Chapter 17
Mr. Bodnar
Niko jumped out of bed, Glock aimed at the unlocked door, waiting for the inevitable. Armed men were inside the house. Heavy footsteps—lots of them. He jerked his head toward Vyper. “Move away from me!”
“No shooting! We will die!” She slipped out of her side of the bed and grabbed a bathrobe.
A commanding voice somewhere in the house shouted, “Bedroom. Two targets.” Bright lights moved back and forth under the door.
English! Police?
Niko set his gun on the dresser. He wasn’t going to shoot it out with Americans—especially if they might be cops.
The door swung inward, hitting the wall with a thud. Two strong lights, one above the other, blinded him.
“Hands up!” yelled a commanding voice, as the lights separated to opposite sides of the room.
Niko raised his arms as a third light appeared. At least three different voices yelled out—some demanding cooperation, others giving status. He couldn’t keep track 0f everything they said.
They weren’t Russian, and Niko was alive, but he was still in danger. He didn’t know who they were, or why they broke into the house.
His eyes adjusted to the light, and he spotted three armed men in dark, SWAT-style clothing, wearing helmets with the visors raised. One man aimed an assault rifle at him. Another held his aim on Vyper, who stood shaking in her robe at the opposite side of the bed, hands above her head.
The third man tossed the mattress up against the wall and lifted the box spring. Then he announced, “Clear.”
Unseen men throughout the house barked orders and responses to each other. Niko heard someone say, “Check in there. Some kind of equipment running.”
The nightlight came on.
Power’s back.
One gunman flipped on the overhead bedroom light, revealing a fourth man in SWAT gear entering the bathroom. His backpack displayed FBI in large letters.
Whoa!
Two men stood at the far corners of the room training their rifles on Niko and Vyper. The man who tossed the mattress seemed to be the team leader. He walked up to Niko. “What’s your name?”
A gust of air reminded Niko he was naked. Then he realized what would happen if he told the FBI his real name. Adam Zima “died” in the fire at Marko’s action center. There was also the electronic theft of Sokolov’s money. He decided to remain silent.
The man turned to Vyper. “What’s your name?”
She lowered her arms and flapped her hands.
The SWAT leader moved closer to Vyper, his face only inches away from hers. “Get those hands in the air, NOW!”
She flapped harder, and her head rocked back and forth.
“Stop!” yelled Niko. “She’s autistic. She’s having a meltdown.”
The man froze for a moment, then raised his voice loud enough to be heard outside the room. “Get Jackson in here.”
Several voices called out the name “Jackson” before a woman in SWAT gear entered.
The team leader hitched his thumb toward Vyper. “This one may be autistic. Process her in another room once it’s cleared.”
Vyper’s rhythmic movements continued as the woman led her away. An agent with a rifle followed closely behind.
Niko let out a breath. This could have ended badly, but Jackson seemed to know what she was doing. Then a glance at the man aiming a rifle in his direction brought Niko back to reality—he might never see Vyper again.
The leader turned his attention to Niko. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Tell me your name.”
Niko shook his head. “I don’t have to talk. I want a lawyer.”
“We’ll learn who you are soon enough. The court will assign you a lawyer if you can’t afford one.” The SWAT leader pulled out handcuffs. “Turn around.”
“Can I put some clothes on? It’s chilly outside.”
The man nodded and clipped the cuffs back on his belt. He inspected the clothing that Niko selected before allowing him to get dressed.
“Turn around. Place your hands behind your back.”
Niko did as instructed. “Am I under arrest? What for?”
“We’re arresting you on suspicion of murder and conspiracy.”
“Murder?” Holy shit!
The agent snapped cuffs on Niko’s wrists and recited the Miranda rights.
Niko had a million questions. Murder who? Conspire with who? He should wait for a lawyer. The FBI agent said the court would appoint one—if he couldn’t afford it. The only way he’d be able to pay for a lawyer was to use Marko’s money, but he couldn’t let anyone know where it came from.
While being led away, he saw half a dozen people in assault gear searching the house. Niko asked the FBI agent, “Do you have a search warrant?”
“Of course. Are you the homeowner?”
Niko ignored the question and walked outside to the waiting vehicle.
At the DC Detention Center, Niko had refused to give his name, so the booking clerk designated him as John Doe. They took his mug shot, confiscated his clothing, gave him an orange jump suit, and fingerprinted him. It wouldn’t be long before they found out who he was.
Now Niko sat on a thin mattress which covered a hard metal bed facing a toilet with a sink attached. A tray with the uneaten portion of his breakfast was on the floor. He wanted to know how Vyper was coping with everything. Did they put her in a cell like this? Did they charge her with murder?
Originally, Niko thought he’d been arrested for stealing Sokolov’s money, or maybe for unauthorized access to a computer. But murder? Was this a mistake? Unrelated to the Russians? Not likely. The smartest thing to do was remain silent until he learned what he was accused of doing. He’d find out in a few hours when he appeared before the judge.
A uniformed officer stopped outside his cell. “Stand against the far wall.”
When Niko complied, the cop entered, handcuffed him, and led him out of the cell block and down a long corridor. Near the end of the hall, he opened a door and led Niko inside, sitting him down in a folding chair. He attached the cuffs to a rail on the only table in the room.
Niko sat there alone, waiting for the inevitable interrogation. Vyper was probably going through the same thing. No telling how she would react to the loss of control—the handcuffs.
Waiting gave him plenty of time to think—Russians, murder charges, and jail. But mostly he thought of Vyper.
When the door opened, a tall man in a dark suit carrying a briefcase walked in. He stopped short when his eyes settled on the cuffs. He shouted a command loud enough to be heard outside the cell. “Remove my client’s handcuffs.”
Client? Niko didn’t have a lawyer. “Who—”
The man held a finger to his lips, signaling silence, then turned around and raised his voice. “Are you deaf? I said remove these handcuffs—now!”
Niko sat silently as the uniformed officer rushed in, removed his cuffs, and left the room.
The lawyer followed him outside the door briefly and looked both ways. When he returned, he closed the door and walked back to Niko, his hand extended. “I come from Provo.”
Provo? That’s half of the passcode from Marko. Niko cautiously shook his hand. “Who are you?”
“I am The Pythia.” He sat down. “But you may call me Mister Bodnar.”
That was the proper response. Niko had to trust him. “Who sent you? How’d you know I was here?”
Bodnar smiled. “Lydia Harris sent me. I’m her lawyer.”
Vyper! “How’s she doing? Where is she?”