Killing Chase Page 8

  “You say that as if you know her,” I said, as I brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

  “Bailey Masters. Of course I know her. She works for your father.”

  And just like that, things started getting complicated.

  Chapter 14

  After Anna told me Bailey was working for my father, I tried hard to keep it together. Inside I was a mixture of confused and pissed, with a dash of what-the-fuck thrown in for good measure. I felt betrayed. How did this happen and why had I been kept in the dark?

  “Are you and Bailey friends?” I asked.

  “I’ve met her a few times for dinner over business-related matters, but I wouldn’t call us friends.”

  “What is she like now?”

  “Serious and focused. Very intelligent, doesn’t smile a lot. I get the sense that her work is her life. There’s no joy to her,” she said.

  “She wasn’t always like that, but it sounds about right from what I remember about her in high school.”

  “You and Bailey were friends?” Anna asked.

  “It’s a long story. We grew up together, inseparable until the end of eighth grade when Bailey and her mom just disappeared one day. I was crushed. She was everything to a twelve-year-old boy whose parents were never around. I didn’t see her again for fifteen months.”

  ***

  September 2002

  I walked down the hall of Foggy Harbor High on the first day of my sophomore year, and as I passed the Registrar’s Office on the way to my locker, I heard her voice from inside, and it stopped me dead in my tracks. My heart rate sped up, and my hands got sweaty. Bailey was taller, and her long, straight hair was now shoulder length. She was standing with her mom Crystal, with their backs to me at the office counter, so I waited down the hall from the office, behind a bank of blue lockers. When they came out, Crystal left and Bailey walked my way. She was lost in thought and didn’t see me until I stepped off the wall.

  “New in town?” I said, catching her by surprise, and before she spoke, I sensed a change. She regarded me coolly.

  “Hello, Chase,” she said, looking away.

  “Not even a goodbye, Bailey?”

  “We were in a rush. I didn’t have time.”

  “Perhaps you forgot about the US Postal Service or the device invented by Alexander Graham Bell.”

  “Mom got a new job in Atlanta so we had to leave quickly.” She wouldn’t look at me, and I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

  “Did she have to start that day?” I said in my smartass tone. I thought I had a right to be angry.

  “I have to get to class,” she responded, acid in her voice.

  “Why’d you move back?”

  “You know, it’s none of your business, Chase. The job didn’t work out, so here I am.” The girl who had been so sensitive about the feelings of others was unapologetic, and it spoke volumes to me.

  “Just so you know; it really sucked when you left, and now you return and act like you don’t even care. What the hell happened to you?” I said. I walked off and left her standing there.

  ***

  I turned toward Anna, and she was looking at me intently.

  “That was pretty much the last conversation Bailey and I would have. From that point forward, I was persona non grata in her world. We settled into our own lives. She focused on her schoolwork and I had football, until the night I killed Cam Tanner. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “What do you think happened to her during her absence that would change her?”

  “I wondered about that all the time and even went so far as to ask Crystal.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “That people change and that she was sure Bailey would come around eventually. Just give her time to get readjusted. So I did, and like I said, our friendship withered and died.”

  “I’m sorry, Chase. Do you intend to find out what happened now that you are out?”

  “Don’t know. I have to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I got my high school diploma equivalency in prison, but I’ve never held a real job. Who would hire me, Anna?”

  Chapter 15

  Adorned in one of the yacht’s bathrobes, Sergei Durov sat outside in the shade, on the small sea terrace just off the master suite, with an encrypted Iridium satellite phone pressed to his ear in one hand and a Cohiba 1966 in the other. It was ten thirty Saturday morning, and the remains of his croissant and eggs were on the table in front of him, along with a lukewarm cup of coffee and his personal laptop. Viktoria had already left the boat for a trip to the resort’s spa. He whispered instructions in terse Russian to the person on the other end of the phone. Today would be painful but necessary.

