“Damn it, Bennings, you are in a world of bull crap. I wanted this call to be about my condolences on the loss of your mother, but I just got my butt chewed out by Secretary of the Army Fitzgerald, who has a video of you taking a cash bribe to marry a Russian woman. And the suggestion is she’s a spy. A spy who you apparently brought with you to America.”
“Thank you for the condolences, sir.”
“Be quiet! The fact that I am getting called on the carpet and I’m not even your commanding officer anymore should impress upon you, Major, just how angry the army is right now.”
“I understand, sir.”
“So here is the message I was told to deliver if I got hold of you. You have two hours from right now to turn yourself in to Colonel Spano, the CID commander at Fort Irwin. You will stay put there until this can be sorted out. Two hours, or you will be declared AWOL, understand?”
“I’m on emergency leave, sir.”
“Your leave has been canceled. CID officers have been ordered to find and detain you, although you didn’t hear that from me.”
CID officers worked for the army’s Criminal Investigation Command. Some of those investigators were hard-nosed, top-flight snoops and were essentially cops for the DoD. Kit hadn’t expected them to come after him so fast.
Angel gave Kit the cutthroat gesture.
“Yes, sir. Thank you and good-bye.”
“Kit!!” snapped Colonel Bing, who then softened his tone as he said, “Keep your head down and watch your six.”
“Will do, Colonel.”
Kit terminated the call, popped off the back cover, and pulled the battery and SIM card from the phone.
“Damn,” said Buzz.
“Popov leaked the video of me taking the money in Moscow. Probably as a response to our little escapade at LAX,” said Kit. “He didn’t expect me to do that, and so he’s countering. I take this as a good omen.”
“Good omen?!” asked Angel. “The secretary of the army wants your head on a platter.”
“The only time I ever beat Popov at chess was when I attacked wildly with my queen. He anticipated certain strategies, but I just winged it.”
“Well this ain’t chess, partner,” said Buzz.
Kit exhaled audibly, then closed his eyes for a moment. “You guys have a chance to check with the morgue?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” said Buzz. “Your sister was kidnapped before she could make funeral arrangements. So your mom’s body is still there.”
“I want to go see her.”
“What about Jen’s trace when Popov calls?” asked Angel.
“I doubt that he’ll call tonight. He turned up the heat by releasing the video of me taking the bribe, and now he wants me to sweat.”
“Let me call a funeral home, have them handle everything about your mom,” offered Buzz.
“Not yet. I just got an idea. Jen can hack the morgue’s security video and take it down. Then we’re all going to the morgue—you guys and Yulana too.”
“What!?”
“Kit, you have the Russian mob, the San Berdu cop-shop boys, CID investigators, and probably the FBI looking for you, and they all know that your mom is at the morgue.”
“I’m hoping it’s the Russians waiting for me. We’ll grab one and find out for ourselves just how decentralized the information in Popov’s organization really is.”
Buzz chewed on his pipe stem, then nodded. “It’s risky, but until we find Travkin, it’s one of the few moves we have.”
“I get it,” said Angel. “It’s the reckless-queen-with-no-strategy strategy.”
“I’m making this up as I go along.” Kit smiled. “But first…” Kit reached into his backpack and produced four identical cell phones. “These phones are sterile and encrypted. Starting now we only use these. We all give our other phones to Jen and let her check them for tracking software that might have been installed.” Kit slid his old cell phone with the battery and SIM taken out to the middle of the table.
“Second, and I mean right now, we ‘acquire’ some different vehicles. Then we go out to play.”
CHAPTER 17
The facility and parking lot on South Lena Drive in San Bernardino were surrounded by a wall of tall, bushy trees, like sentinels keeping bad things out. Or in. The brown stucco building trimmed with green tile and capped with a green tile roof almost looked inviting. Rosebushes, jacaranda, palm trees, and bougainvillea adorned the grounds. You’d think the place was a resort, not the county morgue. If your body has to get taken to a cold slab somewhere, this was a pretty nice place.
But it’s never nice to look at a dead loved one.
Yulana hadn’t wanted to come, but Yulana wasn’t calling too many shots these days. So she stood silently next to Kit as he gazed at his deceased mother on the stainless-steel roll-out tray in a very chilly room.
She noticed Kit’s eyes were moist, but he didn’t cry. And he didn’t say a word.
When she shifted her eyes to Gina Bennings’s lifeless form, it was Yulana’s eyes that grew moist. She bit her lip and then burst into tears.
She watched Kit, who looked surprised, stare at her quizzically. She then broke down into a ragged, emotional crying jag that convulsed her body. Through tear-blurred eyes, she saw him boring his eyes into her, as if seeking some kind of answer.
She didn’t care anymore what he or the other Americans thought. She only cared about one thing, but she couldn’t dare tell anyone, couldn’t trust anyone. She was on her own in the worst kind of way, held against her will in a foreign country with no money, no family, no friends, no coworkers; not a single soul existed whom she could turn to for help. She felt more like a Ping-Pong ball than a pawn; she was part of a game that was batting her around from one side to the other.
As more tears rushed from her eyes, she knew that no matter who won the game, a cold slab in a chilly room was the most likely fate for her and for the only one she truly loved.
She wiped away tears. Bennings’s gaze had softened. He looked different somehow. Not kindly, but… understanding. Not that it mattered. Yulana Petkova was sure her unfortunate fate was sealed. So she didn’t protest as he took her hand and led her out of the room.
Yulana struggled to keep up with Kit as he quickly crossed over the lighted fish pond on a small concrete walkway toward the Chevy Tahoe 4x4 in the dark parking lot. The Tahoe had a heavy steel front grill guard and a heavy-duty rear bumper—extras that looked like they meant business.
“We’re about to meet some of Viktor Popov’s employees,” said Kit, with an edge to his voice.
The two vehicles containing Russians had been spotted by Buzz when he reconnoitered the place on a motorcycle. Two late-model sedans sat parked in the very dim light near the two entrances. It was hard to see the occupants, but they were there.
In the Tahoe, Kit pulled out his favorite knife, a Gerber DMF automatic folder with a tanto blade, and gunned the truck toward an exit. “Get in the back quick and hold on!”
Frightened, Yulana scrambled over the console into the rear seat as the Tahoe neared the exit. Kit heard the dark sedan start its engine and watched as its headlights came on. At the last second, he swerved violently and sent the SUV flying into the sedan broadside at about 35 mph.
The sickening crunch was heard blocks away.
Kit used the Gerber to puncture the Tahoe’s air bags instead of waiting for them to deflate on their own. He didn’t stop to admire his handiwork but threw the big SUV into reverse and floored it.