Against the Sky (28 page)

Jimmy stuck his hands in his pocket and stared down at his heavy leather boots. “I'm really sorry, Nick. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Nick draped an arm around the boy's shoulder. “None of this is your fault, Jim. You ran across some bad people. Bad people do bad things. With any luck we'll find them and bring them to justice.”

Jimmy looked into his face. “Thanks, Nick.”

“Take care of your aunt.”

The boy just nodded. Whistling for Duke, he and his golden retriever ran for the plane.

Nick waited till the Cessna began to taxi down the runway, then headed back to the Explorer. Samantha was with Noah. No one knew where they were, and she'd be safe with his friend. Still, he couldn't completely relax until he was back at the lodge.

The disposable rang as Nick opened the car door and slid in behind the wheel. As the Cessna lifted off the runway, he dug the phone out of his pocket. “Brodie.”

“It's me.” Cord's voice came over the phone line. “You were supposed to call. What's going on?”

Nick's fingers tightened on the phone. “Maybe that's something I should be asking you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You might want to make a trip up to your cabin. It's a little more ventilated than it was yesterday afternoon.”

Silence fell. “What happened?”

“The Russians showed up. Shot up the place pretty bad. Got pretty well shot up themselves. I keep asking myself how they knew where to find us.”

“Is everyone okay? No one got hurt?”

“Thanks to Derek and Jimmy, they're fine. So you didn't tell anyone where we were?”

Cord fell silent again. This time, Nick could almost feel the wheels spinning in his mind. “Taggart was looking for you. He knows we're friends. Maybe he found out about the cabin. It wasn't a secret. Maybe he told someone and the Russians got wind of it. Hell, I don't know. But I sure as hell didn't say anything. You've got two women and a kid up there. Do you really think I'd do something that could get them killed?”

Nick scrubbed a hand over his face, blew out a weary breath. “No.” Cord was his closest friend. Nick trusted him with his life. “And it makes an odd kind of sense that Taggart's involved. He always likes to see himself as smarter than everyone else. He could be feeding the Russians information, helping them stay one step ahead of the feds. There's big money in drugs and women. The payoff would be huge for that kind of help.”

“I'm not sure I buy it, but I guess it's possible. I presume you've got everyone somewhere safe—and for now I don't want to know where that is.”

Nick felt the pull of a smile. “They're safe.”

“What are you going to do?”

“My next call goes to Charlie Ferrell. I'm hoping he can step in and take charge, make this whole thing come together. I'm not a cop anymore and I don't want to be. I just want this over and everyone safe.”

“Sounds good. If I find out anything useful, I'll let you know. If there's anything you need, call me.”

“You got it.”

As promised, Nick's next call went to Special Agent Charlie Ferrell. In the eye of his mind, he could see Ferrell's big hulking frame in a wrinkled black suit with his phone pressed against his ear. Late forties with salt-and-pepper hair, he and Nick had first met during a kidnap-murder investigation a few years after Nick had become a homicide detective.

They had worked together again on what had turned out to be Nick's last case, the brutal murder of a thirteen-year-old-girl by a serial killer. Nick had gained a deep respect for Charlie, who had taken the girl's death almost as personally as Nick had. Ferrell was a man Nick totally trusted.

After a few quick pleasantries, he cut to the chase. “I've got something for you, Charlie. It's got to do with the Fedorko investigation and it's big.”

“I thought you were retired.”

“I'm not retired. I'm just looking for something to do besides get shot at.”

“If you're dicking around with the Russians, it doesn't much sound like you've found it. How big are you talking about?”

“What I've got will break your case wide open. I think you've already connected Fedorko to Bela Varga. You also know both of them work for Luka Dragovich. I've got enough to bring Bela Varga down. Good chance he'll roll on Fedorko. Get them both, you might even snare Dragovich.”

Charlie fell silent. “Sonofabitch,” he finally said.

“There's a catch.”

“Always is.”

“I've got the information you need but I want something in return.”

He grunted. “So what have you got and what do you want for it?”

