The orchid file, p.8
The Orchid File, page 8
Luke dropped the canvas and covered the ground to Kaslov’s desk before he could get the receiver to his ear. Luke’s hand cut a wide swath across the desk sending a stack of papers and the phone flying off the desktop.
The fat man froze where he stood.
“Nasir al-Din Arazi. Did he come to see you?” Luke asked again with his hands on the desk and his gaze boring into Kaslov.
“Who?”
“That’s not going to work,” Luke growled and moved around the desk.
With a shaky hand, Kaslov reached under his desk and pressed a button.
“They’re not coming,” Luke said.
The two security blobs employed by Kaslov were lying on the rubble-strewn second floor, zipped tied, and gagged with their own neckties. Kaslov’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t get any air over his vocal cords. His eyes were wide with fear.
“If you want to keep selling to the highest bidder, you have to survive me. Understand? Nasir al-Din Arazi. Did he come to see you?” Luke spoke through gritted teeth.
Kaslov pumped his head up and down so fast his chins jiggled. Without his security, Kaslov offered little resistance. Simpson was right, he was easy to control. Anyone else would not be as compliant.
Luke took a step back to give the man some breathing room. He stooped over and picked up the painting that he dropped earlier and pulled a knife from his pocket. It was a basic three-inch folding blade, but the second he held it to the canvas, it caused Kaslov more panic than when Luke kicked in the front door.
“I…I don’t know this Arazi,” blurted out Kaslov.
“You don’t need to know him, Boris.” Luke smiled when the man flinched at his real name.
“He’s missing half an eyebrow.” Luke tapped the knife blade above his left eye. “And scars in his hairline.” Luke tapped his temple. “I’m sure you noticed that. Probably looking for bomb materials.”
“Isn’t that a question for your CIA?” Kaslov sneered, “I don’t deal in materials. They know that.”
It took every bit of self-control Luke possessed not to choke this tiny clown out of his penny loafers. “Then why did he come here?” Luke played a gut feeling.
Kaslov hesitated, eyeing the knife in Luke’s hand. Sweat darkened his collar despite the cool spring afternoon.
Luke moved the blade closer to the painting and selected a spot right across the painted man’s throat. He put the tip of the blade to the canvass and tensed to push it through.
“That is a Jacq…NO,” Kaslov lunged forward as he saw Luke move. “You American donkey. Fine.”
Luke pulled the blade back and look expectantly at Kaslov who hurried on.
“A man by the name of Sergio Arenas came to me. He had the,” Kaslov swirled his index finger in a spiral over his eye and temple, “the, the eyebrow.”
“When?”
“Four or five months ago. I’m not sure. It’s been a while.”
Luke lowered the knife. “What did he want?”
“He didn’t want material. Not exactly.” Kaslov squinted at Luke. “He wanted the bomb maker.”
Luke cocked his head to the side confused by the man’s choice of words. “The bomb maker? There’s only one?”
“Only one that can do what he wanted.”
“Which is?”
“Plans. I believe you call it a custom job.” Kaslov’s mouth cracked into a smile. “What? You were not expecting me to say that?”
“He knows how to make a bomb. He’s already done it three times very effectively. Why does he need plans?”
“This man is not really a bomb maker. He is more of a bomb designer, you might say. This Arenas, he wanted very specific plans. You have to make it yourself.”
“These ‘plans’, are there many of them?”
Kaslov shrugged. “They are a…what do you say…novelty? The kind of trinket a violent mind likes to possess. They have never been used successfully as far as I know.”
Luke’s upper lip curled at Kaslov’s philosophy but couldn’t disagree with it.
“Plans, okay. But the hard part is putting it together. Assembling the bomb is what takes expertise. Arazi knows this firsthand. It’s why he’s got a jacked-up eyebrow.”
Kaslov bent forward, suddenly eager to talk as though the subject fascinated him.
“It is not the job of a bomb to be complicated. I have seen the bomb maker’s work. It is a true work of art. Eh,” Kaslov waved dismissively. “It’s not like he needs the money. It is a hobby for him. An obsession really. Custom plans, straight to your email. For a price of course.”
“Easy to get through airport security,” said Luke.
“Kaslov nodded. “Especially if you hide them between some naked pictures of a pretty girl. Security does not go through everyone’s cell phone. Technology has made it easy to hide what you do not want the world to see.”
“Where would they get the components to build it?”
Kaslov shrugged. “That is the problem of the buyer.”
“And who is this budding designer?”
Kaslov hesitated. “I didn’t catch who you work for.”
“I didn’t say.”
“I like to know who I’m dealing wi….” The little man scrambled back behind his desk as Luke chucked the painting across the room and advanced on him.
Luke stabbed the tip of his knife into the smooth shiny wood of the desk. The tip sunk in and the knife stood straight up quivering.
“The only deal you’re making right now is for your life, Kaslov. Tell me who he is, or I’ll kill you. This is the only deal you’ll get from me.”
The little man let out a squeak of fear. “Taras…Taras Ivanov,” he panted as Luke pulled the knife out and ran his thumb along the razor-sharp edge.
