Killing Chase (17 page)

In an attempt to make
peace with Jenna, I woke early and gathered breakfast items from the refrigerator. Twenty minutes later, I had a mug of hot coffee, bacon and scrambled eggs on a plate along with a toasted bagel, butter, and strawberry jam. If this didn’t work, then clearly she had a heart of stone. With the tray balanced on one hand, I knocked lightly on her door and called her name. Moments later, I heard a subdued, “Just a minute.”

She opened the door looking sleepy and her hair was disheveled. She looked fantastic.

“Care for the $3.99 breakfast special, Sleeping Beauty?”

“You made me breakfast?” she said in a surprised, sleep-deprived voice. “Thank you. No one’s ever made breakfast for me. Well, other than my mom.” I detected a hint of sadness as I handed over the tray and coffee.

“Take your time. Go back to bed afterward, if you like. I’ll come back later today, and we’ll see what Schmidt has to say.”

“Grab a fork and join me. I can’t eat all this by myself.” I did, and we sat at the kitchen counter and ate in silence. The scraping of silverware on ceramic plates was the only sound in the apartment.

“So, after a few hours to think about it, are you prepared to go back to prison if you don’t cooperate?” she asked, addressing the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.

“I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to keep Bailey safe, then yes. But I won’t go back quietly. You need to tell him that.”

“You realize you may never see your father again, right?” she said, attempting to change my mind by tugging at my heartstrings.

“Jenna, make the call. Whatever happens happens.”

“Might as well get this over with,” she mumbled. She grabbed her cell phone from her bedroom and called Schmidt. He answered, and she explained my demand. She was in mid-explanation when my phone started ringing. It was Bailey, so I retreated to the bathroom to take the call.

“Chase,” she said after I answered. “Do you think you can stay at the house tonight?” She sounded anxious.

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Something strange happened last night. A white box van that said Wilmington Utilities on the side was parked outside on the street near the house for most of the night, but I didn’t see anyone inside. Then, around four a.m., a couple of thumps against the house woke me. I looked out and the van had left, only to be replaced by a black van. And to top it off, a Jehovah’s Witness came by earlier trying to give me some literature.”

Alarm bells were going off in my head.

“Did you call the cops?”

“No, I have a shotgun under the bed, and my pistol’s in the nightstand. Plus the security system is top notch, but it would be nice to have a male presence in the house.”

“Okay, I’ll be home soon. See you in a bit, and we’ll talk about Friday’s misunderstanding, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and I clicked off and made a beeline for the living room. The look on my face must have alarmed Jenna, because she told Schmidt to hold on, and said to me, “What’s wrong?”

“Who was watching my sister’s house in the Wilmington Utilities box van last night?”

“No one. That asset was turned in after you left Anna’s house.”

“Anyone watching her house in a black van?”

“After Christian stopped by and determined she was safe, we removed all surveillance. Why?”

I repeated to Jenna what Bailey told me, and she relayed the information to Schmidt. She listened for a moment and held her phone out to me.

“Agent Schmidt,” I said, ready for battle.

“What makes you think you can dictate terms to the FBI, Hampton?”

“When someone from my family is in danger, Agent Schmidt. As I told you the other night, you never mentioned the possibility of bodily harm to me, much less anyone else in my family. I think I’ve held up my end of the bargain, even if you haven’t been dealing with me in good faith. And me helping you ends today if Bailey isn’t made aware of the danger.”

“That wasn’t what we agreed to, Chase.”

“Agent Schmidt, is that the argument you’re going with? You would do the same thing if you were in my shoes and your family was threatened.”

He relented somewhat. “I don’t like this idea one bit. I’ll have to run it by my bosses.”

It was time for my second demand.

“I’m not done. I want written confirmation that I will not be sent back to prison, unless I commit another felony. As I said, I’ve more than kept up my end of the bargain, and I don’t trust you to keep up your end.”

I expected a fight but instead he said, “Son, your love of family is admirable, but your stubbornness is pissing me off. I’ll be in touch.”

I looked at Jenna after I clicked off and said, “Why would the box van be at Bailey’s if you weren’t watching her home?”

“I don’t know; I’ll call the team and see what I can find out.”

Seeing Jenna confused did not give me a warm, tingly feeling. Come to think of it, the only warm, tingly feelings I’d had since my release involved Anna.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Ultimately, Schmidt decided against calling
my bluff, and he agreed to read Bailey in on the situation on a limited basis, as well as provide after-hours protection if she wanted it. It was the best deal I could hope for given their limited resources. Sergei Durov wasn’t the only problem America was dealing with, according to Jenna.

It was late afternoon when I knocked on Bailey’s door and told her that we needed to have a one-on-one at the cabana later that evening. It was isolated and private, perfect for what needed to go down. She agreed, but I could tell she was leery, given my secrecy, especially when I asked her to hold her questions until later.

I’d spent the majority of Sunday with her, which meant that I had to beg off on my plans with Anna. I hated this because Anna tended to lose her clothing over the course of our visits, and I liked that very much. I promised her we would get together before our weekend trip up the coast with Sergei and his merry band of America haters. That seemed to placate her, as much as someone like Anna Petrov can be.