“I've got Varga's log book, showing dates, names, and places of some of the girls his men have abducted. Mostly Native girls, a lot of them are underage. He's running kids, Charlie. The guy is the scum of the earth.”

“Worse, as far as I'm concerned.”

“I've also got a flash drive that connects the dots between Dragovich and money laundering through international banking accounts. On top of all the other goodies, I've got a witness. One of Bela Varga's women. She was abducted when she was twelve years old.”

“Holy shit.”

“Exactly. Listen, Charlie. The girl has a ten-year-old daughter. She's terrified Bela Varga will force the kid into the life. She wants safety for herself and her little girl. She wants to start over. I told her we could make that happen. In the meantime, she and the kid need protection.”

“That's it?”

“Just get the girl and her daughter somewhere safe until this is over. Once it is, you can put her in WITSEC or we can connect her with a group that'll help her start a new life somewhere else.”

“When can you bring her in?”

“The sooner the better. The Russians are breathing down my neck. People are in danger. I need to make this end.”

“Pick a time and place, and we'll be there.”

Relief filtered through him. “Expect to hear from me by tomorrow.”

“You got it.”

Nick signed off and shoved the phone back into his pocket. The moment Carol called, he could put the plan in motion. He hoped to hell she called soon.

 

 

Snug in the cozy cabin Noah had assigned them while she waited for Nick, Samantha sat in front of her laptop, set up on a knotty pine desk as yellow as the sun. The log cabin was rustic but charming, with a pine bed and dresser, and a wrought-iron lamp with a parchment shade.

Clicking up her e-mail, she began reading the replies she had received from the last batch of mail she'd sent. The first came from her mother.

Guilt slipped through her. She and her mother had always been close but the pregnancy had thrown her. She didn't want to talk about it over the Internet or on the phone. There were too many emotions involved, too much she needed to explain. She'd have to wait until they were face-to-face, which with any luck would be fairly soon.

Her heart squeezed. Going back to San Francisco would give her the chance to explain things to her family, but it would also mean leaving Nick. It was going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do.

Shoving the unwanted thought aside, she typed in her reply.

She punched the Send button and watched the message wing off into cyberspace.

Abby's e-mail was simple and straight to the point.

 

No more bullcrap, Sam. What's going on?

 

She smiled and started typing.

With a sigh, she went back and deleted the message. Typed in:

The reply came right back, which meant Abby was in front of her machine.

Typical Abby. She specialized in man-trouble and never seemed to tire of the game. Samantha wished she was close enough to get one of Abby's great, everything-is-going-to-be-okay hugs. But Abby wasn't there and the problems that she and Nick, Jimmy and Mary were facing weren't going to be solved with a simple hug.

She answered a few more messages, including one from her brother, Peter, telling her more about his current lady love. She warned him not to blow it and told him to have fun.

After she finished her mail, she did a few basic yoga routines, just to start getting her body back in shape, then went back to doing what she did best, digging around on the Internet.

Facebook and all the other social media held a treasure trove of information. If she looked long enough, dug deep enough, there was always something out there to find.

 

 

The tiny cabin at Salmon Lake Nick shared with Samantha was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Pacing back and forth, he waited impatiently for the call from Carol Johnson. It didn't come until after supper, a meal of roast moose, potatoes, and carrots. Since Samantha had been cooking, the food had been delicious and Noah had been impressed.

Now that supper was over, they were back in the cabin, Nick lying on the bed, trying not to think about seducing Samantha, at least not until after the call he was waiting for. Relief hit him when the phone started ringing. He dug the disposable out of his pocket and pressed it against his ear. “Brodie.”

Across the room, Samantha glanced at him expectantly. She looked so pretty, he felt an ache in his chest. He forced himself to concentrate on the call.

“Nick, this is . . . Carol Johnson. Evie and I . . . we're ready whenever you are.”

Finally.
“How about tomorrow afternoon?”

“That would work. Connie's out of town, so he won't be expecting me to come over tomorrow night. You've got things set up?”

“I've arranged for you to be taken into FBI protective custody.”

“All right. Where are we meeting them?”

