Red cicada, p.20
Red Cicada, page 20
“You okay?” Lance asked.
“No. But I need to do this, even if it ends up being a dead end.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, taking a seat and rubbing his hands together.
Lana smiled inwardly at his Freudian faux pas. What did he mean by “my girl”? She shook her head. Now was not the time for such thoughts.
“Can I help you?” a kind male voice sounded from a door beside the reception counter.
Aaron Goodwell stood in the doorway with his arms folded. He was of average height and build, but the shape of his face and the set of his eyes left no doubt this man was her father’s former partner.
Lance and Lana stood.
“Dr. Goodwell. I’m Lt. Lance Kipling, army special investigations. We communicated a couple of years ago regarding your tour in the former Soviet Republic.”
The doctor tipped his head to one side in evaluation. “I remember. I still can’t say much more because our mission was classified, but—”
“Deacon Baker was my father,” Lana blurted, cutting short Dr. Good-well’s words. She took a faltering step toward him.
Dr. Goodwell’s mouth dropped open, and his arms fell to his sides. “It can’t be,” he said in a voice that was mostly air.
Lana took another step. Her legs barely had enough strength to do it. “Please,” she said tremulously, her emotions moments away from complete breakdown.
Dr. Goodwell cautiously moved toward her, as if approaching an injured animal. “You’re . . . you’re Svetlana.”
Chapter 38
Tarus went for a brisk walk as the sky bore the brassy yellow of sunrise. A bracing wind coming off the lake invigorated him. He stopped at the convenience store for fresh coffee. The same old Pakistani man was behind the register. They exchanged nods.
At his car, Tarus opened his trunk and withdrew a white shirt and a conservative tie. Changing quickly, he donned his linen sport coat and tucked his gun into his shoulder holster. Then, leaning against his car, he sipped his coffee and watched the sun breach the horizon.
At seven thirty, a tall man opened the door to Cap’n Rob’s Sail Craft. He was older, perhaps sixty, but he looked like he knew how to handle himself. Rather than directly confront the man, Tarus decided to try his foreign dignitary ruse again. Sometimes, the soft approach worked better than the violent one—but it wasn’t nearly as fun. He tossed his cup into a trash receptacle and crossed the street. A ship’s bell clanged twice as he entered.
“G’morning,” the tall man greeted. “What can I do for you?”
“Good morning,” Tarus said, intrigued that the man didn’t flinch at his scars. “My name is Valeri Kozlovsky.” He handed the man his counterfeit ID card. “I am with Belarus embassy in Chicago. I am looking for a man and this woman,” he said, showing the man Svetlana’s photo. “Perhaps you have seen her.”
The man looked at the image with narrowed eyes. “Maybe. What makes you think they came here if they live in Chicago?”
“They tell everyone they take vacation to lake in Wisconsin. Please. They are very close friends of mine from Chicago. Is very important.”
“You said a man and a woman. Do you have his picture?”
“I do not.”
“Strange you only have her picture, even though they’re very close friends.”
“Do you have photograph of each of your friends?” Tarus asked with raised eyebrows.
The store owner’s face remained impassive. He held eye contact without blinking. After a moment, he relaxed and smiled. “Okay. You got me there. Yes, I have seen them. They were here yesterday. Why?”
“I have critical information for them. They have friend in Belarus in hospital in Minsk. He have serious injury. I must contact them as soon as possible.”
“And the friend can’t contact them himself?”
“Is not possible. Is on—” He paused, thinking with a deep frown. “How you say . . . life-support machine.”
“I see,” the man said, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t give out personal information on my clients.”
“Perhaps I can call his phone.”
The tall man folded his arms. “They’re close friends, but you don’t have their phone numbers?”
“I am fool. I have new phone and is not entered yet. Perhaps I need smart child to teach me how, yes?” He chuckled, hiding his annoyance that this man was asking too many questions. When the shop owner didn’t respond, Tarus selected a six-inch tapered stainless-steel spike from a tray by the register and toyed with it. “This is curious. Is for . . . ?”
