Don't Leave Me (24 page)

“What happened here tonight is about a network of former Serbian soldiers,” Agent DeSoto told Sandy Epperson. “There was also a wipe out at a sushi restaurant in Woodland Hills earlier tonight. We think that’s their work, too.”

Holy mother of pearl, Sandy thought. “But why?”

“They’re running heroin here in the Southland. We think the leader is a man named Svetozar Zivkcovic. Ever heard that name?”

Sandy shook her head.

“You’ve heard of Radovan Karadzic then? He was in charge of the ethnic cleansing of Bosnia in the mid-1990s. He was caught in 2008.”

“I think I do remember that.”

“Zivkcovic was Karadzic’s right-hand man, his chief assassin, his terror. He was reportedly in Afghanistan in 1999, in league with a local warlord.”

“How did he end up in Afghanistan?”

“It goes all the way back to the Soviet occupation. I’m telling you, nobody learns the lessons of history, do they? This area of the world has been the graveyard of every empire that tried to occupy it. The Soviets thought they were the exceptions. We did, too. No matter what force is there, an opportunity comes around for people to exploit weaknesses by force.

“The old khans, who controlled the Helmand Province, were targeted by the Communists in the early years of the Soviet war. Most of them were wiped out or fled the country. But that just created a power vacuum for new warlords to step in, hardened by the occupation and merciless. And smart. They trafficked in guns and cash and the most important thing of all, the poppy.”

“Their chief export,” Sandy said.

DeSoto nodded. “Their new axiom of power was, Who controls the poppy, controls the province. And the Serbs took notice. So Zivkcovic was dispatched to work with Abdul Asad Sajadi, a respected Mujahideen commander in Kandahar during the Soviet occupation. He provided training and weapons and strategy that helped bring down the Communist occupation. The Soviets called this war The Bear Trap. From 1989 to 2002, Zivkcovic and Abdul were a force in the region. They even got the CIA to buy back a cache of stinger missiles it had provided during the war. But they were solidifying their trade in opium. Abdul was assassinated in 2003, we think by the CIA.”

“You
think
?” Sandy said.

“They never talk to us,” DeSoto said. “But it’s obvious. Anyway, he’s got trade partners there. And his network is active here in Southern California. Maybe he’s here, too. He would have come in before 2001 and the Patriot Act. He would be deeply invested, would have as tight a false identity as big money can buy. Then he probably goes to Europe as a businessman, legit, and slips untraced into Afghanistan. That, at least, is our theory.”

“Okay,” Sandy said. “But what about my guy, Samson?”

“We got a lead about him from one of our agents on the Afghan Task Force. We check all returning vets, routine stuff. But something clicked on Samson and it had to do with his wife. She was a journalist and was getting deep into a story about heroin in SoCal. So we rented a house in his neighborhood. We needed a home base and cover in the area anyway, and this was a good a place as any.”

“Then you knew him. As a neighbor.”

“As someone to say Hi to, yes.”

“You know about his house on fire then. Who started that?”

“We think it was one of Zivkcovic’s people. We think they made me, and I got out of there. Before this all happened.”

“Surely you don’t think Samson was into trafficking,” Sandy said.

“No. But he works at a school that has a connection.”

“The Hunt Academy?”

DeSoto nodded. “You ever heard of the Westies?”

“Oh yes,” Sandy said.

“And James Stone?”

“Jimmy Stone, sure.”

“How about Ryan Malik?”

Sandy nodded. “He’s one of them, too.”

“Dead. Got it from one of the Serbs. And that put the fear of Zivkcovic into young Jimmy. He came to us.”

“Did you bring him in?”

“We’re leaving him out. But if he cooperates, and keeps alive . . .”

“That’s cold,” Sandy said.

“It’s a cold world, Detective. We have names. Two names Jimmy gave us. One was
Dog
and the other was
Vaso.
That’s it. That’s as far as we were, until tonight.”

.

When they took the hood off his head, Chuck saw he’d been walked into a palatial room with a huge skylight. The sound of a fountain running brought his attention to a small grotto of ferns and rock next to floor-to-ceiling windows. Two marble pillars supported an arch over the windows. One entire wall was built-in bookshelves but with a huge flat screen TV in the middle. The floor was dark burgundy tile. Chuck was no design maven, but thought it looked like his favorite Mexican restaurant back in Chatsworth.

Which was where he wanted to be right now, with Stan and a pitcher of margaritas.

The view through the windows was a postcard blown up to life size proportions—full moon, shining down on the ocean, seen through a clutch of palm trees.

It might have been the most mellow, most beautiful, most relaxing place in Southern California, if not for the two guys with weapons flanking him.

A man walked into the room as smoothly as a motivational speaker coming onstage. He was maybe fifty and in solid shape. His tight cotton shirt revealed a bull-like build. He had calm, intelligent eyes. He was not just an occupier of space. He was the kind who owned every room he entered.

This was the guy. The one behind it all. Chuck knew that as sure as he knew his own name.

The man waved his two gunmen out of the room. They obeyed quickly, like soldiers.

That’s what they were. Serb soldiers. Right here in Southern Freaking California.

“How do you like Alan Ladd?” the man said. Accent, but from one who was fighting hard not to have it.

Chuck fought the fuzziness in his brain, which wanted to shut down for the night. What did the guy just say?

The man walked over to the window, looked out. “It’s beautiful tonight,” he said.