“A café near the Eagle's Nest.” He figured she'd be okay with the location since she had arranged the first meet. “That work for you?”

“Yes. Will you be picking us up? I don't trust anyone else.”

“I'll be there. What's your address?”

Carol rattled off an address just a few blocks from the café, probably the reason she had picked the bar for their first meeting.

“I'll be there at one thirty,” Nick said. “I'll be driving a black Ford Explorer.”

“All right, we'll be ready.”

“And Carol . . . ?”

“Yes?”

“Everything's going to be okay.”

He heard the slight catch in her voice. “I'll see you tomorrow,” Carol said softly, and the call ended.

Nick punched in the number for Charlie Ferrell. “We're on for tomorrow. Two o'clock.” He'd given it a lot of thought. He preferred daylight so he could keep an eye on their surroundings.

“Where?”

“There's a little café on Wayburn. Marty's. It's a locals' joint.”

“I know where it is.”

“There's a parking lot on the right. Nice and open. There's usually people around so we shouldn't stand out, but not too many. We'll be able to tell if any uninvited guests show up.”

“Sounds good. I assume you'll be bringing the book and the flash drive.”

“I'll have them with me. Look for my black Explorer.” Nick hung up the phone. Setting the disposable on the nightstand, he walked over to Samantha, who rose and went into his arms.

“Is everything ready?” she asked as he nuzzled the side of her neck.

“Should be.”

She drew back to look at him, reached up and smoothed the frown lines from his forehead. “Then why are you still worried?”

His mouth edged up. She was beginning to know him too well. “Old habit, I guess. I'll stop worrying once Carol and Evie are safely in FBI custody.” He bent his head and very softly kissed her. “In the meantime, let's go to bed.”

Samantha slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, long, hot, and deep, making him instantly hard. “Good idea,” she whispered, kissing him again.

Though making love to Samantha would help take his mind off Carol and her daughter, two o'clock tomorrow couldn't come soon enough for Nick.

The mid-October afternoon was dreary, a leaden sky hanging low on the horizon, an icy wind sweeping down off the snow-capped mountains in the distance. Near the outskirts of Anchorage, a sleeting rain began to fall and Nick turned on his windshield wipers.

He was anxious to pick up Carol Johnson and her daughter, hand them over to the feds for protection. Once word of the evidence against Bela Varga and Fedorko got out, there would be no need to worry about Jimmy's safety, no reason for the mob to go after him or Mary.

The nav system in the Explorer directed Nick to the address Carol had given him. He spotted a small figure at the window as he pulled up in front of her first-floor apartment, a four-unit stucco building with patches of snow on the lawn in front.

An instant later, the curtains fell closed, the front door opened and Carol appeared, looking even smaller and more vulnerable than he remembered. With a quick survey of the area, Nick got out of the Explorer and headed up the sidewalk to her porch.

Carol motioned him inside the apartment, which was neat and clean, furnished simply with a tweed sofa and two matching chairs. Inexpensive framed posters of Alaska hung on the walls. A wheeled carry-on sat on the plain beige carpet next to a smaller wheeled bag with pink-and-purple hearts on the front.

“This is Evie,” Carol said. “Evie, this is Mr. Brodie. He's here to help us.”

“Hello,” the girl said shyly. She was petite like her mother, with Carol's same shiny black hair and almond eyes, but her skin was lighter, her features more refined, evidence of a Caucasian father. Even as young as ten, it was clear the girl would turn into an exotically beautiful young woman. In a year or two, as her figure began to blossom, she'd be every pervert's sick fantasy.

Nick's jaw tightened. He forced himself to smile. “Hello, Evie. It's nice to meet you.” He looked up at Carol. “We need to go.”

Dressed in jeans and a dark blue cable knit sweater, Carol grabbed the handle of her carry-on while Evie took hold of the bag with the hearts on the front. “This is all we're taking.”

Nick nodded his approval. He'd been worried they would try to take too much with them. He moved to the window, checked up and down the street but saw nothing that seemed to pose a threat. As he pulled open the door, his hand went to the Glock .45 in the holster on his hip, but aside from an occasional car rolling down the block, the street remained clear.

