Russian Law (Law Series ) (Volume 1) (3 page)

“This
is your life Jim,” he could hear her saying, raring up for a premium nagging
session. “That job of yours doesn’t appreciate you. You need to start taking
better care of yourself.”

And
she would be right of course, like she always was. Not that he was going to
tell her that. He took a deep breath, asked his gut to behave and opened the
door to the conference room and almost stepped back when he heard the noise
emanating from the room. Jesus, it was almost like a kindergarten class he
thought ruefully with all of his men mouthing off to each other, laying bets on
the most mundane and stupid things. He shook his head. He was a teacher after
all. His job was very similar to that – changing little boys into useful men,
making them think for themselves. Which sometimes was a chore in its self.

The
room went silent, giving the man that just walked in, the honor he deserved. He
was a legend in the field, they all knew that. They feared and worshipped him,
a man they aspired to be, a man they could look up to and a man they could talk
to.

He
had been a part of the agency for over twenty years, had been on missions so
classified he technically hadn’t been anywhere close to where he had been.
Missions that would have sent Maggie to an early grave had she known about
them. James wasn’t one for being diplomatic. He liked to cut through the
bullshit and get right to the point. Although there were times such was needed
and he had to work hard at it. It had made getting his position within the
agency difficult. But he was good at his job and the boys upstairs knew it,
they also knew he had the respect and loyalty of all the top agents.

Fitzgibbon
gave a curt nod in the direction of the ten men sitting at the table that had
been placed in the centre of the room, dominating the space. They all looked up
at him, eagerly awaiting instructions.

“I’ve
just been on the phone with the head of Russian Intelligence, Director Mishkin,”
he barked. “Suffice to say he isn’t pleased with the turn of events. Especially
after what I had to tell him.” He clicked a button on a small black remote he
found on the table and the large screen on the wall at the back of the room
flicked on and an image came into focus. It was of a man with brown hair, taken
several years ago.

“You
all know this man,” he said. “Michael Ducane’s work is well known to this
agency and is considered a public enemy. His fingerprints were found on the
scene and I don’t have to tell you what that means.”

Several
agents nodded. Michael Ducane was a home grown terrorist with a notorious
reputation who at last count had been responsible for more than twenty bombings
around the globe, resulting in the tens of thousands of victims from right here
in America to the United Kingdom and even in the middle east. He had made the
FBI and CIA’s most wanted list when he was only in his twenties and they had
had a tough time pinning the bombings to him as he never stuck to one
particular target. He had gone after cars and buildings alike, political and
non-political targets, American and foreign. He a man for hire, a man who could
be bought by the highest bidder.

Fitzgibbon’s
gut burned. Not only did one of Russia’s Intelligence agents have to be found
murdered in his God-damned country but now Michael Ducane had to be involved. He
knew the Russian’s were going to blame him personally for this mess and he
didn’t blame them. He would be looking for blood too if it had been his agent.

He
wondered what Ducane planned to do and who had hired him and for what reason.
There were too many questions and not enough answers. They were shooting in the
dark and he hated not knowing Ducane’s agenda.

“By
now, I’d say Ducane is in Russia. We’re unsure what he might’ve obtained from
the Russian but we’re not leaving anything to chance. This man was privy to information
that could prove lethal. Gates will be heading there shortly to head up the
investigation.”

Jim
looked about at the other nine agents. “The rest of you I want working double
time. Reach out to your contacts and let them know any Intel gathered in
regards to chatter on this matter is highly appreciated. So let’s do what we do
best and find the fucker before lives are taken. Gates a word?”

Lucas
followed James out of the conference room and into his smaller office. It had a
nice view of the parking lot. James lowered himself into his chair while Lucas
remained standing. This shouldn’t take long, he thought. Just the usual riot
act before a mission, he should be on his way back to his house within the
hour.

James
sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can’t stress this enough
Gates. This is a delicate matter. A little diplomacy is needed, I don’t want to
burn our bridges with Russia understand?”

Who
would?
he
thought. Russia would be worse in any argument and could hold a grudge longer
than any woman he knew. It was also the nation that had stockpiles of nuclear
weapons left over from the cold war. The last thing he wanted was a nuke shoved
up his ass.

“Yes
sir.”

“Watch
your back,” Fitzgibbon warned, fixing Lucas with a steely eye. “I don’t like
the fact that the Russian worked for intelligence, the President will be attending
a summit there shortly and I don’t want him to find himself in the middle of World
War Three.”

“Relax
Jim, you’ve taught me well,” Lucas said cockily, rocking back on his heels. But
both knew he said nothing that wasn’t true and couldn’t be backed up by action.
He had been taught well and he knew how to handle himself in any situation he
might find himself in.

James
nodded. That was precisely why he had chosen Gates for the mission. That and he
could trust Lucas explicitly.

“Ducane
isn’t one for playing well with others,” Lucas stated.

“Which
is probably why the Russian is dead,” Fitzgibbon added. “I bet he had expected
to have a more active role in whatever the hell is going on.”

Lucas
grunted. “I just wish we had an idea what we’re looking at. I don’t like going
in blind.”

Fitzgibbon
growled. “Well whatever the target, I want you to find Ducane before he can
fuck up our relations with Russia. Bring the shit home Luc and don’t forget to
play nice. I know you have it in you.”

“Thanks
for the vote of confidence,” Lucas said dryly. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll try
and be a good boy so long as my balls don’t freeze and drop off okay?”

Jim
rolled his eyes and wondered if it wasn’t too late to get Austin to take
Lucas’s place. At least Austin knew when to hold his tongue.

“Sorry
Jim, I’m already on my way,” Lucas told him, correctly reading where James’
thoughts were taking him. “Besides Austin doesn’t know Ducane like I do. I’m
practically a walking encyclopedia on the man.”

