Against All Odds, page 4
She stood. “Thank you for your help. You have no idea how much this means to me.”
Blunt stood and ushered her toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do and get back with you as soon as I have something. It might take me some time, so please be patient.”
“Thank you,” she said, nodding at him before exiting the office.
Blunt closed the door behind her and leaned against it. He swallowed hard.
I need a drink.
CHAPTER 6
New York City
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Hawk and Alex caught a train to New York to see what else they could learn about Thaxton Thurman’s acquaintances and habits. Alex insisted that the more information they gathered about him, the clearer the picture would be regarding who was responsible. If Dmitry Krasnoff was just a trigger man, Alex wanted to know who was calling the shots.
Hawk held the door open for Alex as they both strode into Mixtura, the Russian dance club that Ivana Volkov allegedly dragged Thaxton to on a regular basis. It was barely 5:00 p.m., but the music was already thumping with fast beats and techno sounds. Hawk glanced at two women in the corner vaping and laughing. They both stopped and stared as soon as they made eye contact with him.
“Places like this give me the creeps,” Hawk said in Alex’s ear.
“That makes two of us,” she said. “Let me see that picture of Ivana again.”
Hawk slipped her his phone with Ivana’s face plastered across the screen. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, dark hair cropped around her shoulders with bangs, blue eyes, and a small mole on her right cheek. As he scanned the room, he concluded that Ivana’s look was a popular one.
“It’s like this place is full of clones,” Hawk said.
“The bartender will know her. Let’s not waste our time.”
He nodded at Alex, signaling permission for her to charge ahead while he hung back.
Watching from across the room, he smiled as Alex went to work. She sauntered up to the bar, ordered a drink, and then casually said something to the bartender. He slid her a shot glass and then nodded toward a table in the corner. She said something, slapped some cash on the bar, and spun around to walk away. The bartender wore a big grin as he gawked at Alex.
Take a picture. It’ll last longer.
Hawk admired how smooth Alex was. Her wizardry on the computer often left him in awe but not as much as when he saw her in action with people. Extracting information was her true specialty—and she could do it just as well from a file as from a person.
“That’s her over there,” Alex said as she rejoined Hawk.
“The one in the red dress?” he asked.
“You got it. The bartender told me that she likes Manhattans.”
“Then why don’t we bring her one to loosen her up?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Alex returned to the bar and ordered the drink. When she came back, they both strolled over to Ivana’s table.
“Mind if we join you?” Alex asked, holding out the drink.
“Is that a Manhattan?” Ivana asked.
Alex nodded.
Ivana took the glass and then gestured for them to have a seat. “I guess you can sit for a minute.”
She took a sip and then glanced over at the bartender.
“Boris is always looking out for me. I swear everyone in this place must know what I drink by now. Even complete strangers learn my drink of choice. But I suppose you didn’t just come here to buy me a drink, did you?”
Alex shook her head. “We’re looking into the death of your boyfriend, Thaxton Thurman, and are hoping you can possibly shed some light on who might have wanted to kill him.”
Ivana rolled her eyes. “Who are you? FBI? CIA? I already told the police everything.”
“We’re independent investigators,” Alex said. “We’re doing this as a special favor to Thaxton’s father.”
“The senator put you up to this?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot help you. The senator is a despicable man.”
“Did you meet him?” Alex asked.
“On several occasions—and I don’t think there is a more vile human being on the planet. And when I say that, I do so having met plenty of mobsters.”
“But you can’t tell us about any of Thaxton’s enemies?”
Ivana sighed. “Look, if you want to speak with someone who really knows about Thaxton and might be willing to talk, I suggest you talk to Dmitry Krasnoff.”
Alex nodded. “He’s also on our list of people to interview.”
“Well, you’re in luck because he’s right over there.”
Ivana pointed out Krasnoff, who was seated at a table with three other women, one of whom was sitting in his lap.
“Good luck, and be very careful. Dmitry isn’t the friendly type.”
Alex and Hawk stood and backed away from Ivana’s table.
“You want to do this right now?” Hawk asked.
“Why not? This is as good of a time as any to confront him.”
“Fine. Why don’t you take the lead? Based on my observation, you might be able to get him to talk more easily than I could.”
“I’m not even wearing a low-cut blouse,” she said.
“That hasn’t stopped any of the men from ogling you from the moment you walked in, especially the bartender.”
She flashed a soft smile. “Aww, you’re looking out for me, aren’t you?”
Hawk shrugged. “I’m just doing what I always do when I walk into a room. Get the temperature of what’s happening, search for all possible exits, identify potential troublemakers.”
“Don’t try to get all macho on me. I think it’s sweet—as long as you don’t start a fight with anyone over me. You’ve already won.”
Hawk shook his head and grinned. “Just go work your magic on Mr. Krasnoff. I’ll be nearby in case you need me.”
He found a table against the wall and settled into a chair to watch. Alex approached Krasnoff, who only seemed interested in one thing. He nudged the woman off his lap and gestured for Alex to replace her. Alex shook her head, which apparently wasn’t the response Krasnoff was hoping for her. He glared at her and shook his fist. Unsuccessful in her attempt to engage him in a meaningful conversation, she retreated to Hawk’s table.
“That went well,” Alex said sarcastically.
“He looked pretty upset.”
“Well, he’s drunk, and he didn’t like me turning down his offer to sit in his lap.”
“The nerve,” Hawk said, clenching his fists.
“Easy now. We still need to get him to talk, which he won’t do if you rearrange his face.”
Hawk grunted. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“It’s written all over your face.”
