The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (18 page)

“Look, man, if it gets towed, I’ll be up shit’s creek. I’ve got a bunch of unpaid parking tickets, and I don’t want this to turn into a mess. The cops might put me on the radar and start asking around, you know. They’re real assholes at the place I park it, so things could get ugly.”

He watched the Bratva soldier’s face as he considered the request. Zander knew that back in Russia the police had no problem making life miserable for less, so he hoped the soldier would want to stay clear of any kind of police involvement.

“Okay, but I will go with you,” he said.

“Sure, you can help smooth things over.” He couldn’t help but smile. “It’s this way.”

Zander directed them across the street and headed for the building on the corner.

“It’s parked out back,” he said. “Hopefully they won’t be too pissed off. They can get a little testy in this place.”

Not much had changed at the New Generations Lounge since his unceremonious exit. There were now two men sitting at the bar instead of three. The third, Dwayne, was being attended to by his waitress girlfriend behind the bar. Nobody turned around at the sound of the door chime, so Zander walked straight to the bar.

The Bratva soldier had stopped a few feet short and quickly became engrossed in the
Miami Vice
episode that was on the television. Zander made it all the way to the bar and still no one had bothered to acknowledge his presence. He knew Dwayne’s fuse would burn fast, and he planned to take advantage of it. A chase scene was blaring on the television, so the hacker kept his volume low enough so the Russian wouldn’t be able to hear.

“Hey. Hey, Dwaynie boy,” he goaded. His smart-assed tone drew scowls from the couple behind the bar, and he motioned his thumb back indicating the Russian. “My buddy here has no problem taking care of your pussy ass for me.” He looked over at the two men sitting on stools with half-full pint glasses in front of them. He could feel the tension rise the moment he engaged them, and decided the more the merrier. “He said he’ll take out your asshole friends too. You might want to let him finish watching his TV program, though, or you’ll really piss him off.”

“Your ass is fucking dead!” Dwayne yelled.

Zander backed up enough to position the Russian between them and feigned a look of surprise. He looked to the soldier and said, “I think they’re a little upset about the car.”

Dwayne’s face reddened as he began to charge from behind the bar. The other men jumped up from their stools and waited for their friend to take the first shot. Dwayne didn’t have a chance. The Russian was lightning quick and landed a blow that shattered his nose and sent him straight to the ground.

His friends began to charge the former Spetsnaz soldier, and Zander took the opportunity to make a break for the door. His forward progress stopped suddenly. He felt the straps of his backpack pulling him backward and tried to shake loose, but the soldier was too strong. He was ripped back violently, but the Russian’s sudden change in attention provided the opportunity the other men needed. The two who had been sitting at the bar tackled the soldier to the ground, and the trio landed with a sickening thud.

Zander shook himself loose and turned to see the waitress standing behind the bar with her hands on her head. Cracking sounds and grunts erupted from the violent mass on the floor, and then the motion stopped.

The hacker was frozen as the Russian stood up. His face was bloody, and his clothes were torn. Zander trembled violently, and his heart thumped. His legs felt like they were glued to the floor. The soldier took his first step toward him, when a shrill scream demanded their attention.

The waitress launched herself through the air like a wild cat and sank her teeth into the Russian’s face. The hacker felt like he had been transported into some kind of zombie flick and quickly scrambled out the door and took off into the night.

Hart Senate Office Building, Washington, DC

SENATOR SOLLER HAD been in his office for most of the day and through the evening. The Director of the FBI had just filled him in on a new development in the case concerning an incident at a Dulles Airport TSA security checkpoint. His anger had risen to a boiling rage as he paced back and forth. His cell phone broke the silence, and when he saw the number on the display, he was ready to unleash his fury.

“What do you want?” he said coldly.

“Someone has taken Maria,” Matilde Soller said with a hint of panic.

The senator fumed as he processed the information. There was no compassion left in the man.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Her boyfriend was with Max when he was killed. Nobody knows that.”

“She was dating Francis Millar?” the senator said angrily.