By design, Jenna and I arrived at the cabana early, and Micayla and Ash tailed Bailey from the office to the estate to see if she was being followed. I stood on the patio and watched Bailey remove her pumps and make her way down the wooden steps to the beach we’d grown up on. Jenna sat hidden inside.

“So, what’s up? Why the secret meeting?” she said as she stepped on the patio.

I turned to Jenna and said, “Bailey, you remember Jenna from Shooters, right?”

Clearly confused, Bailey looked back and forth at both of us. She nodded her head in the affirmative. “Yessss.”

“Come in and sit down. We need to talk.” Jenna and I decided earlier that I would be the one who explained everything to Bailey, and that Jenna would only speak if something needed clarification.

“I’ll get right to it. Your life is in danger as a result of what I’ve been up to. My release from prison is not what you think it is.”

“What do you mean?” Bailey said.

“Jenna is with a federal law enforcement agency, and I’m working with her on an investigation that has resulted in two attempts on our lives. Saturday, on my way back from Anna’s house, I received a call that threatened your life if I didn’t cease with my activities.”

She digested the news, and then said, “Oh my God, Chase? Who is threatening us?”

“We believe it’s Sergei Durov.”

Stunned, she said, “Why would Mr. Durov be trying to harm you . . . us? He’s been a friend of the family for years. We’re building him a two-hundred-million-dollar yacht, for heaven’s sake.”

“According to Jenna, his hatred for the US goes all the way back to the Cold War, when we essentially bankrupted the Soviet Union. The FBI believe he is planning an attack on our country and is either using our father or working with him to further his agenda.”

“What kind of attack?” Bailey said. She sounded skeptical.

Jenna spoke up. “We believe he has access to all manner of WMDs—deadly toxins, dirty bombs, suitcase nukes.”

“Sergei Durov is in the business of making money, not killing people,” Bailey countered. “You said there were two attempts on your lives?”

“The first was a shotgun blast that missed me and took out my windshield. The second incident occurred in the production building at Aquatic, early Friday morning. Do you remember hearing anything strange regarding Dock Two on Friday?”

“I heard nothing. Why, what happened?”

“Jenna and I were on the floor of Dock Two when the exterior door opened. We were given a two-minute warning to evacuate, but the code that had just opened the interior door to let us in, wouldn’t let us back out.”

“What in the world were you doing down there, and how did you get out?”

“I was giving Jenna a tour of the facilities. When the alarm came, we were barely able to make our way onto the yacht. Then, as we were getting ready to swim off the boat after the dock had filled, the pumps came on and started pumping the water out. Someone wanted us dead first and stranded second. We think it’s someone on the inside. Any idea who could have been controlling the doors?”

“We have at least sixty people trained on door operations. Our insurance company is quite insistent that everyone knows the proper procedures for opening and closing doors, as well as pump operations.”

“Can you check the records to see who might’ve done this? I assume they would have to enter some kind of a special identification code.”

“I’ll have our IT department check the master server, but whoever did this was probably savvy enough to erase the entire command sequence and exit the system clean. What else can I do to help?”

Jenna said, “Ms. Masters, I wanted to let you know that Chase refused to continue working with us unless you were brought in and offered protection. I only ask that you please not share any of this information with anyone, including your father.”

“Do you really think our father could be involved in this?” Bailey asked. “He has months to live, and I know he’d never be involved in something so nefarious.”

“We don’t know who to trust; we aren’t even sure you can be trusted,” Jenna said. “But here we are.”

“I could come up with a reason to cancel this weekend’s trip if that would be helpful,” she suggested.

“No, this weekend’s trip should go as scheduled. We don’t want to spook Mr. Durov,” Jenna said.

“Bailey, what do you know about this new feature that Mr. Durov’s yacht is getting, that the
Anchor Management
already has?” I asked.” Believe it or not, I only know what you know, and I’m the one being tasked to run this damn company. Hank is keeping it secret because he’s worried about the idea leaking out to our competitors. We’re supposed to find out tomorrow evening.”

“Right, the big reveal. This feature could be important in determining what Sergei is planning,” I said.

“I still find it hard to believe Sergei Durov is capable of harming anyone. He’s always been so gracious to us,” she said.

“Not everything is always as it seems, Bailey. You of all people know this.”

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

A cold, biting wind cut
through the rows of stacked container boxes. Overhead, a cloudless black sky served as the canvas for a million shining stars, along with a waxing crescent moon that provided little light for the two
Beaumont
deckhands. They preferred it to be as dark as possible for this mission anyway. One acted as a lookout while the stronger of the two opened the dark-blue container and removed the octagon-shaped canister. After locking the container, the man lifted the heavy canister, carried it fifty feet to the starboard railing, and tossed it thirty feet below into the dark waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

The larger man left immediately to continue with his shift work while the smaller man remained and smoked a cigarette before returning to his small, two-man stateroom. There, he booted up his Macbook Pro and sent a two-word email message to an address he’d committed to memory:
Good morning.