  With the plan in place, he put the cigar in the ashtray, walked inside the suite to the large closet, and dressed for the day. He began with a matte black vest over a white t-shirt. The vest looked like any standard body armor at first glance. However, that notion would be dispelled were one to pick it up. The vest was made of Kevlar that had first been soaked in a scientifically altered, shear-thickening fluid, which produced a lighter and stronger vest. When an object, such as a bullet, hits, the fluid hardens in milliseconds and dissipates the energy throughout the vest. Four STF-enhanced layers of Kevlar would now do the job of twenty regular layers, and it was scientifically engineered to stop a high-powered rifle bullet. He would need every single layer. Over the vest, he wore a short-sleeve, lime green Tommy Bahama shirt and completed the ensemble with lightweight khaki cargo pants.

  He returned to the sea terrace and his beloved cigar and waited for updates.

  ***

  Viktoria Durov entered the Palladium Courts shopping area and pretended to window shop. She was looking for something in particular, namely reflections of people in the window who might be following her, but the crowded shopping plaza made it difficult. She continued down luxury lane past Versace, Tiffany, and Amici, and soon arrived at the trendy Mandarin Spa. She walked in and waited in the marble-floored lobby for two minutes before a red-headed female escorted her to a room in back. A couple of minutes later, the same redhead reappeared and shut the door.

  “Hello Viktoria. We don’t have much time. Our team spotted three of Sergei’s people shadowing you. When we are done here, we’ll pull a fire alarm and take you out the back for your meeting with Chase. Make sure you give him one of these,” she said as she handed over a room key and two small, clear plastic bags. Each bag contained a tiny, black, keyboard key stamped with a white N.

  “Just pop the N key off Sergei’s laptop and pop this one on in its place. It will self-install and dear Sergei will never know it’s there. It runs passively and is virtually untraceable. The key in Chase’s bag is for his father’s laptop. Please make sure he knows this.”

  “Why is he meeting with me instead of one of you? Are you actively trying to get me killed?”

  “We’re part of the team in Foggy Harbor shadowing him, so we don’t want him recognizing us until we are ready.”

  “You need to pull me before I get on that plane for London tomorrow. He knows. I’m sure of it. I’ve been doing this long enough for you people. Schmidt promised that I would be placed in your Witness Protection Program. It is time for that to happen,” she said as she nervously tapped her nails on the armrest of the black spa chair.

  “Relax, Viktoria; we are almost there. If we pull you now, Sergei will know for sure that he has been betrayed and we don’t get our information. Switch the laptop key and in a couple of weeks, I promise you’ll be picking out a new place to live, stateside.”

  Thirty minutes later the redhead completed a passable manicure, just as alarm sirens started to whine.

  “Showtime, Viktoria. Good luck.”

  ***

  The satellite phone chirped once before Sergei answered.

  “Small problem,” said the voice on the phone. “The fire alarm went off and we lost her during the evacuation. Security removed us from the bui
lding before we could locate her.”

  “I pay you to anticipate these types of problems. Tell me, was there an actual fire?”

  “I did catch a whiff of smoke, but I’m not sure where it came from.”

  Sergei looked at his Rolex. Ten fifty a.m. “Find her,” he said. He needed to know where she was going and with whom. He clicked off and stared across the marina, and his thoughts drifted back to the night before, to Anchor Management’s newest feature, one that if used properly, would accomplish something truly memorable and catastrophic for the Americans.

  Chapter 16

  I left the still sleeping and very naked Anna Petrov under the mocha comforter and put on my running clothes. We stayed up half the night talking and screwing each other’s brains out, finally crashing around three a.m. As wonderful as last night had been, it was also just as unsettling. I wanted to confront my father and ask him why he hadn’t told me about Bailey, but I had to look at the big picture, and getting into an argument with him right now would do more harm than good. I would find out soon enough.