In minutes, the bags were loaded, Evie sat in the back with a seat belt fastened across her lap while Carol was belted into the passenger seat.

“We aren't going far,” Nick said. “A place called Marty's Café.”

“I've been there,” Carol said. She managed to smile. “Evie loves their pancakes.”

“I want to drive by first,” he said, “make sure nothing looks hinky.”

Carol's lips trembled, but she nodded. He could read her fear in the stiff way she sat, the way her gaze assessed the street outside the window. With the sleet continuing to fall, there weren't many people on the road. Few cars passed them as they rolled toward the restaurant.

The sign for Marty's Café appeared on a single-story building up ahead. Nick drove slowly past, spotting a few diners at tables on the other side of the gold lettering on the front window. He counted six cars in the parking lot, including an unmarked brown Dodge Charger. A plain dark blue Chevy Tahoe, another feebie favorite, sat at the curb across the street. Both were empty.

Two men stood at the edge of the lot, their collars turned up against the wind, hands shoved into their pockets. He recognized Charlie Ferrell as one of them. Two more agents were positioned partway down the block.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. The feebies were there in force. Carol and Evie would be safe.

“Oh, my God, don't stop! I know one of those men!”

The terror in Carol's voice had him pressing on the gas, easing the car in between two others, turning when he reached the corner.

“Four of those men are agents, Carol. Did you see someone else?”

“The blond man. He was standing next to the big man at the edge of the parking lot. I saw him at Connie's. I saw them talking. I think he was someone on Connie's payroll. Oh, my God, Nick, I didn't know he was FBI.”

“The big guy's Charlie Ferrell. He's a friend. Are you sure it was the man standing next to him? You need to be absolutely certain, Carol.”

“I got a very good look at him that night. Blond hair, blue eyes, extremely well dressed and very good-looking. It was him. I'm absolutely sure.”

Nick bit back the dirty word locked behind his teeth and kept on driving. He didn't stop till he reached the edge of the city, pulled over to the side of the road and phoned Ferrell.

“Where the hell are you, Brodie? We saw you drive by. We figured you were making a sweep, going around the block and coming back, but you never showed up. What the hell's going on?”

“Carol spotted a rat. I don't know his name but he was the blond guy standing next to you. She saw him with Connie Varga when she was staying at his house.”

“Bullshit. That's Ford Sanders. I've known him for years.”

“Snappy dresser, blond, blue-eyed and good-looking?”

“Shit.”

“As I understand it, you've been one step behind Bela Varga and Fedorko for years. Maybe Sanders is the reason.”

Charlie's voice came out hard. “If he is, you can bet I'll find out.”

“I'm not bringing Carol in until I'm sure she'll be safe.” Nick hung up the phone.

“Mom, what's happening?” Evie's frightened voice reached him from the backseat.

“It's okay, sweetie,” Carol said, turning so she could talk to her daughter. “We just have to wait a little longer.”

Nick wondered what explanation the woman had given the child about all of this. Whatever it was, Evie seemed to understand the two of them were heading for a new life somewhere else. When he glanced over at the woman in the seat beside him, she was silently crying.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

Nick's jaw hardened. “For now, you and Evie are going to take a little vacation. There's a place I know you'll be safe.”

A faint sob came from her throat.

“Charlie's a good man,” Nick said. “He'll figure this out. We just have to wait until he does.”

With that, Nick stepped on the gas, heading back to the Salmon Lodge. At least Noah would be happy. He was about to get more new business.

 

 

Samantha was getting bored. She had done everything she could to come up with new information on Constantine Bela Varga or Dmitri Fedorko. Fedorko's wife, a woman named Helga, and his girlfriend, Heather Austin, had been her best hope. The only thing she'd come up with was their names.

Heather wasn't into social media as far as Samantha could tell, and Helga Fedorko only communicated with members of her immediate family. And all they talked about were their kids.

With a sigh, she turned off her laptop and rose from the desk. Outside the window, she could see Noah at work, his face gleaming with sweat as he swung a heavy wooden ax, splitting wood for the winter, tossing it into a stack off to one side. Some of the snow had melted, but the sky was iron gray, and there was still a layer of white on the ground.

