Doing Hard Time (28 page)

• • •

Back at the airport, he drove into the hangar. Tim Peters was sitting at his desk, putting his belongings back into the drawers. Teddy went to the pilots’ lounge and went to work on the computer. He took the memory chip from his binocular-camera, inserted it into the computer, and copied the photographs of Majorov and his friend onto the hard drive, then he encrypted the file. He set up a path through half a dozen other computer sites to the CIA mainframe, and logged on to it. After another half a minute’s work he was into the Agency’s face-recognition program.

The program identified Majorov almost immediately and brought up a file on him. Teddy read it avidly and committed the salient details to memory. Then he switched to the photographs of Majorov’s companion; the computer took much longer and it required all the photographs before the man was identified. Teddy read the file:
Vladimir Ivanovich Chernensky, born Kiev, Ukraine, 1951, served in Soviet Army 1969–74, trained as a sniper. Tried for murdering his platoon sergeant, acquitted, but discharged. Seems to have become associated with criminal gangs in Moscow as a young man. Entered U.S. 1997 on a Polish passport, then disappeared, probably now in Brooklyn, NY. Rumors of use by the Russian Mafia as an assassin, acquiring sobriquet “the Viper.” Said to be a crack shot with rifle or handgun and good with knife and razor. Said to be inventive in his work.

That was all, but it was more than enough to worry Teddy. He made a phone call on his cell phone.

“Mike Freeman.”

“It’s Billy Barnett.”

“Hi, Billy, you ready to come work for us?”

“Not yet—probably not for several months.”

“Is something else occupying your time?”

“Yes. Majorov landed in Santa Monica a couple of hours ago and has checked into the Bel-Air Hotel.” He gave Mike the suite number.

“That’s interesting to know,” Mike said. “Do you think he’s an immediate threat to anyone I know?”

“He brought with him a man from New York—write this down: Vladimir Ivanovich Chernensky, early sixties, five-seven, a hundred and thirty, gray hair. Known in Brooklyn as ‘the Viper.’”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Mike said.

“There isn’t anything to like about this man. He’s an assassin, pure and simple: rifle, handgun, knife, razor—probably poison and a dozen other ways to kill. He’s not the sort of person a sane man would choose to travel with. He was carrying a heavy suitcase that he wouldn’t let anyone touch.”

“I’m in L.A. I’m going to talk to Stone about this and suggest putting some people on him and Peter.”

“If you’ll forgive the suggestion, I think you should do it surreptitiously with Mr. Barrington and confine your protection of Peter to transporting him between The Arrington and Centurion Studios. I’m doing some work for him at the studio and at Santa Monica Airport, and we’ll be spending a lot of time together, so I can watch his back. I’ll e-mail you photographs of Chernensky and Majorov, and you can distribute them to your people.”

“Maybe I can get Chernensky arrested before he has time to move.”

“He has no criminal record in the United States and by this time probably has an ironclad identity,” Teddy said, “so it would be difficult to have him arrested. If he gets anywhere near Peter, I’ll deal with him. If he gets near Mr. Barrington, I recommend he be dealt with . . . informally.”

“That’s out. We don’t do that sort of thing—too much to lose.”

“Then tell your people not to get in my way,” Teddy said, then hung up. He e-mailed the photographs to Freeman, printed out some copies, then got into his car and drove back to Centurion Studios.

Peter was editing when Teddy walked in.

“I thought you were taking the day off,” Peter said.

“I finished my work, and I’d like to talk to you.”

Peter switched off the machine, and they moved into his office.

Teddy placed the hangar keys on Peter’s desk. “The hangar is all yours. One key works every lock. I’d like your permission to make use of the apartment in the hangar, if you don’t need it.”

“Of course.”

“I hired Tim Peters, and he was very happy about it. You’ll meet him at the airport tomorrow morning at eleven, before we fly.”

“Great! Anything else?”

“Yes. From now until further notice, you must not go anywhere except in a vehicle driven by a Strategic Services employee. Do you own a handgun?”

“No, I’m not much interested in guns.”

“Do you know how to shoot?”

“Not in any sort of serious way.”

“Then let’s go down to the armory right now and get you familiarized.”

“But why? I don’t have a license.”

“I’ll have one for you tomorrow morning.”

“You can do that?”

“Don’t ask too many questions, Peter.”

“Why am I in danger?”

Teddy handed him photographs of Majorov and Chernensky. “The larger, younger of the two men is Yuri Majorov, who sent the two men to follow you in New Mexico. You are unlikely to see him, but the other man is very dangerous, and you must be on the lookout for him every time you leave this bungalow.”

“And what if I see him?”

“Either tell me, or if I’m not available, shoot him.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Let’s go over to the armory and spend an hour on the range.”

Peter turned out to have a good eye and a steady hand, and Teddy was pleased with his performance, standing, kneeling, and prone. Next he had him fire while moving left and right, and he was not so happy with his prowess in that mode. Still, he could shoot—if he could bring himself to shoot. Teddy didn’t know how to teach that.

