The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (29 page)

“That was better than sex,” she proclaimed with a laugh. Her expression changed to embarrassment just as abruptly. She bit her bottom lip and winced.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

“Yes it was,” the man said with appreciative laughter and applause.

Becker remained speechless and slightly uncomfortable.

The stranger picked up the conversation to overcome the awkwardness. “And to what do we owe the privilege of your visit to the society?” he asked. Then, realizing they hadn’t been formally introduced, he said, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Victoria. Victoria Eden. I have an audition with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.” She looked down at her watch. “In a couple of hours. A friend sent me here to get a loaner, since my violin was damaged on the plane.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Please do use this for your audition, if it’s your pleasure,” he said and smiled. “I will have them come here so you won’t have to be bothered with the transport.”

She was still in shock after what had just happened. “Thank you,” Eden said. “That would be incredible, and that way I won’t be in such a rush across town.”

“There is one more thing.” He looked to Becker and his wife with a raised eyebrow. “It would be a most delightful surprise, no?”

The couple looked at each other and smiled back at him.

“You mean?” Becker said, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Yes, I do.” He motioned to Victoria. “This young lady’s talent must be heard.”

“It would be unprecedented, unexpected, and unbelievably well received,” Becker admitted.

“Good. Victoria, have you any plans for this evening, say around six?” He reached into his coat pocket and handed her an envelope that held two tickets.

She looked down at the gift and then back up with surprise. “Tonight’s performance? I couldn’t. It’s too much, but thank you for the generous offer.” She smiled in appreciation. “You’ve already been far too kind.”

“Victoria,” the man said, understanding the need for clarification. “Those tickets are for your friends. Every performer, especially for an evening this special, deserves to have their friends present in the audience for support.” He bowed his head respectfully. “You wouldn’t mind doing us the honor, would you?” He could see she was stunned, so he added in a matter-of-fact tone, “It would certainly help fill the seats when you join the orchestra, and I have a friend who will be happy to set you up with the proper attire for such an occasion.”

She shook her head as though she was unsure whether she would wake up from this fairytale. “Of course,” she said nervously. “And you are?”

The silver-haired gentleman gave her a warm smile that spread to his eyes. The heavy lines on his face looked to have been chiseled from a hard life, but that looked to be behind him now.

“Forgive me. My name is Pavel,” he said as he made his way out the door. “An absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance. I will see you in a few hours.”

The Artist’s Café, Chicago, IL

TRENT TURNER WAS sitting outside underneath a green umbrella. The Artist’s Café was a trendy spot that spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of the Romanesque building it called home. The Shop had made a last-minute discovery of Pavel Kozlov’s Sunday routine, and the team collectively held its breath with the hope that the information was accurate.

The Fine Arts Building was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel where Turner and Etzy Millar were staying. Earlier this morning, Turner had quickly packed what he needed into his bag and headed to the park across the street from the building. Most Chicagoans had been engrossed in their morning run, so there was nobody paying him any attention when he assembled the PMD.

He initiated the quiet whirring sound from the touchscreen of his XHD3 and plugged a small attachment into the device to increase the range of its remote-control function. He selected its destination from a satellite map and sent the vehicle off ahead of him. The wind was a concern, but he didn’t have a choice. There was no telling when they would have another opportunity to track their target.

By the time he reached the café, the PMD was already perched on top of the building. He had put the flying machine into what they called edge mode, so it would automatically select the optimal surveillance location to land. The PMD had been programmed to use image recognition to determine an approach that would minimize the risk of compromising its position.

He took a seat against the back wall next to the fence that separated him from one of the building’s two main entrances. A few minutes had ticked away before Pavel Kozlov’s limousine pulled up to the curb. It was surrounded by a pair of black Range Rovers.