She started to turn away, to pick up the mystery novel she had borrowed from Noah, anything to keep her mind off Nick and what was happening in Anchorage. The sharp echo of a gunshot had her whirling back to the window, gasping as the heavy ax slipped from Noah's big hand. She watched in horror as he crumpled slowly to the ground, a gusher of blood erupting from a wound on the side of his head.

Dear God, Noah! She started running, cried out as the door crashed open and two men burst into the cabin, both of them carrying big black, semi-automatic pistols. One was balding, short but wide, built like a tree stump, the other had brown hair and might have looked innocuous except for the blue ink tattoo of a spider's web on the side of his neck.

Fear shot through her. For an instant she stood frozen. Then she thought of the window in the bathroom, grabbed the lamp on the desk, picked it up and hurled it at the tattooed man's face, heard it crash on the floor as she flew past him across the room toward escape.

The short man rushed in front of her and slammed the door, blocking her way. Grabbing her wrist, he spun her around, shoved her arm up behind her back and pushed her into the middle of the room. Shaking all over, Samantha fought to control her terror, fought back the image of Noah lying on the ground, bleeding into the snow.

“Well . . . look what we have here.” The tattooed man's voice held the trace of a Russian accent.

“Who are you?” She took a shaky breath, rubbing her wrist, determined to brazen it out. “What do you want?” What was happening to Noah? What would the men do to her?

The short man walked over to the laptop sitting open on the desk. “Looks like that new software the boss installed did the job,” he said. No accent. Just a smug look on his puffy, dish-shaped face.

“What software?” she asked, but a sick feeling sank into the pit of her stomach.

The tattooed man stared down at her. “I believe it is called a Trojan horse. A smart girl like you must have heard of it. This one is new, a very sophisticated model, highly classified by the federal government. It goes on alert when someone trespasses in a place he should not be. It seeks out the intruder's server, then tracks backward until it finds the guilty party and uses GPS to relay his location.”

Dear God forgive her, she had brought the men here with her digging. Her heart squeezed at the memory of Noah lying in the snow. She prayed she hadn't gotten him killed.

A dark smile played over the Russian's lips. “I believe it worked very well, would you not say, Ms. Hollis? It brought us straight to you.”

Her head came up. “How do . . . how do you know my name?”

“It is quite amazing how easy it is to get information if one has enough money. You are Brodie's woman. Your man has caused us a great deal of trouble. But we are certain, once he knows you are with us, that trouble will end.”

The room seemed to spin. Samantha fought for control. Nick would be back. She just needed to delay until he could get there. But what if she led him into terrible danger? What if they shot him the way they had Noah?

“Get her moving, Roman,” the short man said. “We need to get out of here.”

“Get your coat, my dear,” the tattooed man, Roman, said. “We would not want you getting cold.”

“What about Noah? At least let me bring him inside. He could freeze to death out there.”

The short man barked a laugh. “It's a little late to worry about that.” Grabbing her parka off the back of the chair, he tossed it in her direction. “Put it on, or we take you the way you are.”

Fighting not to tremble, she stuck her arms into the sleeves of the hooded jacket and pulled it on. Roman jerked her in front of him and pushed her out the door. The broken lamp crunched beneath her feet. Pretending to stumble, she reached down and picked up a jagged piece of glass, stuck it into her coat pocket.

There was nothing she could do as they dragged her toward the black sedan with its engine running in the parking lot.

A third man came down off the hill and ran toward the car, a rifle with a scope in his hand. As the short man shoved her into the backseat and slid in beside her, the third man popped the trunk, tossed the rifle inside, and slammed the lid.

He rounded the car to the driver's side while Roman got into the passenger seat. “Very nice shooting, Markov,” Roman said to the driver. “Now let's go.”

As the car drove away, a hard lump rose in Samantha's throat. She closed her eyes and started to pray, first for Noah, that by some miracle he would live. Then for herself. That God and Nick Brodie would find a way to save her.