From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (12 page)

“What do you want me to do, Carmen?”

“I need something on him. Maybe his real
name, which I could threaten to send to my contact at the NYPD. I’d pay him
dearly to investigate Katzev, which would put the syndicate in jeopardy. That’s
the sort of information I need. Something that will frighten him to the point
that he’ll back off until I can figure out where he lives and take him out
myself.”

“We already know where he lives, Carmen.”

She was rendered speechless. A rush of
questions rose within her, the first of which was why she wasn’t told about
this earlier. Spocatti spoke before she could reply.

“Babe called Gelling this morning to give
him an update on where things stand now. I hear it allowed him to take another
breath and for his heart to strike another beat. So, good for Babe. Apparently,
Gelling has been working his contacts since you met with him. He’s found your
Katzev. Babe planned to tell you this afternoon, when you went to her house to
strategize. Gelling also has other information, though Babe didn’t tell me what
it was because I didn’t ask. Given the urgency of your current situation, I’d
recommend that you contact her now, give her an update on Katzev’s telephone
message to you, and suggest that you meet immediately so you can get ahead of
this before he follows through.”

Her phone made an audible click, letting
her know a new message had been left. She thanked Vincent, hung up, and
listened to the message. It was from Sheila Paige, one of the administrators at
St. Vincent’s she’d known for years. She sounded on the edge of panic, which
was unlike her. As she listened, Carmen understood the woman’s panic and why
her own stomach sank now. He did it.

He stole Chloe away.

CHAP
TER
FOURTEEN

Out of all the property Illarion Katzev
owned in Manhattan, he owned only two warehouses. The first was unusable
because it was filled with items he didn’t have space for at either of his
hotels or his restaurants, while the second was perfect for his needs now
because it contained only his growing collection of high-end new and vintage
sports cars.

As such, this warehouse was
spacious—none of the cars was parked remotely close to each other. Better
yet, there was plenty of room for the other cars Katzev planned to purchase
soon, such as the Gullwing Mercedes he was this close to buying.

The ones he owned now simply were here for
him when he needed them for a night out on the town or when he just wanted to
see them, touch them, sit in them, and be reminded, with surprise, even at this
point in his career, that they belonged to him.

He loved them all, these gleaming works of
art that shined in the spotlights positioned above of them. As a boy in
Aberdeen, when he was just poor Iver Kester, the picked-upon kid who collected
car magazines and dared to dream that a better life existed beyond the poverty
he’d come to know on the farm but did not accept, he never thought that he’d
ever amass a collection such as this.

In the center of the room was something
different.

Sitting on a metal chair beneath another
spotlight was a young woman with a black hood over her head. Her wrists were
cuffed and her hands were in her lap.

Two armed men stood on either side of her.
Beyond asking to use the bathroom or for the occasional drink of water from the
fountain beside the bathroom, she hadn’t spoken since they abducted her late
yesterday afternoon when she was leaving Forest Hills High School to return to
the group home St. Vincent’s provided for her.

Now, she simply sat there with her mouth
shut, a gift she probably learned from her days on the streets when keeping
quiet sometimes was enough to keep one alive.

Katzev went over to her and, for the first
time in several hours, snatched off the hood. The sudden gesture and the
blinding light startled her to the point that she reared away from
him—not so much in terror, but given the look on her face, also in rage.

He knelt down beside her.

She leaned further away from him, a lock
of her shoulder-length blonde hair fell in her face, and she pushed it back
over her ear with her cuffed hands. Her bottom lip quivered, but he sensed it
wasn’t out of fear. Just looking at her now, sensing the heat of hatred coming
off of her, he half-expected her to spit on him.

“How are you, Chloe?”

The girl moved to speak, thought better of
it, and remained silent. She glanced around the warehouse. Looked at the cars
again. Saw the two men on either side of her. Saw their guns. And then, in
front of her, she saw something new. A video camera on a tripod. It was pointed
at her.

“It’s fine,” he said to her. “You can
talk. You’re not dead yet. I’m giving Carmen nine hours to secure your
protection. Do you think she will?”

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“Because Carmen loves you,” Katzev
said.
 
“What’s your last name,
Chloe?”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you politely and I want
to know. You certainly don’t want me to be impolite, do you?”

“It’s Philips.”

“Chloe Philips. Nice ring to it. How old
are you, Chloe?”

“Sixteen. Seventeen in two months.”

