to see Washington fall away as the plane climbed into the sky. He’d seen the place enough.

  The experience with Aaron had been rough. It was not going to be an easy recovery. Betrayal was like death—you never got over it. And in this case, his friend also died. Raven had hoped one final confrontation with Aaron might turn him around. But Chumachenko had stolen the opportunity from him, and he’d never know if he might have saved Aaron’s life the way Aaron had once saved his.

  He regretted not being able to do more. Aaron had been a victim of his own greed, probably passed down from his father, but there had been some good left in him. Otherwise, he’d have killed Raven without hesitating.

  He’d carry the pain with him, as he always did, and learn to live with the ghosts. He couldn’t save everybody, but he’d never stop trying to save the ones he could as he followed their call around the world. The war without end was living up to its name.

&nbs
p; And then there was Tracy. Lost in her own world of uncertainty, convinced remaining in the shadows was the way to find out what happened to her father. She was right, he was probably gone. Only a vengeance mission lay ahead. But it was easy for Raven to suggest they get on with it. For her to admit her father was gone meant a final goodbye she wasn’t ready for. Raven touched the locket under his shirt. He’d had his share of unwanted goodbyes, too. It was better to pretend there was still a chance her father would show up at her door one day with an explanation. She needed the hope more than the truth. For now.

  Maybe someday she’d realize she needed permanent closure. Raven would be there to help. Because somebody had to play hero and help those unable to help themselves. Even fighters like Tracy needed a champion.

  He wondered where his ghosts would send him next. All he knew for sure was the next time was coming soon, because monsters lurked in the shadows, and he needed to find them. But now, for a moment, he could rest.

  If You Liked This, You May Enjoy: Skills to Kill

  By Brian Drake

  International adventurer Steve Dane never should have set foot in Italy.

  Witnessing a young woman’s kidnapping, he is drawn into the decades-old vendetta behind the crime. Hired by the girl's father, racing against time as her life hangs in the balance, Dane battles the mafia who want him dead and the police and international agents who want him out of the way.

  With the help of his lover, Nina Talikova, Dane plunges along a path leading him past a mere kidnapping and into an ever-more complex world of high stakes, ruled by a powerful and mysterious woman known only as The Duchess. Life, it seems, is getting cheaper than Dane could ever imagine and The Duchess has put a price on the ultimate weapon that will make it worthless. Only he and Nina have the power to stop a clock ticking away the life of both the girl and the world.