“Well
now is the perfect time to use that information to catch him.”

“I’ll
either be bringing him home in handcuffs or a body bag but I’ll be bringing him
home,” Lucas declared and James knew Gates was telling the truth. The man had
never let him down before and Fitzgibbon knew it would be a cold day in hell if
he ever did.

Michael
Ducane was coming home – whether he wanted to or not.

Chapter 3

Michael
Ducane walked
across the Marriot’s polished lobby floor, his companion Alvin Pochenchov
striding beside him. Ducane couldn’t stand the man, he smelt like fish and his
eyes were too close together. Michael made sure he watched himself around him,
Alvin was the type to stab you in the back or rat you out for a reduced
sentence whichever the case may be. His benefactor must have him by the
shorthairs if he was directing Michael to deal with him. Michael didn’t like
rats and men who were weak. But he was on a tight schedule and didn’t have the
time to be picky. If Pochenchov could get him his shopping list in the time
required he could certainly put up with the man for a short period. Besides he
had come with a glowing recommendation and was well acquainted with Moscow’s
underworld.

“So
you have everything I need?” he asked Pochenchov, eager to get the meeting over
and the hell out of Moscow, he didn’t want to risk being seen. By now he was
sure the body of the Russian traitor had been discovered and each government
would be pulling out all the stops to avoid an international situation.

Alvin
Pochenchov was, according to his benefactor, the best black market weapons
dealer for miles which made him a high commodity. The man just gave Michael the
creeps, he looked just like any bad Russian you see in the movies complete with
a tacky leather jacket and gelled back dark hair.

Alvin
spoke, his Russian accent thick. “Of course.”

Michael
nodded abruptly. “When can you deliver?”

Alvin
watched as a thin woman with large breasts sashayed past and gave her the
attention she demanded before turning back to his companion.

“Whenever
you want,” he said, his voice husky as lust coursed through his body.

The
man was a pig. One who couldn’t keep his head in the game. Michael hated men
like that. He wasn’t a monk, he could understand Alvin’s weakness but just
couldn’t condone it. There was plenty of time for fun later but right now a lot
rode on what Pochenchov could deliver and Michael’s life was attached to the
fact that he would be able to hold up his end of the bargain. His benefactor
was not a man you’d willingly betray.

“As
soon as possible,” he said.

He
was only going to get one chance at his target and if he failed, he doubted
that he would go quietly. Michael wanted to spend as much time before the event
making sure that he had the measurements right. He was a perfectionist after
all.

Alvin
stopped halfway across the lobby. “Very good, I will call you when I’m ready to
deliver.”

“Pleasure
doing business with you Alvin.”

Michael
reached out his hand and took Alvin’s sweaty palm in his and pumped it once
before releasing, containing the urge to wipe his palm on his pants. Alvin was
the type that thought everybody loved him and Ducane wasn’t about to burst that
bubble. Let the deluded man think it was a pleasure for him when in reality it
was a necessity. After the delivery he would never see the man again.

“I’m
always here if you need anything else, Mike,” Alvin said, propositioning him
for future dealings. He never let a possible business venture slip by and
Michael Ducane was the type that could be a repeat customer.

Michael
resisted the urge to strike the man down. A bomb under the man’s car would do
nicely, he thought. The nerve using such an intimate name, he thought,
disgusted. The rage inside him caused the vein in his temple to bulge. He
decided to make a hasty getaway. He couldn’t afford the kill the idiot before
his shipment was delivered. With renewed interest he continued towards the
hotel’s exit, too busy thinking of ways he would dispose of Alvin once he
ceased being useful to notice the desk clerk watching him leave the hotel.

The
young clerk typed quickly on the keyboard and immediately SVR’s emblem of a
two-headed eagle appeared on the computer screen along with the Agency’s top
ten most wanted. The eagle’s claws were grasping at two swords that crossed
through a deep blue shield with a five point grey star, the eagle had three
crowns above its heads. His eyes widened until the white was all the way around
his irises. He blinked and once again focused on the screen before him, Michael
Ducane’s photo from a few years ago stood prominently to the right, his name
and particulars on the left. A warning flashed at the bottom of the page:
Caution,
dangerous.

The
clerk picked up his phone and dialed his supervisor’s number. This is
definitely something that classified as an emergency. As he listened to the
phone line on the other end ring, he looked down at the video display relaying
the feed from the security camera embedded in the wall above the exit and
watched as Alvin Pochenchov followed Michael Ducane out the hotel’s door.

Lucas
Gates opened the door to his Annandale home. Silence greeted him. The house was
deserted. True to her word Marlie was packed and gone. Good. He had never been
a relationship kind of man anyway, never been one for home at five and dinner
at six. He lived for his job and only had sex in between. He had taken a slight
chance with Marlie but like all his other relationships had gone bust. All his
previous girlfriends thought that they could change him. Make him something he
was not. He was not a man to be consumed by everlasting love. Not that he
didn’t believe in it just that he had never experienced it and probably never
would. Not many women could deal with what he did for a living, the secrecy of
never knowing exactly what he was doing and with whom not to mention the
erratic hours.

He
had been recruited straight out of college and had found the work rewarding and
had made a career of it. He had been taken under the wing of James Fitzgibbon
when he was just a green boy and was made into the top agent and man he was
today. He owed Jim for that, among other things.

Lucas
looked about his house. Some might say it needed a woman’s touch. He hadn’t
updated his furniture since college and the IKEA brand looked dated, not at all
homey. Maybe one day soon he would hire someone to come in and redecorate. Why
not, he thought, he had the money for it, never taking vacations. He was one
that lived to work and not worked to live.