Luke propped one leg up on the desk as Kaslov delicately brushed off his expensive jacket trying once more to look incensed instead of afraid.
“Where is he?”
“He has a penthouse in the Palace Hotel in Kyiv. He owns a string of, uh, businesses in Kyiv that are very profitable from illegal forms of…uh…commerce. The local police are probably familiar with him since they are probably on his payroll to look the other way about the drugs and prostitution. I would avoid them if I were you.”
Kirill shuffled nervously behind the desk and it occurred to Luke that he might be looking for a weapon.
Luke stood and immediately Kaslov threw up his hands and froze. He then proceeded to act like he was insulted by Luke’s continued presence.
“I’ve told you all I know. I have nothing else on Ivanov, he’s known to me by reputation only.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Kaslov,” said Luke standing, grateful he could finally leave.
Kaslov spun his chair around to put it between him and Luke. “Of course the world revolves around you Americans,” Kaslov sneered from behind his cover. “I am very busy you know. Why can’t you Americans not bother me at the same time?”
Luke froze mid-rise.
This time Kaslov vomited out the words before Luke could advance on him.
“You are the second today to ask about Taras Ivanov. The others were here a few hours ago. I supposed you are looking for the uranium too?”
Luke took a step toward Kaslov. “The what now?”
The color drained from the man’s ruddy face. “Two Americans came asking about some Cold War uranium that went missing fifteen years ago. I knew of it, but I don’t know where it is.”
Kaslov had the chair in a death grip. He would tell Luke anything to make him leave.
“And they wanted to know about Arazi? Arenas?”
Kaslov shook his head. “No. They never said that name. They asked for Ivanov. I assume they think he has the uranium.”
“What fucking uranium?” Luke said it through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Kaslov cowered away from Luke. “I thought it was a myth. Buried treasure nonsense.”
“Still think that?” Luke eased up. He believed the sweating man.
Kaslov shook his head vigorously.
“And this Ivanov, you think he has the uranium?”
“It would make sense that he might have it,” admitted Kaslov. “Or know where it is. The woman was more interested in his money. Typical woman.”
He nervously chuckled at his own joke, then grew serious when he saw Luke scowl.
“Why was she asking about Ivanov’s money?” Luke did not like where this conversation had arrived.
The fat man shrugged. “She is not wrong about it. Money speaks.”
“You said there were two of them.”
“The man wouldn’t tell me who he worked for either, but he is definitely an agent like you.”
Luke didn’t bother to correct him. “What did they look like?”
“He had dark skin. Hispanic perhaps. She had brown hair and seemed very desperate. Beware the desperate man, but a desperate woman? Run away as fast as you can.” He laughed nervously.
Luke didn’t laugh. “Did they want anything else?”
Kaslov shook his head.
Luke sensed he had gotten everything usable from the man. At least without breaking Frank’s edict to leave the man’s face intact. He straightened and turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder. “But Ivanov might know where this uranium is?”
“In Ukraine, that is always possible.”
Luke strode the length of the room and out the broken door. He took the winding stairs two at a time and hopped over the guards still lying bound on the second-floor landing. The final flight of stairs led out to the street through a shuttered storefront.
He made sure he pulled the front door tight before stepping out onto the Rue de Pavillon. Breaking into a brisk walk, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Tommy. He told Tommy what he’d learned and instructed him to start gathering a dossier on Taras Ivanov.
In the time it took Kaslov to stutter that sentence, everything changed.
It was no coincidence that someone wanted Ivanov for a bomb and uranium. If Ivanov had the uranium, then that was what Arazi was after, not just a bomb.
And if Arazi was after missing uranium, he was going to detonate a dirty bomb. On US soil if he could find a way.
The game just changed. Luke needed to get back to the embassy. He needed a secure phone to talk to Frank. Frank would need to bring more resources and assets to bear based on this new information. Frank also needed to find out why no one but the bad guys seemed to know about missing uranium.
By the time he made it to the next block, Luke hung up with Tommy and slipped his phone into his pocket. He had a long way to walk and every street in this city looked the same.
Long rows of connected multi-storied apartment buildings grew more dilapidated the further they stretched from the affluent city center. Two old women sitting on the cracked sidewalk in kitchen chairs eyed Luke suspiciously as he passed.
Ahead a lone woman walked toward him, her hands stuffed in her pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold. She wore ripped-up black jeans and an oversized sweater. She wouldn’t have drawn his glance a second time, but her boots were wrong.
The black combat boots she wore were scuffed and worn. Not exactly the kind of punishment they get hanging out at cafes and street corners.
Her gaze flitted to him and she looked away, the way women do when they see a strange man. But it was where her eyes went that caught his attention. In a move so slight he nearly missed it, her eyes flicked to the third floor of the building he’d just left.
They passed and Luke almost convinced himself he imagined it when he looked back at her. She was glancing over her shoulder at him. As soon as he looked she turned away.
He slowed and turned his head to watch her out of the corner of his eye. She kept an easy pace to the corner. Then she shot a glance in his direction before turning left onto Rue Vanderlinden, away from Kaslov.
