Blank Slate (A Kyle Jackle Thriller) (8 page)

He was a wealthy man, but even the seemingly endless supply of weapons from the former Soviet Union was beginning to dry up-he needed to find another product to export. The answer came to him like a bolt out of the blue one evening while two Ukrainian girls from an outlying village were doing their best to provide him an unforgettable evening of pleasure. “Girls, you’re so lovely,” he said as he stroked the lush blonde hair of the one who had momentarily disappeared between his thighs. “I should take you to Europe and introduce you to my friend who owns the biggest modeling agency on the continent. You will be famous!”

That was how it started, eight years and several thousand girls ago. His business had spread like wildfire through Italy and now the US. The demand for beautiful, long legged Russian girls to work the massage parlors, strip clubs, and brothels seemed to be limitless. Popov looked around his luxurious penthouse on Fisher Island and took a self-satisfied puff on one of his hand-rolled Cuban cigars. Just one additional benefit of working with his Columbian partners.

He met the Columbians a couple of years before under somewhat unfortunate circumstances when they tried to muscle in on his action at the strip clubs in South Florida. After he left a couple of their representatives chopped into small pieces and scattered all over town, he called Escobado, the cartel’s top man in Florida. What came from that meeting was a working arrangement that benefited both parties-the Columbians were able to move drugs and launder their cash through the strip clubs and Popov got a cut of everything.

Things had gone very smoothly until the past two months when the killings started. He had already lost three men in South Florida, Escabado two. He would have suspected Escabado of having a hand in it, but there was no percentage in that action. He couldn’t think of any other organization that would try to challenge him on his own turf. And where the deaths of the clients fit in was a complete mystery. Someone was definitely trying to send a message-he saw with his own eyes what was done to the corpse of his top enforcer and had immediately tightened his own security measures. In general, life was good-except for another annoying problem that had come up in Miami this week.

His reverie was interrupted as he saw a golf cart, the primary mode of transportation on the island, arrive from the direction of the ferry. He took a moment and poured another Scotch while he waited for Dimitri to come in from the garage. Popov could hear the hum of the elevator and the hiss of the doors as they opened onto the main floor of the penthouse.

“Dimitri, my friend! How are you this evening,” Popov said robustly clapping him on both shoulders as he emerged from the elevator.

“General,” Dimitri began speaking with the downcast eyes of a condemned man. “ I am very sorry to disturb you, but we need to speak about what has occurred this evening.”

“Dimitri, why so gloomy? I have already heard reports of what transpired this evening. A minor setback, nothing more,” Popov said with a dismissive wave.

“This Kyle Jackle is at most a minor annoyance to us. When he first was introduced by our friend in Italy as someone who could help us with our overabundance of cash in Florida, we had no way to know that our Camorra friend had been turned by the CIA. That problem has already been resolved. Would you care for a cigar?” Popov said extending the box.

Dimitri’s hand shook as he removed a fragrant cigar from the richly carved humidor. He remembered well how Popov had solved a similar problem a few months before in Naples. “We are looking everywhere for him. He is like a cat with nine lives-we will find him and kill him.” Dimitri said earnestly leaning forward toward Popov.

“I’m sure you will,” said Popov. “In the meantime, there have been serious errors and someone has to pay for them. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Dimitri warily nodded his head as Popov smiled a wolfish grin and slid the cigar cutter toward him. “ I just need this much,” he indicated holding his thumb and forefinger apart. “To help keep you focused on the task at hand.”

Dimitri’s forehead broke out into a sweat as he picked up the cigar cutter. He inserted the pinkie on his left hand a quarter inch into the stainless steel blades of the cutter and looked at Popov for confirmation. Popov nodded and Dimitri snapped the jaws of the cutter closed.

What a lousy way to start the day. When Rivera walked out of the elevator and into his office, he found Miller and Davis already sitting at his desk drinking Starbucks amid the scattered remains of what looked like a blueberry muffin. Miller was speaking quietly on his cell phone and Davis made himself right at home with Rivera’s desk phone tucked into his shoulder as he hammered away on his laptop and tried to talk at the same time.

