For Everything a Reason Page 21

  Edward Jones pulled a chair towards the desk to seat himself, now including himself into this gathering of desperate people. He gave them a sympathetic look that contained an element of both shame and remorse.

  “I’ve turned a blind eye to things I knew to be wrong. Money is a very powerful motivator. And money’s something I’m good with.”

  “Go on,” Carter pushed, eager to understand everything.

  “Viktor Mikhel is also very good at what he does – a master. But he has his weakness. Greed. Not for money, but for power, respect, fear. Still, money plays a factor in all that. Viktor’s ready to start spending his personal fortune – all at the expense of his boss. Word has it Viktor’s been planning a return trip home – one way – and is ready to take over as head of the Solntsevskaya Mafia.”

  “The Solntsevwhat?” Carter asked.

  “The Solntsevskaya Mafia – the biggest firm in Moscow.”

  “Explain everything,” Carter urged.

  “Okay – Viktor now knows I’m alive, and that both the FBI and FSB are coming after him. I’m just one cog in a whole bigger machine; I didn’t think he’d come after me with such ferocity. Not considering what I know about his secret stash. Sergei Mikhailov would have him dead and buried before sunrise if he knew.”

  Carter said, “So he needs to shut you up – before this goes to trial, and his little secret becomes known. Because if it did, his chances back home would be greatly jeopardised.”

  “Exactly,” Edward agreed. “He’d be dead before stepping onto the first plane.”

  Joseph asked, “Can’t they just arrest him now? Keep him in prison?”

  Edward shook his head. “Things take time. Viktor’s connections are too great to let them get away, so they can’t risk a botched or unprepared investigation. The authorities won’t move on him until they’re sure they have Sergei for sure.”

  Tyler leaned forward, closer to Edward. “I don’t understand. Why doesn’t Viktor Mikhel just leave the country now, before he’s arrested?

  “Good point,” Edward said. “Thing is, he has unfinished business here to attend to first.”

  “Such as?” Tyler asked.

  “Such as – me. He needs our little secret to disappear.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Joseph interjected. “Then why did your father refer to it as his secret, his insurance?”

  The accountant appeared confused for a moment. “We’d spoken, that day, on the phone. Wasn’t safe enough for me to visit – so they…” he gestured over his shoulder, “…they set up a line for me to speak to him. A… safe line, untraceable, which was cut the moment the conversation ended.”

  “Wait a minute,” Joseph said. “Now I understand. Your father was repeating what you’d said to him – wasn’t he?”

  “Must have been,” Edward agreed.

  “Okay,” Carter said. “So why did they kill your father?”

  Edward’s face collapsed into despair, he answered evasively, “He was dying anyway – I guess I can take some comfort in that.”

  “Edward, we have to know exactly what’s going on here,” Carter said, needing the accountant to explain all – and quickly. If he was going to get Jake back, then he must understand precisely what he was up against.

  Edward’s words had been guarded throughout the encounter, which Carter had thought to be in respect of the present situation. It was only when the accountant lowered his tone to a barely audible whisper that he realised he’d been masking his words from the trio of agents who stood nearby.

  “Viktor needs my guaranteed silence,” Edward began. “What I know will put him away for a very long time. Or better – permanently.”

  Joseph still didn’t understand. “But surely what he did to your father would strengthen your resolve even more?”

  Edward nodded. “Yes – true, but I have my own weaknesses too.” He lowered his tone even more. “Do you think I dare mention anything about our scam, to anyone? No, I’d end up as dead as Viktor, and twice as fast. Sergei’s reach is infinitely more capable than Viktor’s. If he found out I’d been stealing from him, he’d come over here and put a bullet in my head – personally – and laugh while he did so.”

  “Then why the dramatics?” Carter asked. “Sorry, wrong choice of word. Why kill your father?”

  Edward said, “To draw me out. Gain my silence. Kill me.”

  Carter ran a hand over his face, the long day now washing great waves of tiredness over him. “But haven’t you already told the authorities enough to put him away?”