The Russian traveled with a significant amount of firepower. His men operated with the precision of a presidential detail. Turner watched the mafia boss enter the building on his XHD3, courtesy of the video feed being taken from above. It was the safest way to preserve his cover. None of the men had spoken on the way inside, but he was able to mark each of them by touching their image on the screen. Modern technology would take care of the rest. The PMD had the capability to record every conversation, capture images and profile individuals, and catalog the signals from communication devices so they could be tracked.

The operative had had better luck when Kozlov was on his way out. Turner had just ordered another cup of coffee and was ready to go over the information he had collected. He was fluent in Russian, so he put in an earpiece and began the playback of Kozlov’s conversation. A fire engine had passed by at the time, so some of what was said was unclear.

“…is short. Tell Dimitri we are moving forward quickly. After the performance, I will return to oversee things myself,” Pavel Kozlov had said.

A familiar voice interrupted Turner’s work. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t look up until he realized it wasn’t his waitress’s voice. Their eyes locked as she pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. She tilted her head to one side and squinted as she spoke.

“Tony, isn’t it?” she said, her voice betraying the questioning look she had feigned.

“That’s right.”

He felt the energy again. It was a strange combination of butterflies and excitement, but this time there was something else.

“I think you’re full of shit, Tony.”

He couldn’t help but smile. There was definitely something else at play, and anger would be his first guess.

“I should be pissed off at you.” She lowered her chin. “You know that, don’t you?”

Turner wasn’t in the mood to digest a plateful of drama. He took a sip of his coffee, stroked his five o’clock shadow and stayed engaged against his better judgment.

“Well, Victoria, I can assure you that wasn’t my intention.”

Her eyes softened. He could sense she was as uncomfortable as he was with the chemistry between them.

A smile followed and she said, “Thank you.”

He smiled wryly without responding, so she elaborated.

“You made one of my dreams come true today.” Victoria smiled when his expression showed even more confusion. “I just played Herkules,” she said in a playful tone.

He smiled and took another sip of coffee. “Well, he’s a lucky man.” Her green eyes were even more captivating as they reflected the morning sun.

“It’s a violin,” she said. “A Stradivarius.”

He laughed sarcastically. “Congratulations. I’m glad I was able to help you out with that.”

She showed him the palms of her hands. “No, I’m serious. I won’t bore you with the details, but trust me, it was amazing.”

Eden was clearly excited from the experience, and it felt good to see her happy.

“What piece did you play?” he asked.

“Ah, that’s not important,” she said dismissively.

Turner took it as a polite way to say it wouldn’t mean anything to him. “Try me,” he said with an appraising eye.

She smiled at the challenge. “Okay. It was a piece by Eugène Ysaÿe.”

Turner whistled. His mother loved classical music, and it was one of the few things left that could connect him to home. “The Belgian. Appropriate considering the instrument. You know that violin has an interesting history.”

Eden’s expression turned quizzical. She was obviously impressed that he was familiar with classical music.

“Oh yeah?” she said curiously.

“I believe it was stolen from a museum in Moscow.”

“Russia?” She pursed her lips. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“The man who owns it. He’s Russian.”

“I see.” The connection made him uncomfortable. He shifted in his chair knowing it wasn’t a coincidence.

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. “Here,” she said. “I owe you this.” She pushed it across the table to him.

He opened it and pulled out its contents. “Tickets?”

“Yep. Pavel gave them to me.” She forced a smile and paused for a moment. “You can bring your girlfriend. I don’t know anyone else in town, and it would be a shame if they went to waste.” She shrugged and said, “I’ll be performing.”

Trent Turner could tell the stunning violinist was fishing for personal details. Heckler had called earlier and said he was sending someone to Chicago today, so this new development was convenient. It provided a safe place to meet, and he could keep tabs on Pavel Kozlov at the same time.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll try to make it.”

Sadness clouded her eyes at the news that he would bring a companion. He diffused the moment with a smile, stood up and left money for the bill.

“Until then?” she said, trying to smile.

He nodded and shot her a playful wink.