“It’s a marlinespike. It’s used to untangle knots in rigging.”
“Is beautiful in its simplicity.”
The man cleared his throat and placed his hands on the bamboo countertop. “Look, Mr. Kozlovsky. Your story just isn’t holding water. You say you don’t have their phone number but you happen to have a picture of her. You say they took a vacation to a lake in Wisconsin. There are over 15,000 lakes in this state, and yet you come from Chicago to right here. You have an embassy ID card I’ve never seen before that may or may not have jurisdiction here in America’s Dairyland. I’m a former coast guard, so I’ve seen a few.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kozlovsky. I just don’t think I can assist you. Perhaps you should call local law enforcement. See if they can help.”
Tarus moved as if to replace the marlinespike in the tray but instead rammed it into the man’s left hand, pinning it to the countertop. The man howled behind clenched teeth and grappled at the spike. At the same time, Tarus pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at the man’s face.
“You should be more cooperative with your guests,” Tarus growled. “I need to find Kipling and Baker. Now!”
“Look,” the owner said, breathing heavily against the pain. “I just rented them a sailboat. I don’t have any information on them.”
“Show me the rental contract.”
“It’s in my files.” He groaned, gesturing toward a wooden four-drawer cabinet.
Tarus stepped behind the counter as the man continued to work at freeing his pinned hand. Blood now slickened the spike, making it nearly impossible to grip the smooth surface. The files were organized according to the make and model of craft.
“Which boat?” Tarus asked.
“The Hunter 16.”
Seeing the file, Tarus turned and clubbed the owner with the butt of his gun. The man collapsed to his knees, dangling by his pinned hand.
Tarus removed the file and opened it. Lance Kipling’s name was printed clearly on the top form. The contract required numerous details from the renter, probably because such boats were expensive to repair or replace. Tarus found Kipling’s cell phone number; his address in Maryland; his driver’s license number; the make, model, and license plate of his SUV; and so much more. He folded the paperwork into his coat pocket and returned the file to the cabinet.
He turned and stared at the unconscious owner. What a fool. America claimed it was the land of opportunity. But the more time Tarus spent in the country, the more he considered it a land of weaklings. To succeed, one had to do what was necessary—even if what was necessary was considered wrong by the rest of the world.
As Tarus rounded the counter, he debated whether or not to finish the man off. He could simply leave and search for Svetlana and the lieutenant. But the owner had said he was former coast guard. He would call the authorities when he awoke and give a detailed description of his assailant. Tarus was more careful than that. He had to be. He fired a quick shot over the countertop. The lifeless man’s head jerked back.
Tarus nodded once, then continued toward the door and exited to the double clang of the ship’s bell.
Chapter 39
Lana and Lance sat in Dr. Aaron Goodwell’s private office. They were offered bottles of water, and Lana had already downed half of hers. She couldn’t tell if she was dehydrated from yesterday’s sailing activities or if she was bone-dry from fear. She was so nervous, she was spitless.
In all outward appearances, Aaron Goodwell was an average man. Five ten or eleven, light-brown hair thinning in the back, healthy build. Even his hazel-green eyes were unremarkable except for when he looked directly into Lana’s. Just beyond the common color was a deep intelligence that said this was not someone to engage in a battle of wits.
“I admit I’m in a bit of shock,” the doctor said, sitting on the edge of his desk, his legs stretched out in front of him. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you again, Svetlana.”
“Again?” Lana said.
“Well, yeah. But I doubt you’d remember me.”
“You have me at a huge disadvantage, Dr. Goodwell.”
“It’s Aaron, please.”
“And I go by Lana, not . . . not that other name.”
“Of course.”
“I have so many questions for you; I’m not sure where to start,” Lana said with a tremor in her voice. She swallowed a dry lump and took another swig of water.