  “Yeah,” Edward agreed. “But that wouldn’t stop him. He’s smart, never tarnished his hands with blood, and always had other people to do his dirty work for him. He’d hire a team of the best lawyers money could buy and then flee across the border to Mexico or Canada while out on bail. Or buy the whole prison system if he got that far, and simply disappear.”

  “But he would require Sergei’s help to do all that?” Carter asked.

  “Indeed,” Edward said.

  “Then where does that leave you?” Carter quizzed.

  “In a real jam. I’ve got myself a double-edged sword. If I tell the authorities about our secret funds, then I mark myself for death. Sergei would not allow such a thing to go unpunished. But if I don’t say anything, then Viktor will see me dead. He too cannot allow me to continue drawing breath, knowing what we’ve done.”

  Carter shook his head. “Dammed if you do, dammed if you don’t…”

  “True…” Edward said.

  Joseph spoke. “What about this Yurius? Who the hell is this guy?”

  For the faintest of moments, Edward’s face seemed to change. It was so slight, so fleeting, that most didn’t have sufficient time to consciously acknowledge the transformation. Only Joseph spotted this shift in facial expressions, and even he wasn’t convinced it hadn’t been more a trick of the eye then an actual response. In a single heartbeat, Jones’s face flipped from humble victim to vicious predator and back again. Then, with a simple shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Sorry – that is a name that I do not know.”

  Carter seemed to deflate then. He breathed out between puffed cheeks.

  “Can you help us in any way to get my boy back?” Joseph asked.

  “Not directly, no,” Edward replied, his face taking on its usual look of sympathy.

  Carter spoke. “Then what are you doing here? Why risk detection by coming?”

  “I need to get a message to Viktor. Explain that our secret will remain just that, for as long as I stay alive, and that any direct threat will see Sergei gaining knowledge.”

  “But how will you do such a thing?” Joseph asked.

  Edward reached into his pocket. He withdrew a crumpled envelope.

  “What’s that?” Joseph asked.

  “It’s a message – for Viktor.” Edward handed it to Joseph, by sliding it flat along the surface of the table.

  Joseph took it, and then flipped it over, looking for an address or name. “Why are you giving this to me?”

  “Because, Joseph, you’ll be seeing Viktor sooner than I will,” Edward stated.

  “Look,” Joseph said, his voice rising in pitch. “I’m sorry about your position, but I need to get my boy back. I cannot get involved with your disputes.” He started to slide the letter back.

  The agent standing nearest to Jones tensed visibly. The other two quickly took up formation around the grieving accountant. Joseph’s little act of aggression towards Jones was met by equal hostility. An agent, square-shouldered, tall and handsome, almost snarled in Joseph’s direction when he said, “Keep it.”

  Joseph’s hand stopped half-outstretched. He eyed the agent, noticing a slight scar above his top lip. “Keep it,” the agent repeated in a growl. The agent’s words were laced with Eastern European undertones.

  Joseph’s temper started to boil to the surface. “Who the hell are you people? Go and find my son.”

  “Yeah,” Carter agreed. “You know where Viktor is. T
here’s a chance Yurius could have taken Jake there.”

  “Let’s go,” Joseph said, climbing to unsteady feet.

  Now, all three agents seemed to swell around the small group. And for just a second, Carter thought they were about to reach towards their sidearms.

  “No, we stay,” Edward Jones said. The short sentence had been full of calm but weighed down by a directness that demanded obedience.

  The agents deflated slightly then, realising they’d possibly stepped out of line. The one with the scar gave Joseph a courteous nod before taking a few steps back.

  “Sorry, Joseph,” Edward began. “This investigation of ours reaches too far – too many organisations involved with much to gain. Both FBI and FSB agents have been working tirelessly to bring this case to a close. I apologise for FSB Agent Vitos’ abruptness. But even Jake’s taking cannot be allowed to threaten the ultimate goal of taking down Viktor Mikhel and Sergei Mikhailov’s empire.”