“Yes. You know?” she asked, sounding confused.

He gritted his teeth and said, “I do now.”

“He asked us to check on his sister. When we went to see if she was okay, some men took her away.” There was desperation in her voice. “I had to call Addy. He’s going to help.”

“You stupid bitch!” Maximillian Soller yelled. “Do you even know that man anymore?” His face turned to a scowl. “I’ll tell you the answer. You don’t!”

He put this information together with the news the FBI director had just given him, and he was sure his lifelong enemy was involved. The thought of the man targeting his children and then pulling the wool over his dipshit wife’s eyes enraged him.

She breathed in audibly. “You don’t understand—”

“No,
you
don’t understand.” He clenched his fist, and his face reddened. “If you knew half of what I do about your would-be boyfriend, especially with what I was just told, you’d slit his throat yourself!”

“Did you hear me?” she said loudly so he couldn’t interrupt. “Some bastards took our daughter! All you can think about is your poor, jealous, deflated ego. You’re pathetic!”

“You wouldn’t know pathetic if it smacked you in the face, woman,” he yelled. His temper was beyond the point of no return. All he cared about now was getting in the last word. “Gullible as you are, you shouldn’t find it hard to believe that your Mr. Perfect has his hands in all of this. And I’ll tell you another thing, I’m going to take him down if it’s the last goddamn thing I do. Don’t you worry those sagging cheeks of yours: I’ll make sure the FBI knows what’s going on and acts accordingly.” He shook his head defiantly and spitefully ended the call by saying, “You two deserve each other.”

His breathing was heavy as he fought the urge to smash his phone against the wall, but he stopped short, knowing he would need it for his next call. He barely interacted with his children, but they were his, so the fact that Addy Simpson was using them to get back at him wasn’t terribly surprising. He resolved to make this their final battle, and he planned on winning. He punched the screen on his phone, and the man picked up on the first ring.

“Yeah,” FBI Director Culder answered.

“I want you to take him and his organization down.” His voice was seething with hate. “I don’t care what you have to do, but make sure you get it done.”

“I know, I’m working on it,” Culder said.

“Simpson and his goons have taken my daughter,” he said, the paranoia creeping into his voice, even more so than during their previous call.

“What are you talking about?”

“My bitch wife called, and our daughter’s been taken,” Soller spat. “The fucking bitch called him for help.”

“Any details on what happened?”

“No, but you can damn well be sure you’ll find her when you find Millar. No question about it. She told me my daughter was dating that bastard, and now that we know he’s on Simpson’s payroll…” There was a long pause as he considered the implications of the sighting at Dulles airport. “It’s not rocket science,” he said confidently. “He’s fucking with my life, and he’ll damn sure regret it.”

Soller decided Culder wouldn’t be too surprised about Simpson targeting his kids. He knew the director had seen crazier things when it came to the actions of politicians and spooks, and this went beyond that—the hatred between the two men was personal.

“Understood,” the FBI director said. “I have the goods for just such an occasion.” He couldn’t help but smile at the timing of it all. “You’ve always said this day would come.”

“Can our special friends make it to the airport in time?”

“If he’s not there already, he should be any minute.”

“Don’t call me unless it’s good news.”

Dulles Airport, Northern Virginia

LESS THAN FIFTEEN patrons were scattered throughout Moe’s Grill & Bar. Trent Turner looked them over carefully from a distance, feigning interest in the posters on display and the flat-screen TVs bolted to the wall. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The man sitting alone at the table in the back had everything set up as expected. It was a go. This would be the big test for Heckler. Trent knew it would be easy to set him up here, if that had been his intention.

Turner placed his bag on the ground and pretended to send a text message. In the corner of his eye, he saw the man casually pull out enough cash to cover his bill and pick up his large earth-tone carry-on. Turner headed to the men’s bathroom in search of a pair of empty stalls. Once he decided on the location, he entered the stall on the left and latched the door behind. He placed two squares of toilet paper on the floor just inside his stall as someone approached. The footsteps stopped before they reached him. He heard a loud cough, and the operative cleared his throat in response. The man entered the adjacent stall.