“I have a few for you too. But . . .” He paused and looked at Lance. “No offense, Lt. Kipling, but if you remember the last time we talked, I said I had nothing for you. That still holds true. If I say anything, it’ll be for Lana and doesn’t leave this room.”
“Fair enough,” Lance said. “I’m actually kind of freelancing now anyway.”
Aaron nodded. “First of all, I am so sorry for your loss, Lana. Deacon was a good man—my best friend, really. I took the news of his death very hard, as I’m sure you did.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I found out weeks after it happened. That’s why I didn’t attend the funeral.”
“There wasn’t a funeral. I . . . I couldn’t bear one.”
He acknowledged her statement with a slow blink and tip of his head.
“How did you recognize me?” Lana asked. “I was only a toddler back then.”
“Your eyes, of course. That was one of the first things Deacon said to me that day at the hospital. He was watching you play with a doll. Your head was bandaged up, same as every other kid in there. He called me over and said, ‘You’ve got to check out this girl’s eyes.’” Aaron smiled. “They haven’t changed a bit.”
Lana turned to Lance, wanting to say he’d been right all along, but the look on his face indicated more surprise than confirmation. “You said you knew nothing about Deacon Baker ever having a child,” he said to Aaron.
“You’re right. I didn’t know about it. And to be honest, I still don’t. Look, Deacon never contacted me after that last tour. I can guess how it all went down, but I don’t really want to know. It’s safer for everyone that way. But the fact that you’re both here means the secret is out, correct?”
“I wish it weren’t,” Lana said. “I’ve almost been killed a number of times because of it.”
Aaron frowned.
“Let me catch you up to speed,” Lance said. He quickly reviewed everything he’d found in his investigation, including knowing about the altered Akademgorodok report. He told Aaron about Lana’s abduction and about following the clues Deacon had left. “The bad guys are still out there. They’re part of some Russian splinter faction who think Lana knows more than she does. But they also know about the disk.”
“Wow” was all the doctor said. He seemed concerned but not shocked—as if it weren’t unexpected news. He stared at Lana, who stared back with equal intensity. “I’d almost forgotten about the disks.”
“I just learned about mine last week,” Lana revealed. “Dad never told me about it.”
“That must have been a shock. I assume you still have it?”
Lana tried to answer, but her throat was again impossibly dry. She gulped down the rest of her water and nodded.
“Can I see it?”
Lana wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “It’s still in me.”
He blinked. “Why?”
“Because I was abducted before the doctors could remove it. The really frustrating part is I still don’t know what the heck it even is.”
“Nor do I,” Aaron said apologetically. “Do you?” he asked Lance.
“No. But I have reason to believe it contains information that’s extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. We were hoping you could tell us more.”
Aaron stood and walked to a picture window, with his hands clasped behind his back. “I can tell you what I know.”
“Please,” Lana whispered.
The doctor seemed to struggle with inner turmoil as he continued to stare out the window. Lana was on the edge of her seat, both yearning for what he had to say and fearing it.
“First, I still maintain I have nothing for you, Lt. Kipling. What I’m about to share is strictly for Lana. Therefore, I’d like to ask you to wait outside, please.”
“No!” Lana shouted, prompting the doctor to spin around. “Lance has been my savior through all this. He knows as much as I do. Anything you tell me I’m going to share with him anyway, so you might as well spit it out right here, right now.”
Aaron took in his guests with his penetrating gaze. At length, he nodded, sat at his desk, and folded his hands in front of him. After a long moment of contemplation, he pressed a button on an intercom box on his desk.
“Liz, please bump my morning appointments.”
“Which one, Doctor?” a voice squawked through the intercom.
“All of them.”
Chapter 40
Cap’n Rob awoke to searing pain in his hand. When he tried to right himself, an equal pain ignited across his scalp. He opened his eyes to a pool of blood covering the floor. He also felt it caking his face and neck. Steeling himself against the pain, he saw his hand still pinned to the countertop by the marlinespike. Gingerly touching his scalp, he felt where the scarred man’s bullet had gouged a deep channel as it glanced his skull. He had no idea how much blood he’d lost, but his lightheadedness told him it was significant.