***

Two hours after its plunge, long after the
Beaumont
’s wake had cleared, the canister continued on its journey west, although at a much slower speed. Easterly winds on the ocean surface generated three-foot waves, and the canister rode their crests then slid gently down into their troughs, time after time. Around daybreak, as a pinkish-orange glow began to paint the eastern horizon, two dark, futuristic-looking metallic arms pierced the surface of the water near the bobbing canister, followed by a small waterproof tube. The arms moved carefully toward the canister until one was able to wrap its mechanical claw around one of the rubber handles and lift the canister just above the water. The other claw moved in, easily caught the other handle, and lifted the canister completely out of the water.

Moments later a jet-black, six-person mini sub broke the surface. The robotic arm controller, a short man from Morocco named Karim, monitored the periscope camera and simultaneously maneuvered the arms to a position where the canister sat suspended one foot above the mini sub’s large, round entry hatch.

“Package is ready for retrieval,” he said to the pilot, who immediately left the controls, turned, and took three small steps in a catcher’s crouch, before he stood in the tall, entry silo. Alain Moretz looked through two small portholes to verify that the mini sub was above the water line before he spun the hatch handle and opened it. Cool, salty air rushed over his face, and he welcomed it after being submerged for the past six hours. He inhaled deeply before continuing.

In French, Alain said, “Lower the canister.” Once he had a good grip on the package, Karim nimbly removed the claws and arm, and placed them back in their regular position on either side of the sub. Slowly, Alain lowered the heavy item to the mini’s floor and secured it with industrial-strength cargo straps through two eyebolts anchored in the floor.

“What the hell is it?” Karim asked Alain.

“I have no idea, and it’s probably best that we not ask any questions,” he said as he closed the hatch. He then returned to his small seat in front of the illuminated console.

“Prepare to dive. The quicker we get going, the quicker we find a warm bed, Karim.” The sub was ready to dive in less than a minute, but first Alain turned on the radio and sent a one-sentence message to the mother ship:
Calypso has the package.

He then began to fill the sub’s small ballast tanks and slowly
Calypso
slipped beneath the surface and turned southeast for the two-hour run to the mother ship, which was currently moving in their direction at a leisurely twelve knots.

***

Four hours later

“What we sell are beautiful ships that do amazing things, but without a top-notch engine room, they are little more than a static home on the water,” my father said as he continued the afternoon lecture on All Things Engine and Power Plant. At that moment, his cell started ringing. He looked at the screen and said one word, “Sergei,” before he answered with the same word. He listened intently for what seemed like thirty seconds with a quizzical look on his face.

“You want to leave tomorrow night instead of Friday night?”

He listened to Sergei on the other end before he continued, “Yes, I don’t see why we can’t push the timetable ahead by a couple of days. Let me check with my team to ensure we have everything we need for the run to New York City. I assume your people are ready to go?” He nodded his head up and down, and I heard Sergei’s booming voice through the receiver.

“Good, good. I’ll call you back if there are issues with the departure time, but if not we’ll pick you and your men up tomorrow afternoon and leave around six p.m.”

“Oh, it’s no problem old friend. See you tomorrow.” He clicked off and looked at me with tired eyes.

“Gotta adapt to the customer’s needs in this business, Chase,” he said, running his hands through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair before audibly exhaling. “Looks like we sail for New York City a couple of days early, which means I’ve got some calls to make.”

Me too.

“Are we still doing the demo this evening?” I asked. This produced another loud exhale. He winced and rubbed his slightly swollen neck as he leaned back in his chair.

“Damn, I just don’t have time now. We’ll do it when we are training in the sound.” He sat back up and slowly a smile formed on his aged face.

“Even better, we’ll reveal it to the world in New York Harbor. We’ll alert the press and show it off. Go big or go home, right?”

The frazzled man from a few moments ago had been quickly replaced by an energized master salesman with a shit-eating grin.

“Why didn’t I think of this before? What better place to show off our newest feature than New York City?” He picked up the phone and said, “Can you come over?” Thirty seconds later Bailey waltzed in, and Dad relayed the change in plans as well as his new advertising campaign. After he finished, I said to him, “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Chase, I live for moments like this, and if I’m honest, I don’t have many more of those left in me.”

I looked to Bailey for help, but there was none to be found.

“Okay, dad. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

To Bailey, he said, “Can you leave early with us or is that going to be a problem?”

“You must be crazy if you think I’d miss a trip to New York. I can reschedule my end-of-the-week meetings.”

Unless the
Anchor Management
sprung a leak and sank to the bottom of the harbor, we’d set sail tomorrow evening, with no clue as to what Sergei was planning. I left the office after the meeting broke up and sequestered myself in the last bathroom stall. I pulled out my phone and sent Jenna a text:
Change of plans, leaving for NYC tomorrow evening. Sergei’s request.

She responded back a minute later:
So we heard. I know something you need to hear. Sergei is Anna’s father.