Two other stalls in the long row were occupied, which gave Turner some cause for concern. He’d have to play it by ear. Another cough erupted from the stall next to him. Turner tapped his foot just before sending his bag under the divider. It was quickly pulled in by the man on the other side. He heard footsteps as new patrons filed in the restroom. Turner waited, somewhat amused by the gurgling soundtrack of a bad meal playing a few stalls down. He had to question whether it could be a distraction, but if it was real, at least the smell of bleach was strong.

A toilet flushed as footsteps approached. The man stopped in front of Turner’s stall, seemed to survey the place and headed back to the other end of the bathroom. Turner waited anxiously as he listened to the rustling sounds from the stall next door. He smiled as the expression “Getting caught with your pants down” came to mind. He heard another cough and responded by tapping his foot. He grabbed the blue bag on offer. It was identical to his but weighed significantly more. He made a quick check of the contents as the bagman left the bathroom, then quickly followed suit.

Turner walked through the terminal toward his gate, and a sense of relief rushed through him now that Heckler had come through. He still had plenty of time to kill before his flight left, so he sized up the Starbucks in front of him. Lack of sleep had started to dull his mind, so caffeine seemed like a good option. He stood in line and turned around when he sensed someone close behind him.

Their eyes met and he felt a jolt of electricity. She was tall, beautiful, with long black hair, but her bright green eyes were what threw him off.

“Hi,” he heard her say.

He had already averted his eyes, knowing they had given away too much. Curiosity pulled with the force of a black hole as he casually glanced in her direction. He had hoped she was talking to someone else, but she wasn’t.

“Hi,” he replied with a forced smile, and then turned to the menu on the wall behind the counter.

He exhaled slowly and tried to erase the image of the striking beauty from his mind. A half smile formed when he considered the crazy thoughts going through his head. It was like he was in the fourth grade again, having a crush at first sight. There was no way she had felt what he did, although it felt good to imagine she might have, if only for a moment. Sleep deprivation could do funny things, and he banked on his pending conversation with the barista to bail him out of any potential for small talk.

“A venti iced mocha. No whip, please,” he said.

“A man after my own heart,” the green-eyed beauty said.

She looked at him appraisingly.

Trent Turner was an attractive man, fit, his hair dark, like hers. He dressed stylishly, but his look was equal parts restraint and refinement.

Turner exhaled. He couldn’t believe she was still talking to him after the obvious blow off. He wasn’t sure which was worse: being uncomfortable with her persistence or being intoxicated by her beauty. He turned toward the young woman and noticed the violin case slung over her shoulder. Their eyes locked, and he felt it again. The hairs on his neck began to tingle, and he considered for a moment that his thumping heart meant the connection might be real.

His eyes drifted back to the violin case and then met hers. “The heart is the only broken instrument that works,” he said, before heading to the pickup counter.

He could sense she was alone. Perhaps a kindred spirit. His goal was to get her off his mind by the time his drink hit the counter. Turner felt his XHD3 vibrate, signaling a new development, but before he could have a look it happened again.

“Victoria. Victoria Eden. And you are?” she said.

He turned around and there she was. Her hand was extended, awaiting his. He felt like an ABC book, an easy read, something incredibly uncomfortable for a man in his profession. She had obviously felt the connection too. Maybe it was about wanting what you couldn’t have, but he could tell she enjoyed making him squirm.

“Tony, Tony E. Kalem,” he said. He decided it would only be a half truth if he associated his name with the quote he’d used.

“What does the
E
stand for?”

He flashed a friendly smile to the barista, who was headed for the counter with his drink and turned back to Victoria. “Everything,” he said. “Have a safe flight.”

He scooped up his drink and headed for the gate, trying to work out what had just happened.

FBI black site, Poolesville, MD

JAKE SANDERS HAD a shit-eating grin on his face.