“Can I get you guys another cup of coffee or maybe some bagels?” Rivera asked. “Or maybe another office so you can get the hell out of my way?”

Miller looked up with a smile. “I’m feeling the love this morning. How are you detective?”

In spite of himself, Rivera was actually beginning to tolerate Miller. He still found something vaguely irritating about Davis-could be the cockiness that seemed to be riding just under the surface or the way his eyes would roam around the room when they were having a conversation instead of focusing on him.

“So what brings you guys back to my world this morning?”

“There was a little excitement in Lauderdale last night,” said Miller as Davis continued his phone conversation. “It looks like our boy showed up at a strip club and decided to throw a little party. The description from the witnesses didn’t exactly match up to Kyle, but the trail of destruction he left behind seems to fit his style.”

“So, why was he there? Maybe feeling a little lonely after the stressful week that he’s had? Nothing like a little rub and tug to solve the problems in a man’s life.”

“I’m not sure why he would show up there. Not a good move at all-this was one of the clubs owned by Sergei Popov. Popov is the Ukranian general who started the ball rolling in Italy and started moving his business into Miami a few years ago. The Camorra mob guy in Italy that we turned a few months ago is history. We just got word last night that Popov got wise and apparently decided to terminate the relationship.”

“They killed him?”

“Worse than that. Apparently they found out about him this week when Kyle’s cover was blown. They tortured him for two days before dumping him more dead than alive in front of the US Embassy on Wednesday-and it took another two days before we could positively identify the man.”

Rivera raised his eyebrows. “Why the delay?”

“There wasn’t much to work with-before they finished squeezing him for information, his fingers had been cut off one at a time, his tongue ripped out, and his eyes burned out with a butane torch. In the end, they had to identify him with DNA records from when he had been arrested a few years before. The worse part is that it looks like he might actually survive.”

“Take me back a little-you mentioned that Jackle had been working undercover in Miami for a couple for months before his cover was blown. Did he screw up or was there an informant somewhere?”

Miller shook his head. “Kyle was the best-no way I could imagine him getting rolled without there being a leak somewhere in the system. He was right in the lion’s den on this one-the Italian introduced him to Popov as a guy who could move cash in any amount and any currency, Dollars, Euros, pounds, it didn’t matter. It’s paid off big time-for the past three months, we have a record of every cash transaction and the structure of the companies they were using to layer the cash.”

“When was the last time you heard from him?”

“He checked in with me seven days ago on a throwaway cell phone-unusual for him; he usually only spoke to me over secure lines. It seemed pretty much business as usual except he had been asked to expand the work he was doing to include laundering cash for the cocaine smuggling operations being run out of Columbia. Over the course of a few weeks, he had been pulled into several meetings with Popov and some heavy hitters from the Columbian cartel. His impression was the amount of coke being smuggled into the country would double over the next twelve months. ”

“Kyle had been hearing some rumbling from some of the other guys in Popov’s organization about a special project that Popov and the Columbians were working on together to make it all possible. The last thing Kyle told me was he was able to use a key logging program to steal the passwords on Popov’s computer. Popov stepped out of the room on Sunday for a few minutes to take a call. Kyle had just enough time to email a handful of the most current files to a secure email account. That was the last we heard of him until he turned up missing five days ago.”

“We may not need to,” interrupted Davis. “We might actually have caught a little break last night; the witnesses at the club said that Jackle left with a girl after he wrecked the place. If you’re interested, I managed to get an ID on her.”

Rivera broke the silence first. “And she is?”

“Her real name is Tasha Kozlov. According to the documents, she’s been living for the past three years in Sevastopol, a little town on the coast of the Black Sea in Ukraine. Don’t know much more about her except she came in the US with a legal passport about two months ago. She’s apparently not part of the Ukranian sex pipeline-looks like she showed up on her own and started working at the club just after she arrived in the country. I’m not sure what her connection is with Kyle, but she really put her ass on the line to get him out of there-apparently stabbed some bouncer in the hand as they were leaving.