“One day—before you know it,
really—there will come a time when saying that soon you’ll be another
year older in two months will end. That is, of course, assuming that Carmen
comes through for you. If she doesn’t, you might just top off at sixteen going
on seventeen.”

“Why are you doing this?”

He behaved as if he didn’t hear her
question. “Are you from the projects, Chloe? From a poor family? Taken away by
the state because you were mistreated? Malnourished? Wound up at St. Vincent’s
in an effort to turn your life around? Is that your history? Your cheap shoes
say it is.”

She looked up at him in defiance. “That’s
about right,” she said. “Although you left out the part about my father being a
drunk and my mother running off with any man who’d have her, including the last
one, who beat me. But, yeah, that’s pretty much it. That’s me, cheap shoes and
all.”

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Is that
Carmen’s influence or does it come naturally?”

“Carmen taught me to stand up for myself,
but when you come from the streets, like I do, you learn how to deal with
scumbags like you pretty quickly. Carmen just helped me to hone my craft, if
that’s what you want to call it.”

“Carmen would think you’re being reckless
right now.”

“Maybe. But it’s obvious what you’re going
to do to me, so why should I give a shit? Why not go out with a bang? My life
hasn’t exactly been wrapped up in some big fucking bow, asshole. It’s been shit
from the start, so why should it end any differently?”

“I have to say—you are well spoken
for someone so young.”

“I do well in English.”

“That should take you far.”

She ignored his sarcasm and looked around
the warehouse. “Are all of these your cars?” she asked.

“They are.”

“They look like they cost a lot of money.”

“They did.”

“So, you’re overcompensating for a little
dick?”

He wanted to reach out and slap her across
the face, because he did, in fact, have a small penis. But if he did, he knew
that would just send her fury into silence, which he didn’t want.

He found himself unexpectedly fascinated
by her.

He stood and looked her over. There
certainly wasn’t much to her. Maybe a bit over five feet tall. Probably one
hundred pounds. Pale skin that looked as if it probably turned pink in the
summer sun. Pretty blue eyes now narrowed and looking hard at him.

When they followed her yesterday on her
walk home from school, there were students in front of her and students behind
her, but Chloe Philips walked alone, her back straight, stride determined,
mouth set, cheap shoes clicking on the pavement.

When they reached a point that one of his
men was able to walk alongside her and ask her to get into the car parked ahead
of them or she’d die, she hesitated for a moment, glanced at him, but then
offered no resistance when he led her to the curb. It was the most peculiar
thing Katzev had seen in years. She simply got in the back of the car, no questions
asked.

“Yesterday,” he said. “When we picked you
up. Why didn’t you put up a fight?”

“Why would I?” She nodded toward the man
at her left. “Roid Boy here told me he’d kill me. He also had a gun. I could
feel it when he pressed his jacket pocket against my back. I would have been a
fool to put up a fight, so I did what I was told.”

“Were you scared?”

“Are you serious?”

“But you’re so calm now. Defiant.”

“I didn’t sleep last night. Instead, I
tried to figure out how this was going to end. And there’s only one answer.
You’re going to kill me. That’s what your two brutes are for and that’s what
that camera is for—to capture it all on film. This is what happens to
people like me. It’s not going to end well. It never has for me, so why should
I give you the satisfaction of seeing me squirm? It’s not going to happen. And
frankly, at this point in my life, when I’ve been beaten up in ways you can’t
imagine judging by your flashy cars, your nice suit, and your expensive shoes,
it’s not worth it.”

“What isn’t worth it?”

“Life isn’t worth it.”

“That isn’t true.”

“Oh, please. So, now you’re going to
lecture me on the value of life when you’re about to take mine from me? That’s
classic, man. That’s genius.”

“I also came from nothing,” he said.

“And look what that did for you. It shaped
you into the terrific person you are today. Are you proud of how you turned
out? Would your parents be proud about what you’re about to do? What you’ve
probably already done a hundred times in your life?”

“None of this is personal, Chloe, so stop
behaving as if it is.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? My life is on
the line. It doesn’t get more personal than that, dude.”

“You’re just the lure. That’s all.”

“Bullshit.”

It had been years since anyone stood up to
him like this. Usually, when he put someone in her situation, they were filled
will pleas, apologies, empty promises, and tears. They begged until they ran
out of words. They cried and they shouted and they asked for another chance.
But not this one. This one was pissed off, and it came from a place of not
caring because of the life she’d been dealt. She confused him and she intrigued
him.