Teddy checked out the handgun and holster for the .380 pistol Peter had been firing, then they rode back to the bungalow in Peter’s golf cart, with Teddy on high alert.

“Well,” Peter said, when they got back inside, “that was fun, but I’m glad it’s over.”

“You need more work on shooting while moving,” Teddy said.

“You know what’s scary about this?” Peter asked. “How seriously you’re taking it.”

“You’d better take it seriously, too, until I can neutralize the Viper, or you won’t finish the film you’re working on. And by the way, when you come to the airport tomorrow morning, have the driver pull into the hangar before you get out. There’s nothing to hide behind at an airport, if shooting starts.”

A voice came from behind him. “Shooting? What shooting?” Ben Bacchetti and Hattie Patrick stood in the doorway.

“Ben, Hattie, you remember Billy Barnett, from New Mexico?”

“Sure,” Ben said. “Hi, Billy. We’ve been in the recording studio. What’s going on?”

“Well,” Peter said, “you remember the car following us on the road?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“The guy who sent the car is in L.A., and Billy thinks he might send somebody else to look us up.” He handed Ben the photographs.

“This guy is a threat?” Hattie said. “He looks like somebody’s grandfather.”

“That’s because he has survived every encounter he has ever had with an opponent,” Teddy said. “You would be unwise to underestimate him.”

“What do we do if we see him?” Hattie asked.

“Run,” Teddy replied.

“Ben shoots,” Peter said to Billy.

“Good. You want me to get you something to shoot with?” Teddy asked.

“I’ve got the old man’s .38 back at The Arrington,” Ben said.

“Carry it. I’ll get you a license.”

“What about me?” Hattie asked.

“Do you want to walk around armed?”

“Well, no.”

“Then let me worry about you. Just keep a lookout for that old man in the photograph.”

“This is playing like a movie,” Hattie said.

“Don’t make the mistake of believing that,” Teddy replied. “Everybody needs to be wary for the next few days.”

“What happens in a few days?” Ben asked.

“Don’t ask.”

• • •

Stone left the Wilshire Boulevard office of Woodman & Weld and drove back to The Arrington. He noticed a brown SUV a couple of cars behind him that turned whenever he did.

• • •

He found Mike Freeman sitting by the pool with a Bloody Mary frozen to his fist.

“Did you have a good day?” Mike asked.

“Pretty good. I’ve been going over Peter’s contract with the studio. Our L.A. office did the dogwork, and they did a good job.”

“God forbid a partner in a law firm should get the crease in his pants wrinkled.”

“Mike, your people drive brown SUVs, don’t they?”

“Brown, black, blue—whatever the dealer has when we’re shopping for cars.”

“A brown one followed me from the Woodman & Weld offices just now. What’s going on?”

“You remember why you came back out here?”

“I do.”

“Your fears were warranted. Majorov has turned up in L.A. with an assassin in tow, and I’m taking precautions.”

“I see. What precautions have you taken with Peter?”

“Billy Barnett.”

“Is he enough?”

“I believe he is.”

The door slammed, and the kids came out of the house.

“Welcome home,” Stone said. “How was your day?”

“Extremely interesting,” Peter said. “I spent part of it learning to shoot a handgun. Billy was my instructor.”

“How’d you do?” Stone asked.

“Pretty good, I think. Billy seemed pleased, except I was a little wild when moving.”

“Get better at that,” Stone said.

“That’s what Billy said.”

“Listen to Billy.”

“I do.”

“We all do,” Hattie said. “Ben and Peter are packing now, and I have instructions to run if I see this man.” She handed Stone the photograph Billy had given her. “He’s called the Viper.”

Stone sucked his teeth. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Who does?” Mike asked. “I assume you’re packing, yourself?”

“I will be, starting tomorrow.”

“The Viper is staying at the Bel-Air with Majorov.”

“You’re so comforting,” Stone said. “How do you feel about the security at The Arrington?”

“It’s excellent. Strategic Services provides it, if you recall. I had a word with our team leader this afternoon, and I circulated that photograph in your hand.”

“Where did the photograph come from?”

“From Billy Barnett.”

“And how did he get it?”

“He photographed them when they got off Majorov’s airplane at Santa Monica.”

“How is Billy so on top of this?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t much care, but I’ll say this: I’m glad I offered him a job, and I’ll be very pleased if and when he accepts it.”

“Dad,” Peter said, “thank you for suggesting I hire Billy. I’m very glad I did. We’re going to start working on my instrument rating tomorrow, in his airplane. He has a JetPROP, like your old airplane, but newer and better equipped.”

“And your Mustang will be here by dark,” Stone said. “The pilot called from his last refueling stop.”

“And the pilot I hired is going to give me dual in the Mustang,” Peter said.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Stone said, “the more time you spend in the air for the next week or two, the better.”