  Edward then stood up quickly. Joseph’s arm remained outstretched. “You need to keep that – it will help you to put an end to this nightmare. Trust me.” Edward said.

  Before Joseph could respond, Edward turned and headed away from them. Like obedient dogs, the trio of agents followed closely behind him.

  “Wait!” Joseph called. “What is this?”

  Edward turned back. “Your salvation – and mine,” he said, before disappearing out of the Department.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Four walls, warm sheets and food of choice: three things that Presley Perkins hadn’t taken pleasure in for as many months. The bucket of fried chicken stood almost empty, and the corner of the bed sheet had thick smears on one corner; Presley being unable or unwilling to make the short trip to the bathroom to gather a hand-towel to wipe greasy fingers clean.

  The TV in the corner of the room flickered with bright faces and beat out an enthusiastic tattoo. Baywatch played into the room with its golden beach, blue waters and near-perfect cast. Presley grunted subconsciously as one of the swimsuit-clad girls ran across the expanse of even sand.

  He dipped his hand back inside the bucket to retrieve a chicken leg. Half a thigh disappeared in a single bite. His hand returned to the bed sheet as he hastily wiped it clean. What the hell, he thought, dismissing his lack of manners. He wouldn’t be here to clean it up tomorrow.

  Now, with his newfound wealth, he lay relishing the luxury of a cheap motel room. He’d bought a set of new clothes, simple sweatpants and top, and had invested in a small collection of toiletries. His cheeks tingled, invigorated by the razor and gel that had removed three months of grime.

  Presley caught his reflection in the small mirror that faced him. He gave himself a wink, pleased with his current situation.

  The credits started to roll on the TV screen. Presley reached over to take the remote. He flicked between channels for a few minutes, staying on each one just long enough for him to decide if the programme warranted his attention or not. Eventually, he chanced upon a spaghetti western. The Man With No Name was currently dusting down his poncho.

  “Draw!” Presley ordered, firing an imaginary bullet at Clint Eastwood’s head. Clint looked back at Presley with unwavering blue eyes, unimpressed.

  Presley laughed out loud. “The Man with no Name,” he said, and then glanced over at the mirror for a second time. He tipped his imaginary hat upwards, nodded, and said, “Howdy ladies – you fancy a good time with a cowboy?”

  This time tomorrow, he’d be long gone – driven out of town, not by a posse of lawmen, but by the promise of freedom. Mexico and all the Señoritas he could wish for would be waiting for him, ready, willing and able.

  He settled back, his belly full and a greasy smile smeared across his lips.

  Yes, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough for him – his day of independence.

  Then, Presley Perkins would be back on top.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The Homicide Department was a hive of activity. A dozen or so detectives were sat with handsets clamped between shoulders and heads, chatting eagerly, scribbling down information onto notepads, blank crime reports, desktops if necessary, anything that they could get their hands on. The first few hours of any investigation, were the most critical. Two of their own had been killed, Gore and his replacement, and their friends in blue were not about to sit idle.

  The FBI agents were also running task forces via sleek cell phones, or expensive laptops, or simple good old-fashioned landlines. One blue-suited individual – who busied himself with his open laptop – now occupied the technician’s chair. Two agents, FSB Agent Vitos included, were chatting to each other in hushed tones over by one of the office windows.

  Marianna and Tyler were talking quietly at the young detective’s desk, whilst Joseph and Carter sat facing each other, red-eyed and beaten.

  “I’ll understand if you want to go home,” Joseph said.

  Carter yawned, and Joseph thought that was just what the detective had been waiting for – an easy get out.

  “Like hell,” Carter announced. “I’m seeing this through to the end.”

  “This isn’t your fight – not now. Only I can bring Jake home.”

  “But at what cost?”

  Joseph eyed Marianna. She was busy in conversation with Tyler. He just shrugged. “This Yurius wants me – dead.”

