The Code Within: A Thriller (Trent Turner Series) (36 page)

“Like I said. I’m complicated.” His tone turned serious. “Listen, thank you for the tickets. Your performance was…” He took in a deep breath, and the vanilla and rose-laden scent of her perfume had a calming effect. He smiled, knowing words wouldn’t do her justice. “This has been one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve had in a long, long time,” he said, trying to maintain a smile that would disarm her. “Really, though, I’m no good for you. You’ll just have to trust me on that one. Maybe in another life.”

She stared him down and moved her hand to his knee. The blackness of her hair was highlighted by the lights from above. Her green eyes burned a path directly to his soul and his heartbeat quickened.

She toyed with the moment and motioned to the bathroom with her free hand. “Now look, Mr. Whoever-you-are, I need to go to the ladies’ room.” She lowered her chin and fixed a determined stare. “Let’s start over when I get back. You can work on a new pickup line while I’m gone.” She paused briefly and pursed her lips. “That ‘I’m complicated’ routine will get you nowhere with me.” She wiped her brow with a melodramatic sigh and said, “I promise you, when I get back it’ll be like you’re talking to a whole new woman.”

Victoria Eden flashed him a wink before she turned and headed to the bathroom.

Turner found himself both bemused and strangely satisfied.

THERE WAS NO hiding the annoyed look on Pavel Kozlov’s face.

“What is it?” he snapped.

The world of classical music was the Russian’s escape. He had been in deep conversation with an old friend who had flown in from Japan for the performance.

“Sir, we must talk,” his head of security insisted in Russian.

“Pardon me,” Kozlov said in English to his friend. He looked over at his man and, changing back to Russian, said, “This had better be good.”

His head of security led him over to one of the red curtains on the north side of the stage. He pulled the curtain back slightly and urged Kozlov to take a look with a flick of his head. The Russian peered through the slit and saw Victoria Eden seated and speaking to someone. Kozlov pulled his head away with a disgusted look.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

His man took another look for himself and realized the man’s face couldn’t be seen.

“Pavel,” he said with grave concern, “she isn’t speaking to just anyone. That is The American. I’m certain of it.”

Kozlov’s brow furrowed in disbelief. He looked through the curtains once again and saw Eden motion toward the bathroom and stand up. Every man within eyeshot had his sights trained on her beautiful form as she glided across the floor. That is, every man except for Pavel Kozlov. His eyes tightened as the operative turned slightly, just enough for Kozlov to recognize the face. The Russian’s pulse quickened. There was no way he would let this man escape again. This time he knew exactly how to deal with the situation, should his elimination prove to be problematic.

“How many men do we have here?” Kozlov asked with urgency.

“Five. Most of them are at the compound to make sure there are no problems with the operation.”

“Tell the driver to bring my car around to the front. Give me two men. Use the others to deal with The American.” His obligation to the motherland now threatened his passion. He decided on a course of action. “No bloodshed in the theater. Do not make a mess of this event. Do you understand?”

His head of security nodded. “
Da
.”

Kozlov headed toward the women’s bathroom he had seen Victoria Eden enter. He casually stood in the waiting area closest to the door. Within a minute, two of his men approached. He cautioned them to remain at a distance with a wave of his hand. The Russian pulled out his handheld device and pretended to read emails.

The sound of her voice produced a wry smile.

“Pavel!” she said enthusiastically.

He looked up and feigned surprise. “Victoria! Splendid performance. Absolutely splendid.”

Her face beamed with excitement, which struck him as odd.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “This was more than I could have ever dreamed.”

She gave him an appreciative hug. The gesture threw him off.

“I’m so pleased that you enjoyed yourself. It is clear by the reception that the admiration was mutual.” He searched her eyes for a flicker of deceit and saw nothing. He inclined his chin and asked, “Would you mind coming with me for a moment? I have another surprise for you.” His smile was inviting.

“You’ve done too much already. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Nonsense. Please. Humor me,” he insisted.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Wonderful. Come this way.”