The second she rounded the corner, Luke spun and jogged after her to get a visual. She’d been close enough to see him leave that building. Why would she care? She probably didn’t. He was going to give her another look to prove to himself he was overreacting.
Luke peeked around the corner and swore under his breath. She was already three blocks ahead, her sweater flapping in the wind as she sprinted away.
10
Luke rounded the corner and broke into a run. The woman glanced over her shoulder then sped up heading toward the train station.
At the intersection of Rue Vanderlinden and Rue des Palais, she sprinted across the three-way intersection without looking, narrowly missing the grill of a white Mercedes Sprinter van. On the other side of the street, she ducked right and crossed another small street to Rue d’Aerschot.
Ahead was a five-foot retaining wall with a weedy berm that rose twenty feet. The light rails that serviced the city’s public trains were on the other side. She had to turn left or right.
She went left. Luke went after her, cursing himself for not letting Tommy mic him. He’d refused, wanting to be the only one in his head. Tommy with an eye in the skies over Brussels would be helpful right now. Instead, he had to chase her down on his own.
This had to be the woman that came to see Kaslov earlier. That fact that she ran confirmed it, but why was she alone? Luke glanced around. Where was her partner?
Pain spiked up his left hamstring. He’d been out of the game for a long time, and he could feel the rust on his bones as he ran. Judging by her speed and agility she wasn’t quite as rusty.
At the Rue d’Aerschot, he tore around the corner only to see that she’d gained half a block on him. She was northbound back to the Gare du Nord train station and the red light district where he’d gotten off to find Kaslov.
Luke sped up as he ran down the Rue d’Aerschot toward the train station with the berm on his right. Graffitied storefronts lined the street to his left. The ones that weren’t shuttered were occupied with scantily clad women trying to set a hook in the mostly tourist foot traffic.
Luke gradually closed in on his prey. She was quick, but he was catching up.
She shoved past a group of young men. Her dark hair whipped as she turned to get eyes on her pursuer. Then she ducked through a bright purple door with a red neon heart hanging above.
By the time Luke made it to the brothel door, the group of young men had picked themselves up off the sidewalk speaking rapid Japanese.
Luke barreled into them knocking two of them down again and slammed open the purple door. The brothel was beginning to buzz for the night.
Inside, Luke slowed to make sure she hadn’t set an ambush. Black lights illuminated the room making everything glow blue.
A beefy security guard appeared in the hallway, alerted by the woman who just charged through. The guard challenged Luke first in Flemish, then French, and finally in broken English.
Before he finished speaking Luke lowered his shoulder and plowed into the guard slamming him into a console table. The table splintered spilling an ugly vase of plastic roses and a ceramic dish of condoms. The guard’s head bounced off the floor and he didn’t move.
Luke jumped up and stepped into the doorless entry of a large room with assorted couches and divans. Women in various states of undress milled around serving glasses of liquor to the lounging patrons. She wasn’t there.
A door slammed upstairs, and Luke tore up the stairwell. At the top, he paused in the hall that led toward the front of the building. The doors were all shut, but the light was better up here. He studied each of the locks for tampering.
A man yelled from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Luke ran to the door and saw that the wood by the deadlock was splintered. He pushed it open and saw the woman disappear over a small ledge outside the window.
A naked woman was already trying to close the window against the chilly spring air. Luke shoved her aside and threw the sash open again as the naked man started yelling for a bouncer.
Luke leaned over the wrought iron railing and looked down at the street he just left. She had dropped to the concrete sidewalk beside the group of tourists she already plowed into. They scattered in fear.
When she saw him looking down at her, she took off down the street.
Trying to spare his joints, Luke hopped over the railing and hung from it before he dropped the remaining six feet to the pavement and ran after her.
As they neared the train station entrance, Luke figured she would duck inside and try to lose him among the platform crowd, or the pedestrian tunnel to the other side.
Before they reached the entrance, she darted across the street and ran toward a high safety fence blocking off a crumbling flight of stairs. She scaled it effortlessly despite sprinting for more than a mile and ran up the embankment.
He cleared the chain link with a little more effort. Luke felt his muscles start to burn. By the time he made it to the top of the hill, he lost some of the ground he had gained.
The tracks were ahead, and he saw her drop lightly down the five-foot drop to the gravel rail bed.
The woman turned to see him clear the top of the steps. They were so close he could tell her eyes were green. She whipped around and bolted across the two parallel tracks as an incoming train slowed to enter the station.
Luke dropped to the rail bed as she darted around the front of the train. The conductor blared the horn at her, but she didn’t flinch.
It was a short local train. Luke paused to allow it to pass then ran to the back. By the time he rounded the last car, Luke saw a leg flip over another chain link fence on the far side.
Privacy webbing hid whatever was behind, but Luke didn’t slow down as he jumped up and climbed over. He dropped lightly to the ground and twisted, looking for his target. Nothing moved.
Graffiti sprawled over every inch on this side of the fence. The gravel lot was filled with old rail cars in various states of decay. The only light came from a weak streetlamp in the far corner of the lot. It cast deep shadows as the last daylight faded.
Luke stood still and listened. A low rustle of gravel made him turn. Ahead next to a pile of rusting axles stacked eight high he saw a quick movement.