Feeling under his counter, he located a pair of pliers. Carefully rising to his feet, the captain fitted the pliers to the head of the marlinespike. He took three quick breaths and yanked upward. The spike dislodged from the countertop and slid through his hand in one fluid motion, the burning pain so intense, he collapsed forward to his elbows. Scabs that had started to form tore off, and fresh blood seeped from the hole in his hand.
Hissing deep gulps of air between his teeth, he waited until the pain lessened a fraction, then put the countertop phone on speaker and dialed 911 to request an ambulance.
* * *
Tarus sat in his car studying the page of information he’d obtained. Everything was useful, but the data he needed most was the lieutenant’s cell phone number. He should probably vacate the area immediately, lest anyone discover the owner’s body while he was still around—a few people were already strolling through the area—but he needed to make a call first.
He dialed his superior’s number. The man picked up on the first ring. “What have you got for me?”
“I am very close. I need location of cell phone. It belongs to Kipling. He is somewhere in or around Madison, Wisconsin.” Tarus gave the number, then waited.
“We show the phone is currently in a city called Middleton. I am awaiting exact location. Is Svetlana still with him?”
“Da. I have confirmation.”
“This is good, comrade.”
The high-pitched ululation of sirens sounded in the distance. Tarus ignored it at first, but when a police cruiser screeched to a halt with its lights and siren on in front of the boat rental, he instinctively disconnected his phone and sat lower in his seat. Two officers exited the cruiser and cautiously approached the shop. Tarus frowned. Who could have alerted the police? He’d shot the proprietor in the head, and he’d made sure there were no security cameras in the tiny building. As before, his training urged him to leave the area before the authorities started looking around. But his curiosity compelled him to stay and see what panned out.
As one policeman entered the building with his gun drawn, the other stayed outside with his gun at the ready. A few seconds later, he too entered the shop. What was going on in there? Tarus’s inquisitiveness was so strong that he almost got out of his car to check. But then an ambulance pulled into the lot with its siren blaring. It stopped directly in front of the doors, and two EMTs hopped out the back: one with a stretcher, the other with a large medical kit. They quickly ran into the building, seemingly without any reticence. That meant the shop owner was still alive. If he were dead, they wouldn’t be in such a hurry.
Tarus cursed and smacked his steering wheel. So sloppy. He should have checked the man to be sure he was dead. His shot had been hasty, but he’d seen the man’s head snap back, so he knew he’d hit him. Nonetheless, it was clear the man had survived. That meant there was a chance he could identify Tarus. A scar-faced man with a heavy Russian accent would not be difficult to find.
He started his car and backed out of his secluded spot. Putting his car into gear, he paused as a second police cruiser pulled adjacent to the first one. One officer went inside as the second one began casing the vicinity. Such rotten luck.
Even so, it didn’t matter if the boatman could identify him. Svetlana was close. His own brilliance had obtained the information needed to locate her. Tarus slid on his dark glasses and slowly drove out of the area, taking his time so as not to draw undue attention.
Soon, he’d have the disk, and he’d be able to get a new face and a new life. If Svetlana lived through the disk removal, he might even take her as his wife. She was pretty. She was strong. But most important of all, she was a chosen daughter of the motherland.
Chapter 41
“Deacon and I searched the hospital top to bottom,” Aaron Goodwell said to his two guests. He paused to rub his forehead, remembering every detail. “We found lots of evidence that most of their experimental records had been destroyed. The incinerators were full of paper ash. We got so we could tell what the original product was, but I won’t get into that.” He took a sip of water before continuing. “It took some doing, but they finally let us search the entire facility. I went to the basement; Deacon went to the north wing. I found a high-end clean room with all sorts of high-tech lab equipment: genome splicers, bacterial incubators, electron microscopes, you name it.”