He came around and faced her. “We’re going
to do something, Chloe.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“You’re going to talk directly into that
camera. Then I’m going to send the video file to Carmen. Please don’t trust my
patience and tell her that you’re in a warehouse. We’ll just end up doing it
again and again until you get it right. If you refuse, your friend Roid Boy, as
you called him, won’t make things pleasant for you. You’re a smart girl. Just
tell her that you’re frightened and that you need her help.”

“But I’m not frightened. I told you that.
I fully expect to die here.”

“Then act frightened.”

“This isn’t about me,” she said. “I’m the
lure, remember? You’re trying to get to Carmen. Why?”

It hardly mattered if she knew, because in
spite of the fact that he admired her spunk, he still was going to kill her
because she’d seen his face and could identify him. “Carmen was involved with a
man named Alex Williams. Did she tell you about him?”

“She didn’t.”

“Do you know she’s an assassin?”

“That’s a lie.”

“Actually, it isn’t. But she loves you, so
try to forgive her. It’ll be tough, I know. But you’ll manage.”

He watched Chloe’s face turn to stone.
Finally, he touched a nerve.

“Anyway, her lover found out information
about my organization and probably told her. So we must get rid of her.
 
We think she now has enough information
to compromise us, which is why we targeted each for elimination.”

“Who is
we
?”

“The syndicate.”

“What’s that?”

“A group of people like me.”

“There are more people like you?”

“The world is filled with people like me.”

“And who are you?”

“Someone who will go to any length to get
what he wants.”

“When is enough enough?”

“There never is enough. Not for any of
us.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not how we work. We want
it all, regardless of how we go about getting it. We’re no better than any
government or political leader, so don’t judge us.”

“Like you did my cheap shoes?”

“Sorry about that.”

“Whatever.” She paused. “You know, it’s
kind of pathetic that you justify your actions by comparing yourselves to what
likely are corrupt leaders and governments. It’s laughable. You’ve got to see
that. The keyword is
corrupt
.”

“What I need to see from you right now is
a performance. You’re going to look into this camera, you’re going to put on
your ‘terrified’ face, and you’re going to tell Carmen that you’ve been
abducted, that your life has been threatened, and that if she doesn’t come in,
you’ll be murdered.”

“You’re already going to murder me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then you think I’m a fool. I love Carmen.
She means everything to me. And I highly doubt that she’s an assassin. You’re
full of shit. If there was any reason to live, it would be for her. I won’t
sell her out. I won’t do your video.”

“No, actually, you will do it.”

“No, actually, I won’t do it.”

“Sure about that?”

“I’m certain. I’m not going to be part of
this. I won’t be associated with bringing down a woman who has been there for
me more than anybody else. Kill me if you want. As I said, other than Carmen
and maybe a couple of friends, I don’t have much to live for. I’m reminded of
that each time I’m treated like a worthless piece of shit at school, which is
pretty much every day. So, just do it. It’s not like I haven’t thought of
taking my own life in the past. What’s the difference? Either you do it or I’ll
eventually do it. So, do it.”

“In time,” he said. He looked up at the
man she called Roid Boy and nodded at him. With one swift move, the butt of the
man’s gun slammed against Chloe Philips’s temple and knocked her unconscious.
Her head slumped toward her chest. Her blonde hair hung in front of her face,
concealing it. Katzev studied her critically and decided that the hair had to
move so it revealed her face. Looking at her, he felt that they also needed a
bit of blood to send home the message that they meant business.

“Hit her in the mouth,” he said.

The man who struck her in the temple did
so—hard—and a bloody lip revealed itself. From the sheer force of
the strike, the blood splattered onto her chin and then dripped onto her gray
sweater.

“Get her hair out of her face.”

The man did so.

Katzev walked over and positioned Chloe’s
head so it was tilted just slightly down and to the right. Now, there could be
no mistaking who she was when the video was viewed.

He went behind the camera, turned it on,
and brought Chloe Philips into focus. Satisfied, he began to speak off camera,
delivering to Carmen his own message, which was underscored with the bloody
sight of one young woman he knew she loved dearly.

When he finished, they compressed the file
and sent it in an encrypted e-mail to Carmen’s cell phone.

