Dangerous web, p.11
Dangerous Web, page 11
With no flashlight and expecting to be bitten, he used his hand to wipe the shelves in the cupboard, hoping to find the list in paper or digital form.
Nothing. No files. No thumb drives.
About to leave, the sound of movement caught his attention. Another rodent?
“What the hell are you doing here? This is private property.”
Webb spun around to face a large man pointing a shotgun.
Chapter 11
“Who are you?” Webb demanded, staring at the man holding the shotgun.
“I asked you first.” The stocky, gray-haired man smiled, deepening the lines around his blue eyes. He moved the gun toward Webb’s chest and a sardonic expression showed he believed he had the upper hand.
Webb didn’t blink and matched the man’s countenance. “Put the gun down and we can talk.”
Silence.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed, but his hands continued to hold the weapon steady.
“Webb, where are you?” Emma yelled as she entered the barn.
The gunman glanced at her, and Webb grabbed the shotgun’s barrel pointing it toward the ceiling as a bullet shot into a beam. He twisted the stock from the man and struck him in the jaw with it.
Emma screamed and the stranger slumped to the floor.
“Get back to the car,” he shouted at her, but kept his eyes on the aggressor as the guy rolled to a sitting position. “Don’t move.”
“What’s your problem, buddy? You had no call to hit me.” He rubbed his chin. “You’re trespassing, not me.”
For the first time Webb noticed the man spoke with an accent, English obviously not his first language. Was it Baltic, Russian? “Do what I tell you. I’m holding the gun now.” Where was Emmy? Had she run to their vehicle?
“Please, mister. We want to retrieve something and then we’ll be gone,” Emma pleaded.
“Damn, Em, go to the car.”
“The list,” the man said.
“What do know?” Webb stepped closer.
“Miranda,” the dude whispered. “Miranda.”
Stunned, Webb answered, “James, three.”
“I’m the list you’re searching for.”
“The hell you are.”
“I gave you the password. What more do you want?”
“The paper list or thumb drive.”
“We have a problem.” The man stood and brushed off his pants. “Everything you want is in my head. You can put down the shotgun. I’m no threat. On the contrary, without me you and the country are in jeopardy. Ivan Popov.” He extended his right hand.
Webb ignored it.
“Okay, don’t shake my hand and keep the weapon if you feel safer.”
“Give me the information and we’ll be off.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Those aren’t my orders.”
“Call your boss. Life changes. Who knows that reality better than I? Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”
Webb made the call and learned the ex-FSB agent had turned double agent after his oldest daughter was jailed and later died in prison after she, among others, protested against the treatment of the Russian press and the murder of a politician running for office. With another daughter in possible danger, he retired and quietly left the country, taking his secrets with him for protection. Now years later, who would think he’d have relevant info? Well somehow, he did.
Webb broke the burner cell phone with the gunstock. Later, he would toss the phone pieces out of the window over a couple of miles of freeway.
“Okay, we’re out of here,” Webb said.
They walked to the small car and he stored the shotgun in the trunk.
“Ivan, sit in the back of the Acura,” he demanded.
“In this piss ass little car. I’m too big.” Ivan paused. “Miss, you ride there.”
Webb looked at her and shrugged.
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. He can take the passenger seat.” She crawled into the backseat.
“Everybody settled? Strap in, we’re on the way to San Francisco.”
“Not until we stop in the San Fernando Valley. A burger drive-in on Ventura Boulevard.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I, Ivan Popov do not kid. You want the list or not?”
Shit. Webb revved the engine and drove out of the driveway.
***
Thousands of lights from the San Fernando Valley sparkled like a giant mirrored disco ball, sending shards of light reflecting in every direction. From a distance the amazing view was not marred by traffic noise or congestion from the population of about one million, seven hundred thousand souls.
“My home for the last few years. Beautiful.”
Emma watched Mr. Ivan Popov and wondered who this man was and if they should trust him.
“I love this place, the noise, the crowds and the over indulgence of the people,” Ivan said as he stared out of the window from the passenger’s seat. “You can’t be too rich or too thin here. I’d add more. You can’t spend too much or be too garish. Indulging one’s whim is encouraged.” He laughed. “All the capitalism that was forbidden in my old life is good here.”
“Ivan, you talk too much,” Webb said, irritation showing in his voice.
“Exactly what my first wife said.” The man chuckled. “Of course, it’s why I took a second spouse.” He sat forward and took a deep breath. “Oh, the smell of a second stage smog alert. The aroma of free enterprise. Got to love it.” He sucked in another quick breath. “Turn onto Ventura Boulevard and go west. You’ll see the long line of cars waiting to enter the drive thru.” He paused. “My little girl works there. She’s nineteen and lives with a roommate. I must say good bye and warn her to be careful. If I just disappear, she might go to the police for help finding me. I’ll tell her I’m going out of town on business. Afterwards, I’ll go wherever you want.”
Webb grunted, but his expression softened. “You wouldn’t have to leave her if you gave me the information tonight.”
“No, not the plan, Mr. Lancaster.”