THE FOUR FBI men had bullied their way into the establishment and were now working their way through the Studebaker Theater’s three levels. Jake Sanders and Rudy Pagano each took a side. They both had a local agent with them to look after, not wanting to risk one of them trying a hero play to impress Director Culder. The locals were under strict orders to report a sighting before moving in. The seasoned veterans from HVT Squad knew all too well the kind of havoc an ill-timed shot of adrenaline could wreak.

No performers were on the stage when they arrived, so they assumed the show had reached an intermission. The men felt awkward in their suits. By the time they realized they should have been dressed for a formal black-tie event, it was too late. The break in attire meant they needed to work as quickly as possible. The men followed the plan and headed to their assigned locations so they could systematically scan the crowd.

“Top clear,” one of the local agents said. He had checked the smallest section and headed downstairs to cover the stairwell and rear exits on the north side.

“Second floor clear,” Sanders confirmed moments later. “I’m heading down the south stairwell.”

Many of the patrons were mingling in the open spaces, which complicated the search.

“Continue down the south side and start at the curtain closest to the stage,” Pagano told Sanders.

“Roger that.”

Sanders reached his vantage point and peeled back the first of three sets of bright red curtains that ran along the side of the first-floor seating area. They stood out from the cream-colored walls and the golden art nouveau motifs that adorned them. His eyes darted around the massive room, its design causing him to follow the tall, arched windows up to the vaulted ceiling. He quickly scanned down to the second-floor balcony across from him before working his way through the crowd. It didn’t take long for the former Delta Force operative to find who he was looking for.

“Got him,” he said into the small microphone that protruded from his sleeve. “South side, third row back, six in.”

The local agent who had cleared the top floor immediately came into view. Sanders’s pulse quickened as the agent worked his way down the center aisle that separated the two main seating areas.

“Don’t move in,” Sanders commanded, the tension evident despite the whispered tone. “I repeat, do not move in.”

The FBI agent froze midstride when Sanders barked out the order and instinctively looked away from the target’s location. His brown suit and red tie stood out like a flashing siren against the sea of black. He scurried back to the lobby to join the other local.

“I was just made by Pavel Kozlov,” the agent said.

“Who?” Sanders sounded annoyed this time.

“He’s a local crime boss. He spotted me and took off toward the door with some babe,” he said. “The guy is hard-core. He’s the head of the Chicago Bratva.”

“Bratva?” Sanders said with indifference.

“Yeah, it’s what the Ruskkies call the mob. He—”

“We can’t afford to blow this,” Sanders interrupted. He wasn’t interested in a lesson on the agent’s local problems. “Move into position and report back when our man’s boxed in.”

TRENT TURNER WAS trying to keep a low profile when the news came through his wireless earbud.

“Four guys just rolled in the front door a minute ago looking all the business,” Etzy Millar said.

Turner’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the kind of guys who could use some of that classical music to relax.”

He switched the throat mic concealed by his collar from push-to-talk to automatic VOX mode and said, “Gotcha. What else can you tell me about them?”

Millar searched for an adjective. “Uh, military looking, I guess. I was waiting to see if they could be identified by the system, but it hasn’t come up with anything yet. One of them is wearing a brown suit and a red tie. The others are wearing dark blue or black suits. It’s hard to tell in this light. Two of them had a tie, two didn’t.”

“Okay, good job,” Turner said.

He was sure this marked the beginning of the problems he had expected. The operative began to scan the theater when Millar chimed in again.

“Looks like some guy is hanging around out back,” he said nervously. “The PMD pointed him out. Be careful in there.”

The mini drone had been set on autopilot, programmed to perform surveillance on the building. Millar had preset eight locations into the flying machine. He just needed to touch a point on a small map displayed on his screen and the PMD would break routine and head to the spot and process the area.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Millar said surprised. “I’ve got something for you.”

“What is it?”

“You remember that hottie from the airplane?”