“Any idea where to find her now?” asked Rivera.

“Complete dead end for now. We just had a couple of agents check her apartment-no luck with that. No sign that she had been there since last night. We put out a BOLO on the black BMW she was driving last night. Hey, how many black BMW convertibles driven by beautiful blondes can there be around the Miami area?”

“Thousands,” Rivera said. “But at least we’re narrowing it down a little.”

Kyle woke up that morning more relaxed than he had been in days. Maybe it was the soothing rocking motion of the sailboat in the slip or possibly the way that Tasha had snuggled up against his chest in the middle of the night. It wasn’t like they had many choices on sleeping arrangements-the boat only had a queen size V berth forward and the four tiny sea berths to port and starboard that were too cramped for comfort.

“Good morning,” Kyle said with as much optimism in his voice as he could muster under the circumstances.

“Morning yourself,” Tasha mumbled. “I need coffee.”

Kyle viewed that as a bit of a personal challenge and after only a couple of false starts had managed to not only find the French press coffeepot, but figured out how to start the propane stove without blowing the boat up in the process. Within a couple of minutes, the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee permeating the cabin had enticed Tasha to open both eyes, but she refused to move from the berth until she had a oversize cup clasped firmly in both hands.

“OK, I may have to keep you around. Who needs Starbucks when you’re serving this every morning,” Tasha said smiling in between gulps from the massive coffee cup.

After some more exploration in the depths of the cabinets and the icebox, Kyle found the essential ingredients for a breakfast. Within minutes, they were sharing an omelet with mushrooms and prosciutto. A few minutes of cleaning up and they moved up to the cockpit to share another coffee and watch the marina slowly begin to come to life as work crews and boat owners began to arrive.

“I’m not sure what to do now,” said Kyle as they relaxed in the cockpit and enjoyed the warmth of the early morning sun. “I still get a few flashes of random memories in my mind on places and faces I recognize, but I just can’t put the pieces together. Can you walk me back through how me met? Let’s take it from the beginning and tell me everything you know about me. That might help trigger some memories or link a few of these random visions together.”

“I’m not sure how much I can help you, but I’ll try. Your name is Kyle Jackle and you worked with the guy who owned the clubs, a bastard of a Russian they called the ‘General’. I met you just after I came to the States a couple of months ago. I always saw you come in the clubs maybe once or twice a week usually carrying a briefcase-I thought maybe you were an attorney or something. You seemed different than most of the animals that Popov and Escabado keep working around the clubs. Most of the guys working there are always really aggressive with the dancers and treat them like shit. I hate all of them.”

“Probably best for them not to piss you off,” said Kyle thinking back to how fast she unleashed her knife the night before. “By the way, if you don’t mind me asking, with that incredibly tiny outfit you were wearing last night, exactly where were you hiding your knife? And while we’re at it, I’m assuming that wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve picked up a blade.”

“A girls has to have some secrets,” Tasha said with what was almost a touch of shyness. “In the Ukraine, I learned how to take care of myself early. Some men won’t take no for an answer-I found the right touch with a sharp blade and you can get their undivided attention.”

“Please, if I ever piss you off-just let me know and I’ll beg your forgiveness,” said Kyle with a smile. Tasha was proving to be a bit more than he expected.

“OK, now you’re distracting me,” said Tasha. “Let me get back to the story. The other night, I was about to come out of the dressing room and I heard Dimitri talking to a couple of the Columbians who are always hanging around. He was really excited; talking about how Popov had given him information about a snitch in one of the clubs they needed to take care of. I didn’t hear much more, but I heard your name mentioned. The next morning, you were gone and I heard my friend Mercedes had been killed the night before. All the guys at the club were spreading the word that you had done it and to keep an eye out for you.”