Later, Ivan munched on one the three cheese burgers he’d ordered to go from the burger place, then drank part of the extra-large chocolate milk shake. “Nothing like it.” He spoke with his mouth full. “I’ve had burgers all over the world. These are the best.”
“Ivan, shut up and eat,” Webb demanded.
“Whatever you say.” He turned to the back and winked at her and smiled.
For the first time Emma realized his talk masked his stress. It was hard to believe this jovial character was involved in espionage and was a retired Russian agent.
Ivan finished the first burger and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Mr. Lancaster, transport me to your boss and when I am sure he can be trusted, I will give the list to him. Until that time, see I stay alive or the names will die with me.”
Webb’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel, nine pm and almost dark, still the weekend traffic clogged the boulevard. They drove east toward the 405 freeway and north out of the valley heading to the Grapevine on the I-5 interstate to the San Joaquin Valley.
The calm torrid air hovered over the valley, trapped by the smog. The nineteen ninety-two Acura hadn’t let them down on the long trip south, but now heading north the car slowed. Perhaps the heat and dirty atmosphere had affected the old auto.
Hot, Emma sorely missed the lack of air conditioning in the sedan and searched for something to use as a fan. With nothing useful available to her, she gave up and did her best to ignore the stifling breeze coming through the open windows.
“Why can’t we take a plane?” Emma stretched and leaned forward. “We would be at SFO in a little more than two hours after we boarded the jet.”
“That’s the first place someone would look for us. They’ll watch local transportation hubs, bus stations, airstrips, etc. And airports have more cameras taking photos of the crowds than anywhere I can think of. Not to mention we’d need to show our ID.”
“I didn’t think. I should have realized we’re hiding.” She shuddered, remembering when the black SUV found them.
She leaned back and settled in for a long, hot ride, and admired Webb’s skill as he maneuvered through the dense congestion, apparently an everyday occurrence on the multi-lane Ventura Freeway.
The drone of Ivan’s voice continued as he gave a monologue on the virtues of living in Southern California with the shopping, concerts, and schools. He delighted in swimming in the ocean all year round. Was this an act, the jolly man without a care? Or was this tradecraft of an experienced foreign agent with the ability to be whatever person he thought the people around him appreciated?
Webb responded only when absolutely necessary. Other times Popov murmured on without encouragement as the Acura wound its way up the Tejon Pass through the Tehachapi Mountains heading north.
She answered Ivan’s questions and agreed with him concerning the Los Angeles basin and its tourist attractions, doing her best to cover the lack of response from Webb. Finally, she curled up on the jump seat and listened to Ivan carry on about the wonders experienced since arriving in So Cal. Finally, the hum of the engine appeared to lull him into silence.
About to close her eyes, she startled when Webb said, “We can take a pitstop in Gorman and I’ll fill the tank. Don’t be too long.”
A few minutes later, he drove to a self-serve pump near a Mini Mart.
Emma ran into the bathroom at the back of the store to freshen up, relieved to find it was clean. Afterward, reluctant to return to the car, she strolled through the aisle of junk food, cheap sun glasses, and hats.
Webb grabbed her from behind and whispered, “Look at the blue pickup.”
“God, you scared me, Webb.”
“Do you see the one I mean?” He let her go.
“Yeah.”
“Keep an eye on it. It’s probably nothing, but it followed us all the way here. Now they’re in the same gas station. I don’t like coincidences.”
“You’re making my back crawl.”
“Emmy, it may not be anything, but let’s not take chances. At over four thousand feet up in a mountain pass, I wouldn’t want to go off the road like we did in the Healey.”
“Now you’re frightening me.”
“Just stay alert. Oh, and remember Ivan is an ex-Russian agent, not a friend no matter how much he pretends to be. He might not be on the up and up,” Webb suggested. “We don’t know his game, yet.”
“All right. I’m cool”. She held out her trembling hands. “A little shaky, but calm.” She paused. “This weather’s oppressive, but I think I’ll buy a cup of coffee to stay awake and watch the truck.”
The blue pickup had left the station by the time she returned to the car. Relieved, she was about to sit back and enjoy the rest of the trip, when Webb said, “The truck’s back.”
In the dark it was hard to keep track of the vehicle. Still, she did her best to be aware of the pickup’s movements as it worked its way through the mountains, sticking with their sedan but not too close.
No one spoke and in the silence of the night she found it difficult to keep her eyes open, even after the cup of fresh coffee from the gas station.
“Your woman, Emma, she’s a good person,” Ivan spoke, his voice booming in the quiet night. “Like my daughter Tasha. Oh, they look nothing alike. Tasha is a bear of a girl—big, tall.” He used his hands to make his point. “Not small and delicate as your wife. But they are blessed with the same sweetness—gentle hearts. They will be good mamas, no?”
She saw Webb tense. Knowing him, he most likely wanted to tell the Russian KGB/ FSB officer to put his thoughts where they wouldn’t see the light of day.
When Webb didn’t respond, the man turned to her. “Your man, he is moody, no?”
She’d be fine if Ivan didn’t mention Webb or her again. However, he continued to talk unaware neither she or Webb wanted to hear what he had to say. She understood the one topic they were interested in would not be mentioned. The list.
