He blew a rear tire bouncing over a median but accelerated to almost 40 mph in reverse toward the second sedan. The Russians started to pull out in an attempt to get clear, but Kit slammed the rear of his truck into the trunk of the sedan, which went flying headfirst into a tree.
Kit shook his head to clear his senses, then keyed his encrypted two-way radio: “Talk to me.”
“Got a live one,” said Angel Perez.
Kit bounded out of the Tahoe as he pulled a silenced Kel-Tec Sub-2000 from a shoulder rig. He unfolded the uniquely designed weapon and it became a subgun that fired .40 caliber pistol ammunition. The two dazed occupants saw him, drew their pistols, and started to raise them.
“Drop your weapons or I’ll shoot!” yelled Kit in Russian, as he took aim.
The men didn’t comply but instead wheeled their guns in his direction.
“Drop them, now!”
As the two Russians sighted on him, Kit fired bursts into each man.
He quickly returned to the Tahoe, and Yulana looked at him with true fear in her eyes.
Good. It’s about time you became afraid, Yulana, because this is no game.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the wrecked Tahoe as Angel sped up in one of the white vans. Once again, they piled into the back of a van, this time joining a bound-up Russian, and then they were gone.
Buzz and Angel took the captured Russian into the safe house for interrogation. Yulana was now a nervous wreck, and she was a smoker, so Kit drove her in a Honda Accord toward Koreatown. The drive would help him relax, and he wanted time alone with her, while she was seemingly vulnerable, to take a crack at her hard shell. He doubted she knew anything that could help him find Staci, but he wanted some truth as to how she fit into the picture. So he stopped in a liquor store to buy vodka, cold sake, and cigarettes. Then he took her to Koffea.
Koffea, on South Berendo in L.A.’s Koreatown is so big it would impress a Texan. Off-street valet parking is only a buck, but a simple cup of java with no refill, like at almost all Korean coffee joints, is très cher. It’s not so much that you’re buying coffee as it is you’re renting the seat. Koffea, with soft K-pop on the speaker system, is generally quiet, so a lot of students show up to study. There are many different rooms, nooks, crannies, and open spaces, so even when they’re busy, there are plenty of tables to be had. Kit led Yulana out onto the back patio, where recessed fireplaces warmed against the light chill in the night air.
The steaming green tea and cold glasses of water came quickly. When the waitress left, Kit dumped their water into a potted plant, pulled a pint of Stoli from his jacket pocket, and filled her glass with vodka. He slid a pack of Marlboros and a lighter to her, and she quickly lit up, inhaling nicotine deeply into her lungs. The ashtray was a small celadon bowl filled with damp coffee grounds, and she nervously tapped ash into it, then took a long hit of the vodka. As she drew deep intakes from her cigarette, he surreptitiously removed a small bottle of Kikuyoi sake from another pocket and poured it into his water glass. He took a sip, savoring the taste, then ignored her as she smoked in sullen silence and calmed down.
Kit jotted notes on a pad for twenty minutes as they sat at the round marble table without speaking. Her aqua eyes, the color of a Caribbean lagoon, held no sparkle. Dark circles pooled below them. A droop of sadness pervaded her entire face. She was so beautiful… and so perfectly miserable. Kit thought back on something Larry Bing had taught him when dealing with reluctant allies: “Sometimes to get truth, you have to give a little.”
So he turned to Yulana and looked her right in the eyes.
“Viktor Popov offered me two hundred thousand U.S. dollars to marry you and bring you here to America. I refused. So then he murdered my mother. To force me to marry you. And he kidnapped my sister, Staci. They were kind enough to show me the video of how badly she’s been beaten. He’ll kill Staci if I don’t do what he says, but I don’t know what it is he wants. I’m only sure it’s something bad.
“I was a diplomatic attaché working at the embassy in Moscow. Why did Popov target me to marry you? You’re so beautiful, he could have found some American guy to do it for nothing, for free. What is it that I can do for him that someone else can’t?
“As you’ve seen since we flew in… I’m fighting back. Partly because I understand that even if I do everything he says, he’ll still kill my sister and probably me too. But I’m also fighting back because when you do nothing, a cancer will just grow and grow. And for some reason the cancer called Popov has infected my life. We live in a very corrupt world, you and me. We can’t right all the wrongs; all we can do is take care of our own as best we can. So I choose to take aggressive action to fight the cancer called Viktor Popov.”
She studied him for a long beat. “You cannot defeat this cancer,” she finally said, stubbing out her cigarette into the coffee grounds.
“Cancer is beaten or sent into remission all the time.”
“You think you can defeat the Russian Mafia?”
“Of course not. But I think I can kill Popov and stop whatever it is he wants to do. I absolutely think that’s possible.”
“You and your three friends?” she asked sarcastically.
“We all have special skills.”
“Do you have nine lives? Popov has dozens, hundreds of killers working for him. He’s rich, powerful, friendly with the other rich and powerful Mafia dons and spy chiefs and military generals. He seems to know everything about everyone all the time. How can you beat him?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet. And it won’t be easy. But I’m going to do it.”
“Or die trying?” she asked.
“Or die trying.”
She said nothing, just looked away and nervously bit her fingernail.
Kit removed a photo from his pocket and placed it in front of her. It showed a smiling, very happy Yulana holding a laughing three-year-old girl. “You said you had some personal things in your bag you wanted back.”
She quickly grabbed the picture and held it tightly.
“If they killed your mother. And if they will kill your sister even when you do what they ask, then…” Tears ran down Yulana’s cheeks.
“Then you don’t think there’s any hope for your daughter. Popov has her in Russia, right? That’s why you cried when you saw my mother. You thought it could be your daughter lying in a morgue somewhere.”
“She’s only three years old,” she said, trying to choke back tears.
“Then you’re lucky. Popov is an evil man, but I can tell you this: he’ll never harm a child, especially a toddler. He might try to kill you, but he won’t harm your little girl.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
“Believe what you want.”
She looked up at him sharply. “I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“Maybe not. But at least you know why you are here. Don’t you?”
She guiltily averted his eyes.
“Unlike me, you know what Popov wants you to do. And because you love your little girl, you’ll do it. But deep in your heart, you believe it’s hopeless, that you’re both doomed.”
She looked at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
“I’m here to offer you hope,” he continued. “But I need your help. I need to know what you know. Anything that might be important.”
Yulana wasn’t sure what to think; she looked like a woman racked with confusion and doubt. “So you want me to believe you’re a good guy in this war?”
“I’m a good guy who is willing to fight dirty to win. Because if you don’t fight dirty, you lose.”