  I placed a note on my pillow for Anna and left for my run/rendezvous with Viktoria. The temperature was warm as I stepped off the gangway and stretched on the pier. Fifteen minutes later, I had a good sweat going as I ran between palm trees and pools filled with southern stingrays. At ten forty-five, I heard alarms going off somewhere in the center of the resort. I pressed on and nine minutes later slowed down, faked exhaustion, and walked into the Coral Towers, in search of a water fountain and an elevator. The lobby wasn’t crowded and soon I was ascending to the sixth floor and room 627.

  The elevator landing was empty as I stepped off, and I followed the sign for the odd-numbered rooms. I knocked twice on the door and heard footsteps from the other side. It opened and a nervous Viktoria Durov quickly motioned me in.

  “Were you followed?” she whispered.

  “I have no idea. This is all very new to me, Viktoria. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. Care to shed some light?”

  She began, “The short story is that my husband is not the man everyone thinks he is, and the American government wants to know what he is up to. He has a deep hatred of America that goes all the way back to the Cold War. I’m not at liberty to say anything else, so let’s get down to business, Chase. We have four minutes.”

  I pressed her. “How’d you come to work for the FBI?”

  “The sins of my past caught up to me and I was given a choice,” she said without any more details. “This is for you.” She handed over the clear plastic bag.

  “What is it?”

  “Your first assignment, I believe.” She spent the next three minutes showing me how to pop the key out and install the new one, on a laptop provided for her demonstration.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

  “Six months,” she said with no emotion. “By the way, I apologize for the way I treated you the other night as we were leaving. Please know it’s all an act.”

  “That’s okay. Water off a duck’s back. I must say, you were very convincing, as was your act in the hot tub.”

  She blushed. I liked this Viktoria Durov much better.

  “Viktoria, what did ‘ears everywhere’ on the note mean?”

  “It means we’re playing a high-stakes game where certain information, if leaked, could get me killed. Dmitri has probably placed close to seven bugs since we’ve boarded. You’ve probably noticed that he is never around.”

  “Okay, good to know. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Chase, I saw how you were looking at Anna. For what it’s worth, you can trust her. I don’t think she knows the real Sergei.” The room phone rang twice and then went silent.

  “That’s your signal to go,” she said. “Remember, don’t forget to stop on the second floor and buy something at the gift shop. Always have a plausible reason for being somewhere, in case they have eyes on you.”

  “Thanks, Viktoria, I will.”

  “Just act natural tonight when we are at dinner or whenever you see me. I will be my normal bitchy self. And Chase . . . good luck. This is not a game.”

  ***

  “We spotted her coming out of the Mandarin Spa a little after one thirty. It’s like she never left,” said the man, nervous about disappointing Sergei again.

  “But we know she went somewhere. Anything else?”

  “We saw Mr. Hampton’s son enter the Coral Towers after his run. He was in there approximately eleven minutes. Our operative didn’t see him in the lobby, so we don’t know where he went. When we reacquired visual on him, he was stepping off the elevator and had a bouquet of flowers in his hand.”

  “Does the service corridor behind the spa have access to Coral Towers?”

  “Yes, as well as the Palm, Atlantis I, and Atlantis II towers,” said the operative.

  “Do you think it’s possible she was meeting with him?” Sergei rubbed his temples.

  “It is possible, but maybe just for, ah, other extracurricular activities,” he said, trying to use the most delicate terms possible.

  “You said yourself he was only in there for a total of eleven minutes. Sex with my wife in eleven minutes? It takes Viktoria that long just to take off her clothes. She’s very theatrical, as you well know. I think we can chalk this up to coincidence. Besides, the kid just got out of prison. Have you picked up any information off Anna’s feed?” Sergei inquired.

  “I believe your man Dmitri has planted two devices dedicated to Ms. Petrov; however, she didn’t return to her room last night.”

  “Which tells us what?”

  “Mrs. Petrov has made a friend and should expect to receive flowers soon, I would imagine.”