The blue truck stayed with them.
***
The air cooled and the traffic thinned, except for the tractor trailer rigs populating the interstate. Conversation dwindled. Soon the quiet hum of the car’s engine was the only sound.
Ivan, the big bear of a man, leaned against the passenger’s side window. The double agent probably hadn’t had much sleep in the last couple of days while he waited to be contacted in the mountains. The man started to snore, interrupting Webb’s thoughts.
He glanced in the rearview mirror. Emmy appeared to be asleep.
After midnight, not Webb’s favorite time of the night. It was too lonely, with no talking to fill the dead air. Easy to let his mind wander back to the past and all the mistakes he wished he could change. What good was twenty-twenty hindsight if his broken promises and regrets remained impossible to alter?
Emma did her best not let it show, but he saw fear change her demeanor. Damn, he’d never forgive himself for his selfish behavior years ago. If he had walked away without starting a conversation with her that day in the bookstore, she wouldn’t be in danger now.
The truck dogging him still followed, though the vehicle kept back from the Acura’s tail. He really didn’t mind, because at least he understood where it was.
The two men in the pickup’s cab sported beards and baseball caps, making identification difficult. White, twenty something, brown hair sticking out of the bottom of their caps, but nothing distinctive about them. They’d be of average height and weight. That’s what he would choose if picking men for the job.
He increased the pressure on the gas pedal and the truck sped up as well. If the guys stayed with him, he planned to confront them at Buttonwillow.
Ivan snored louder. Where did he fit in? Did he know who was shadowing them and why?
Until Webb understood more about the Russian, it might be better to hold off confronting anyone.
Shit.
He drove by Buttonwillow and continued north on I-5. By four or five in the morning they’d be in the San Francisco Bay Area. In the East Bay, he’d lose the guys following them in the truck and be free to continue to their destination. By six am Emma would be placed in a safe house in Petaluma.
Later, he and Ivan would take a private plane from the Oakland Airport to Washington, D.C. in time to dump Ivan Popov in the lap of his boss. Mission complete.
He relaxed his shoulders, lightened his grip on the steering wheel and continued to drive.
On schedule, the sign for Petaluma appeared on the right and he took the exit to the west side of town heading for a small two-bed rancher on a large plot of land with few houses on the same street. They’d be in time for an early breakfast.
He’d used the house once before. The people were kind and dependable, so until the situation improved, Emma would be protected.
He pulled into the graveled driveway of the old single-story home and turned off the engine. “You two wait in the car until I make sure they’re ready for us.”
“Okay.” Emma stretched and smiled at him.
Damn. He didn’t want to leave her. You have no choice?
Warm for this time in the morning, with no fog, things were clearing physically as well as metaphorically.
“Hey, boy,” Webb said to the German Shepard laying on the front porch. “Remember me?”
The dog didn’t move. “You okay, boy?” He started to climb the stairs but stopped. “Emma, stay in the car until I tell you to come out.”
She opened the car’s door. “What’s wrong?”
“Do what I say for once.”
At that moment, he noticed a trail of blood running from the dog toward the stair where he stood. “What the hell?”
The dog was dead, shot and left where it fell. Why?
He ran to the back of the house and looked into the kitchen window. A suit jacket hung on kitchen chair and milk and sugar were on the table near a place setting. A carton of eggs sat on the counter, and a French press full of coffee was nearby.
He yanked open the unlocked door and gasped—gas. He held his breath then turned off the range. The coffee was still hot. The owners couldn’t have been gone long. What would cause them to leave in such a hurry?
He searched the home and found no one. Where were the owners?
His lungs hurting from holding his breath, he grabbed the suit jacket, a broken laptop on the kitchen floor, and stumbled out of the cottage to the fresh air.
Coughing, he stood in the backyard. What were the possibilities the people were still alive? The real question, what to do with Emma now?
“What’s going on?” She came up to him and stared.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t follow my directions and stay put.” With her hand in his, he ran back to the car. “Take these things in the back. He tossed the jacket and laptop to her. We need to go before the police arrive.”
Ivan put on his seat belt, but he didn’t ask anything.
“Why would the police be called?” she asked.
Webb started the engine and backed out of the driveway without answering.
“Hey, I thought I was staying here—what’s happening?”
Chapter 12
“It’s not fair. I don’t want to stay in San Francisco.” Julie Smith stuck out her bottom lip.
Smith stared at his wife. Then he spit into the ashtray on his office desk, before picking up his Cuban cigar again. “Not my choice. Until my business is finished, we’re here.”
“Baby, no. What about the gala? My dress is waiting for me. You said I’d meet the president.”
“Julie, go ahead and pout. Nothing will change. Leave and let me do my work. I’ll see you in the condo tonight. Maybe I can wrap this up in time go back east.” He slapped her on her ass. “Take your gorgeous rear out of my face.”
“Gorgeous, really?” She wagged her butt at him and blew him a kiss.
“Tyler, put your eyes back in your head,” he said to the young male standing nearby. “You can’t afford her.” I can barely keep her.