Island Industries satellite office, Reston, VA

“JACK SAID HE’LL bring him back online. Chicago, yeah. There’s a performance at the Fine Arts Building later this evening. There will be a meeting there. Yes, send them straight to Chicago. We’ll need them there as soon as possible in case we need more feet on the ground. Okay, thanks.”

Addy Simpson leaned back in the chair at his desk, and felt a sense of relief after ending the call. A major source of the stress that had been occupying his mind was about to end. Trent Turner was coming back into the fold, and that development would help him relieve the other immediate stressors with the current operation. Trent had been in contact with his uncle Jack Turner, and while Simpson knew they would have a lot to discuss after the operation was over, he had no doubt that he could count on him.

He had just gotten off the phone with his second-in-command at The Island. His conversation with Dr. Charles Reed was brief. Simpson needed more resources on the current operation and had made the decision to bring someone new he’d been working with onto the team. He was an experienced individual who would need no training, and it was someone whom he knew his top operative would trust.

Simpson had been out of sorts since Matilde Soller had reached out to him. He still hadn’t come to terms with missing the communication that was sent to him while he and Jack Turner had slept. They had searched Lucky Stone Quarry first thing in the morning and hoped something would turn up once the evidence was processed. It was time to call his good friend and give him an update on the status.

“Addy,” President Vincent Cross answered the phone enthusiastically. “How are your people doing out there?”

“We’re making progress, but things are moving slower than we’d like.”

Cross couldn’t help but laugh. “Isn’t that always the case? You’ve always said the communists would try to make a comeback, I should know better than to doubt you. So is it as bad as you thought?”

“I think so,” he said. “We still don’t know much other than they have a lot of money behind them and it has something to do with the financial sector.”

“Christ. Any idea when it will happen?”

“No, not yet. The CEO at Nations Bank has been extremely helpful. We’ve confirmed one of its computers has the bot software installed, and it’s helped us make some headway.” He sighed and reluctantly said, “It’s going to take more time for The Shop to figure out what we’re dealing with and how they plan on carrying out the attack.”

“I spoke to Stapleton,” the president said, his annoyed tone expected. “He was worthless as usual.”

Simpson smiled. “Shocking,” he said sarcastically. “You’d better watch your back with him.”

“I expect some blowback, but I’m not worried about it. I had to try to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your nature,” Simpson said, somewhat frustrated by his friend’s willingness to give the snake a chance. “The Shop is poking around inside the Fed’s systems. At this point, we’re fairly certain they’re a target.”

“Have you been able to confirm the connection with Matilde’s girl?”

“Yes. It’s a bad situation. These are the sort of people that don’t mess around.”

“I’m sorry,” Cross said. He tried to put himself in Matilde Soller’s place. “Losing both of her children…” He realized it was the sort of pain one couldn’t relate to. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Simpson didn’t have any children, but seeing the woman he’d never stopped loving in pain had been eating away at him. “Me either.”

“Let me know what you come up with and if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Will do.”

“And Addy…”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve made it through worse, so keep your chin up.”

Lapa Palace Hotel, Lisbon, Portugal

MOUNTAINS AND MOUNTAINS of money. Andrei Tinkov knew that was the weapon of choice for the financial elite. The Group gained control of the world’s political systems by manipulating financial markets, and increased its fortunes in the process. On the list of distinguished billionaires and powerful executives, were the chosen few who had been anointed into an organization that was so veiled in secrecy even its moniker was anonymous. The Group simply did not exist in any attributable form. Together, its members wielded enough power to ensure the secretive system of offshore havens used to move their money remained intact.

It was a nervous time for the secret organization, a time where its members were being held up to great scrutiny. Several among its ranks had been tied to a recent interest rate scandal. Their coconspirators had been careless and stupid. Those from their ranks who were embroiled in the mess had families that could be leveraged, so it opened up their options to include more than elimination. The consensus of The Group was leaning toward making them fend for themselves, whilst publicly condemning their actions and continuing business as usual behind the scenes.