Turner had a bad feeling about this. “Sure, why?”

“That Russian guy, Pavel Kozlov. He’s heading out the front door with her right now.” Millar touched the screen, commanding the PMD to maintain its position at the front of the building so he could watch. “Wow, these cameras are great. Holy crap, she’s got some legs.”

The comment brought the hint of a smile to Turner’s lips as he continued to scan the theater. He had already picked up on the man in the brown suit and saw him jerk his head away the instant Turner zeroed in. He made note of his location and continued his search for the others.

“She’s in the car and they’re driving off,” Millar said. “I marked it with the PMD, like you showed me.”

Turner was discreet with his reply. “Good,” he said. He had an ominous feeling that he was being watched.

He thought about what Millar had just told him and grew concerned that the Bratva boss may have recognized him when he was with the violinist. His sixth sense told him he needed to worry about the present, but he expected to soon cross paths with the Russian again. There wasn’t anything he could do about Victoria Eden right now, and if he wasn’t careful, he knew he might not be around to help her later.

Trent Turner drew on his experience, and his eyes shifted to the red curtains to his left. He noted the narrow slit that appeared halfway up their length. He would want that covered if he were trying to corner someone in the theater, and knew that would be Goon Number 2.

“You said the back was covered. What about the sides?” Turner asked, now scanning the area intently. “It’s not looking good in here. I’m going to have to bug out fast.”

“Checking now.”

The intermission was coming to a close, and the patrons had begun to return to their seats. He wasn’t sure who he was dealing with, and it was possible that cross hairs might be trying to find their way to his head. Turner needed to use the foot traffic to his advantage, and Etzy Millar had yet to chime in with the status, so his options were limited.

“Try to pull up 3-D mode for the theater,” he said impatiently as he searched for the remaining two men. “See if the PMD can identify their positions inside.”

Etzy Millar had been a fast learner, and it was something the operative appreciated more by the minute. The drone’s 3-D view of the theater used signals emitted from electronic devices to try to determine the position of the individuals who had been marked.

“Got it,” Millar said. “Hey, hold on a second. The PMD traced the registration for the car those men came here in. It says the car belongs to the FBI. It also says one of the cell signals was marked in the system last night.”

It was a mixture of good and bad news. Turner knew the likelihood of being shot in these crowds by an FBI agent was extremely low, but unless Heckler had sold him out, he wasn’t sure how they might have found him. His only connection to the bureau was Millar. He didn’t see any point in Addy Simpson sending the FBI after him, but this was no coincidence. These men knew he was here, and the list of people who had that information was suspiciously short.

“Okay, I’m making a move,” he said casually. “Let me know what you find out. I need an exit.”

HECKLER FELT LIKE he had been running around in circles. The display on the operative’s XHD3 had first led him up the stairs to the second floor, and now it was telling him he was standing directly on top of the cell signal that had been flagged for alert. He needed to see who the owner was before going ahead with the planned meeting.

There were no performers on the stage, so he weaved his way through the crowd while the patrons worked their way back to their seats. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he noted two men who looked out of place. They were in suits standing in the large, open lobby area that led to the theater. He approximated the location where his target should be standing and slid the device into his pocket.

He quickly identified the empty seat that matched his ticket and noted his appointment was still there, waiting. He moved along the three sets of blood-red curtains until he saw a large man in a suit peering into the theater. He judged that the angle of the man’s stare matched up with where his seat would be. His position also matched the location of the proximity signal.

The man suddenly flinched just before the curtains between them exploded to reveal a man in full sprint. Heckler pushed the material out of the way in time to see the suited man begin his pursuit. Heckler took two quick steps forward and threw a stiff shoulder that slowed his progress.

“Pardon me,” he said under his breath.

The operative he had come there to meet had already disappeared up the stairs by the time he noticed two more suits had taken off after him. His eyes spied three more men sprinting off in the opposite direction. Heckler headed toward the stairs and saw another man start up the flight at the other end of the theater.