  “Is our man in place?” said Sergei, switching gears.

  “He is. Should we still proceed as planned?”

  “Can he do it?”

  “If Jean-Louis cannot, then no one can.”

  Chapter 17

  One hundred fifty yards away from the Anchor Management, in the back of a cargo van, Jean-Louis Bertrand lay prone on a homemade sniper nest fashioned out of two-by-fours and egg-crate padding. That was not his real name, but Marcus Durand hadn’t survived all these years after his service in the Foreign Legion by distributing business cards with his name on them. The inside of the van was hot, but he was used to being uncomfortable. He and a spotter had once lain hidden on a bug-infested hillside in Croatia for two mind-numbingly hot days before taking out a Serbian war criminal from a distance of over eight hundred yards.

  This would be his second job for the man on the boat, but the first time he’d been asked to do what he was about to do. The shot itself would be difficult, but not impossible.

  He pushed his thoughts of past jobs to the back of his mind as he watched the client through the telescopic sight of the M-24 sniper rifle. The get-away would prove to be the biggest challenge, although the yacht between himself and the target would confuse the authorities for a while and focus attention on the boat instead of the parking lot. He wondered if a shot, such as the one he would soon make, had ever been attempted. Slightly downhill and through the open windows of a yacht’s empty dining room.

  ***

  From his Gucci suitcase, Sergei pulled out a small, rectangular box wrapped in paper the color of midnight blue and adorned with a small, golden bow. He placed the gift on the small teak table that sat outside on the sea terrace. Next to the gift was a silver bucket, and inside, ice chilled a bottle of Krug Brut 2000. A celebration was in order.

  The day had gotten downright hot by Nassau standards, but manageable with the sunshade that covered the terrace. Save for an early lunch presentation with Hank, Sergei had relaxed in the master suite for the majority of the day. The conceptualized yacht Hank had presented to him during lunch had impressed him. The American’s staff had done an admirable job in designing it. It was too bad this new yacht would only exist on paper. He could have bided his time as it was built, but a two-year wait didn’t fit int
o his sinister timetable.

  “Darling, come. I have something for you,” he said into the mouth of the suite. Once more he looked across the calm waters of the marina to a smaller yacht that sat directly across from the Anchor Management. A napkin-sized square of orange fabric hung subtly from the railing of the vessel. All systems go. Seeing this, Sergei grimaced inwardly. The next few minutes would be difficult. Beyond the boat was the marina parking lot, and although he couldn’t see it, he knew that an extended cargo van with darkened windows and lethal cargo sat quietly.

  “What is it, Sergei?” Viktoria said. She had returned an hour ago from her visit to the spa, looking neither refreshed nor relaxed, in his opinion.

  “I know your birthday isn’t until next week, but I thought it appropriate to celebrate it now in such a beautiful place. Have a seat, my love.” He motioned to the left side of a cushioned teak loveseat and poured each of them a glass from the chilled magnum of champagne. He handed one to Viktoria and took a sip from his glass.

  ***

  “It will not be long now,” said the short, stocky, Middle Eastern-looking man who lay next to him. The spotter had introduced himself as Aref three days ago. He reached forward and rolled the left rear window open laterally approximately three inches.

  “Are you ready?” he asked nervously.

  “Please, no more talking, unless it is absolutely necessary,” said Durand pleasantly. Please? Am I going soft? No, the upcoming shot would erase all doubt about that. He watched as the woman opened the small box.

  ***

  “Sergei, it’s beautiful,” said Viktoria, holding the fake five-karat diamond tennis bracelet with both hands. Perhaps he has no idea what I’ve done, she thought, and felt a renewed hope that she would get through the next two weeks unscathed.

  “I’m so glad you like it, my love.” For a moment, he wondered if the bullet would hit his fortified Kevlar and continue boring through the fabric, turning his heart into hamburger, instead of deflecting into the real target, as was the plan. Wouldn’t that be the cruelest of ironies?