CHAPT
ER
FIFTEEN

Babe McAdoo entered her grand gilded
parlor just off the foyer while Carmen, seated across the room in one of the
uncomfortable red Victorian chairs, looked at Jake, seated across from her.

No matter how many times she was told that
she could trust this man, her gut told her she couldn’t.
 
She thought he was duplicitous and,
worse, unscrupulous. She didn’t want him there. But she knew that if she was
going to see this through, she couldn’t insult Spocatti or Babe, who urged her
to listen to them and trust him.

So, she would watch him. Closely. If he
made a wrong move, just one step that gave away his true intentions, assuming
he had any, she’d take him out and be vindicated for doing so.

“All right,” Babe said, coming around and
taking the seat next to Carmen. “We know where Katzev lives. We know that
somewhere, he has Chloe Philips, one of the young girls Carmen takes care of
through her philanthropy.”

“Philanthropy?” Jake said. “That’s a bit a
stretch.”

Babe leveled him with a glance. “In my
world, Jake, we call the millions Carmen has given to St Vincent’s Services
philanthropy. In your world, and with your public education and middle-class
background, it’s probably called charity. I assure you, with the amount of
money Carmen has given over the years, what she’s done is nothing but
philanthropy. But let’s not get hung up on words. We have a situation at hand
and we don’t have long to figure out how best to resolve it.”

She turned to Carmen. “Do you have any
idea where he might have taken Chloe?”

“None.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Very little. That’s how it’s always been.
The same with Laurent, whom I only met briefly. The syndicate is an enigma to
me. It’s how they’ve designed it.”

Babe turned to Jake. He was a big man,
muscular. Wore jeans, black sweater, black shoes. He was too large for the
chair, which likely is why he was leaning forward now because his broad
shoulders wouldn’t fit easily into the narrow, curving back. His hands were
clasped in front of him and Carmen noticed on his right hand that the top of
his third finger was bluntly cut off. She hadn’t caught that before. She stared
at it now and wondered how he lost it.

“And you?” Babe said to him. “Your
dealings with the syndicate?”

“Same as Carmen’s. You only speak to them
via a secure line or through secure e-mail. You’re offered a job, the details
are spelled out for you, you decide whether you want to take it and then you
negotiate the money.” He looked over at Carmen. “Whenever she wouldn’t kill a
child, I usually got the job. So, thanks for the business, Carmen.”

“I’m sure you enjoyed the work.”

“A life is a life.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“What would you say to Spocatti?”

“What I’ve already said to him. I don’t
kill children. I don’t approve of it. There are other ways to handle a
situation.”

“Anyway,” Babe said, determined to stay
focused. “Gelling was able to find out where Katzev lives. Or, at least one of
the places where he lives. But this is his Manhattan address and the location
is so prime and the apartment so large, I’m certain that it’s his primary
residence in the city. Once, years ago, before I had the good sense to eschew
society once and for all, I think I might have even been at a party there.”

“Where is it?” Carmen asked.

“He lives in a penthouse on Fifth and
Seventy-Seventh Street.”

“Way up in the sky,” Carmen said.
“Presumably, more difficult to reach. But not for me.”

“Or for me,” Jake said.

Carmen ignored him. If this arrogant son
of a bitch got in her way when it came to getting Chloe back, she’d cut off his
balls.

“Gelling also did some additional
research, which I confirmed through my own contacts,” Babe said. “Apparently,
his real name is Iver Kester. Hails from Aberdeen, where the majority of his
family remains, including his mother, who is in her seventies. Kester has four
brothers and one sister, all of whom live within a mile of their mother. They
own a farm in Aberdeen. Most of the family works there, including several
cousins. Their main source of income comes from the sheep’s milk cheese they
produce and sell, though none have become wealthy from their efforts. It’s sold
throughout the UK, even at Harrods, and it does well enough to allow each a
modest living, though not a significant one.”

“Do we know exactly where they live?”

“We do. But this is what’s going to make
your day, Carmen. I spoke to Spocatti this morning. A friend of his—a
fellow assassin based in London—is now on a plane headed for the airport
in Aberdeen. It’s a one-hour trip from London, so he should be there shortly.
There, he has contacts who will give him the gear he needs should he need to
use it. He also will receive various cameras and video equipment. We’ve asked
him to get surveillance photos to us stat. What we need to show Katzev, or
Kester, or whatever the hell we’re going to call him—”

“Katzev,” Carmen said. “Easier.”