“What do you want with me?” Chuck said. “Why all this? Where’s my brother?”

“When I was a boy,” the man said, “I was sometimes able to go to the cinema. Your American movies were a godsend. Old movies, not like the atrocious offerings being made today. John Wayne I liked, but most of all I loved
Shane
. Alan Ladd. Do you know the movie?”

Chuck wondered if he’d fallen into the Mad Hatter tea party, only the Dormouse was a crazy Serbian criminal.

“Shane is God come down from the sky,” the man said. “He rides into a valley and brings order against the evil ranchers. He does his job then returns. He fights. There is a wonderful fight scene.”

“Where is my brother?” Chuck said.

The man raised a finger. “Jack Palance plays the gunfighter who comes to kill for the evil rancher. Shane works for the good homesteader. But you see the point, don’t you?”

Chuck said nothing. What do you say to someone who is talking about movies at a time like this?

“It is because the fate of people is very often not in their own hands,” the man said. “They are at the mercy of the forces that are stronger than they. That’s when you need a Shane on your side. I will be your Shane.”

Chuck opened his mouth to speak but his muscles, even those in his jaw, were starting to betray him. He was standing, barefoot, on the cold floor. He was sure he’d fall at any moment but willed himself not to. Don’t lose consciousness. Keep your mind on the cold. Keep awake. Keep––

“My name is Kovak,” the man said. “I am in the manufacturing business. I support my community, and families. I am very much a believer in the family.”

Talk to him. Keep awake. “Sure. So much so that you kill innocent men?”

“God tells us that none are truly innocent, Mr. Samson. I’m sure you have many questions. But you are here to answer only one. For me. I know you may need some help, and I am going to offer it to you.”

“I’m not going to say anything until I see my brother.”

Kovak nodded like a priest with a penitent. “I understand. I do. You are a good man. But I must know first how much you remember. You see, you know where something of mine is, and my only question to you is going to be, where is it?”

“I don’t know what that means, what any of it means.”

“I know,” Kovak said. “That’s why I am going to help you remember. Bear with me for just a little while more, and all will be well.”

.

Now where?

Think!

Stan felt the mist of the night air, the ocean air, on his skin. He was in the back of this big house. Wow, it was big. It was one of those big houses he saw sometimes on TV, when there was something about rich people and where they lived.

This was where they were going to bring Chuck.

A rich guy with guns must live here.

He’d have to be extra good and sneaky to avoid the guns.

They’d had him in a little house in the back. It was next to a swimming pool. They kept it dark out here, so that was good. He could sneak around in the dark.

And they had lots of plants and trees and stuff all around the pool. It was like they wanted a jungle here. That was good, because now he could hide. They might not check on him for a long time.

He had to get help. Get somebody to come help rescue him and Chuck.

But how?

Think!

He saw someone moving at the back of the big house, on the other side of the swimming pool. Coming out of big doors.

Quick.

He ducked down behind a big rock. They had some big old rocks out here in the back. Everything about this house was big. Stan could hide good. He could always hide good. He could squeeze into places Chuck couldn’t because Chuck was too big and not wiry, like him.

Watch them. Watch and see if you can see Chuck in there.

The man who had come out of the back of the house was walking to the other end of it. There was a door there. He opened the door and then a light came on. The man in there looked kind of big. Kind of scary.

He sat down at a desk.

And then there was a glow. The guy was sitting at a computer. A big man at a computer. Maybe I can get a rock and hit him on the head. Like in
Braveheart
. He liked that movie. It was the one with Mel Gibson. That was a movie about Scottish people a long time ago who threw rocks at their enemies. They were good rock throwers. And rocks could really hurt.

Stan remembered when some kids threw rocks at him when he was walking home from school. They hurt. Chuck found out who they were and took care of them. Now it was time to take care of Chuck.

But there weren’t any rocks around that he could see . . . just these giant ones. And if he blew it the big guy would probably shoot him. And then maybe go shoot Chuck.

So maybe wait. Just wait.

No. That wasn’t good enough. Chuck was in trouble.

Maybe a tree branch. Stan looked around in the moonlight—he was glad there was moonlight—and saw that there was a tree of some kind a few yards away. He tiptoed through some ivy or something to the tree. But there were no branches he could reach.

Dang it!

Come on, Stan,
Think
.

He heard a noise. It made his body go on full vibrate. Chuck once called him a live wire when he got scared. That’s what he felt like right now. His body humming. He listened.

Something moved in the bushes. What if it was a bear or something? That would be bad. He didn’t want to get eaten by a bear! Not now. Not knowing he was so close to Chuck.

More rustling, closer, faster.

He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t do it or he’d give himself away or maybe they’d hear him and kill Chuck.

Don’t move. If I move it’ll hear me. It’ll get me.

Sound above him. Like a helicopter.

But it was in the tree. Something was moving in the tree.

Oh no. It was going to jump on him!

He covered his face.

But then one last burst of sound and then nothing.

Stan opened his hands and looked at the sky. Against the moon, the big bright moon, he saw a couple of flying things. Birds? Or maybe bats?

Flying things going away. Gosh, if he could only get Chuck on a flying thing, a plane, they could fly out of the country forever and live where Julia and these bad guys could never find them.

Stan tried to calm himself, slow his breathing. And as he did he looked back at the room.

The glow was still there, but the big guy was not.