  Carter nodded. “I believe he does. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let that happen.”

  “What can you do?” Joseph asked. “What can they do?” he added, indicating the agents.

  “They, Joseph, have their own agenda. We’ll get Jake back.”

  Joseph sighed deeply. “How?”

  Carter scratched at his chin. “There’s a way. There must be a way.”

  “We both know they’re holding Jake to get me. And I don’t think they’re looking for some sort of reconciliation. Do you?”

  “No, Joseph – I don’t.”

  “Then what now?”

  “Yurius will call. I guarantee it. He’s desperate to silence you, before his identity can be compromised.”

  “Too late.”

  “I know. We know. But he doesn’t. When he calls, don’t address him by name again. Act confused, uncertain, and don’t for a second let on you know about his connection to Viktor Mikhel.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then do as he says.”

  “And?”

  “I’m working on it,” Carter said.

  “Detective – this has gone beyond ‘serve and protect’. Lives are on the line here. Not just mine and my son’s – yours too if you stay involved.”

  “I am involved. Believe me. I ain’t about to let some two-bit punk harm an innocent boy.”

  Joseph reached out and took the detective’s hand. “Thanks.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “No, but most men wouldn’t put it all on the line for a stranger – not even a boy.”

  Carter looked away for a moment. His face flipped between anger and agony.

  “What is it?” Joseph asked, seeing something more than just professional conduct was driving the detective.

  Carter looked Joseph in the eye. “I have a son – had a son.”

  The pain in Carter’s eyes left no question as to what that meant.

  Joseph shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah…” Carter breathed. “William, my boy, was shot and killed in action, recently.”

  “Dear Lord,” Joseph said.

  “A hold-up. He wasn’t even responding to a call – just happened to chance on it, whilst the robbery was in progress.”

  “Good God…”

  “Billy didn’t even get the chance to draw his weapon.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Joseph offered. “I can’t imagine how you feel, not even with Jake taken.”

  The detective wiped at his eyes. “Losing a child is worse than anything imaginable, something that simply does not go away – ever. Even on those rare occa
sions when something else demands your attention, the pain comes back with a vengeance to remind you of the loss.”

  Joseph couldn’t find his voice. What words could he offer anyway? There wasn’t a word in the English language that conveyed enough sympathy or sorrow. However, the agony in his own heart, for Jake’s safety, gave him all the understanding he needed.

  Carter said: “So now you know why I’ll be seeing this through to the end. I’m not about to let anything happen to your son – not while I can do something about it.”

  “Like what?” Joseph asked, needing some form of reassurance – no matter how desperate.

  “I don’t know yet, Joseph. But I will, when the time comes.”

  They made eye contact again, and Joseph felt the detective’s determination wash over him. It gave him added strength, and more importantly, made him realise that he wasn’t alone in this nightmare.

  ***

  It was almost midnight when the second call came through. Tyler and one of the FBI agents were sleeping fitfully, twisted and bent into uncomfortable positions, dozing in chairs, using hard desks as unlikely pillows. Both jumped awake, their attention snapping back into focus.

  Joseph and Carter were already on their feet by the end of the second ring. Marianna joined them, her hand seeking out Joseph’s. He took it and then reached for the handset. Already, the agent seated there had activated the recording and tracking devices. The agent’s hand gestured in slow circles, silently directing Joseph to keep the caller talking.

  “Yeah?” Joseph asked.

  “Big bear?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know who I am?”

  Carter had already slipped the earphones on and was listening to the exchange. He shook his head vigorously.

  “You’re the guy who has my son,” Joseph replied.

  The caller stayed silent for a moment.

  “You know who I am?” the caller asked again.

  Joseph looked toward Carter for help.

  ‘NO,’ he mouthed.

  “I know you’re name is Yurius and if I don’t get my son back, I’ll find out who you are and hunt you down and kill you. If it takes the rest of my life, I’ll find out who – what – you are, and not rest until you are dead.”