“Look,” Hawk said, nodding toward Krasnoff. “He’s getting up to get a drink. I’ll see if I can coerce him to join us out back for a little chat.”
“Just don’t make a scene,” Alex said.
Hawk strode across the room and eased right next to Krasnoff at the bar.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Hawk asked.
Krasnoff looked Hawk up and down. “Sorry, but you’re not my type.”
“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. I just wanted to—”
“Save it. I’m not interested.”
The bartender handed Krasnoff two drinks, and he spun back toward his table.
Hawk slipped up behind him and jammed a gun into Krasnoff’s back. “I just want to talk. Let’s not make a scene.”
Krasnoff nodded subtly and acquiesced, setting down the drinks and walking toward the back exit. Alex was already awaiting them in the alley behind the club.
“Oh, so that’s what this was?” Krasnoff said. “A little good cop, bad cop routine? You Americans are so pathetic. Perhaps you’re unaware that I have diplomatic immunity.”
“We’re not cops,” Hawk said, forcing his gun harder into Krasnoff’s back.
“What are you then? CIA? FBI? You still can’t touch me.”
“Claiming immunity won’t help you survive a bullet to your brain. Now we have some questions for you, and you better start talking.”
Krasnoff raised both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sure we can work this out, Mr—”
“Hawk.”
Kransoff smiled. “How fitting. Here you are, swooping down on your prey.”
“We don’t have time for your wisecracks,” Alex said. “We want to know why you murdered Thaxton Thurman.”
“So, that’s what this is about. Thaxton Thurman. What a sad young man. All he ever did was spend all his daddy’s money while partying away his promising future.”
“Why did you kill him?” Hawk asked, pressing the barrel of his gun against Krasnoff’s back for emphasis.
“I’m not interested in talking with you about that situation.”
Alex glared at him. “Maybe you call that a situationin Moscow, but here it’s called murder.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Kransoff said.
The door to the back alley flung open, and three large men lumbered outside, all of them sporting brass knuckles.
“Is this gentleman bothering you, Mr. Krasnoff?” one of the men asked.
Krasnoff nodded. The three men spread out and formed a circle around them.
“I would suggest you and your little woman friend here walk away,” Krasnoff said to Hawk. “But I doubt these men are going to let that happen.”
“No,” one of the men said. “It’s too late for that.”
CHAPTER 7
Langley, Virginia
CIA Headquarters
SENATOR LON THURMAN FLASHED his credentials to the guard standing watch outside the entrance to the CIA headquarters. The guard studied the documents closely, comparing the photograph on the access card with Thurman’s face. After skimming through a few papers attached to a clipboard, the guard handed Thurman’s badge back to him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not on any access list today,” the guard said.
“Access list?” Thurman said with a sneer. “I don’t have to be on any access list. Do you know who I am?”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience, sir. It’s protocol.”
“Protocol, my ass. I’m the one that makes sure this place has the money to hire nitwits like yourself who don’t even know their government leaders. I’m on the Senate intelligence committee for god’s sake.”
The guard scowled. “Sir, if you think insulting me is going to let me allow you to pass without a formal request being filed by someone on the interior, you’re sorely mistaken.”
Thurman narrowed his eyes. “What if I called my friend Director Van Fortner and told him what an asswipe the guard at the gate was to me? How would you feel about me making that call? Because I’m going to do that right now.”
Thurman grabbed his cell phone and started punching buttons.
“Fine, sir. Just this once,” the guard said as he raised the gate. “Don’t let this happen—”
Thurman didn’t wait around to listen to the rest of the guard’s toothless warning. Speeding along the road leading to the main parking lot, Thurman bristled over how he was treated, even though he knew the guard was simply following orders. But those rules weren’t for everyone, especially people like Thurman. He could’ve called Fortner and requested his name be put on an access list, but Thurman didn’t want the freshly minted CIA director to have a chance to brace himself. This was going to be an ambush, straight and simple.
Fortner’s secretary put up a weak fight to prevent Thurman from entering her boss’s office. Thurman shot her a sideways glance, ignoring her protests. When he thrust the door open, he found Fortner on a massage table, receiving a pounding from a woman who looked barely in her twenties.
“So, this is how you’re spending your time these days?” Thurman asked, gawking at the scene.
Fortner rolled over and sat up, keeping himself covered with a towel. “It’s not what it looks like,” Fortner said. “I was just—”
“Getting a massage on the clock?” Thurman said with a grin. “That’s exactly what it looks like.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Thurman looked at the woman and held up a one hundred dollar bill.
“Thank you for your time,” Thurman said, handing the cash to her, “but your services are no longer required for today.”
She smiled and took the money.
“Wait,” Fortner called after the woman, but she’d already slipped outside and pulled the door shut. He turned toward Thurman. “Thanks a lot. I only get one massage a month, and I stay late to compensate for the time that I lose while doing it. I’m not cheating the taxpayers out of anything.”
Thurman strode across the room and settled into the chair opposite of Fortner’s desk.
“This is more important,” Thurman said. “We have business to discuss.”
“The kind of business that can’t wait?” Fortner asked, pulling his pants on.
“The kind that I don’t want showing up on any official documentation.”
Fortner put his shirt on and worked his way down the buttons. “Am I going to regret this, Lon?”
“Of course not. I just need you to handle a few things for me.”
“Does this have to do with the Russians and their involvement in Thaxton’s murder?”
Thurman shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. You draw your own conclusions.”
“Shoot me straight, okay? I’m a busy man, and I need to tend to other matters if I’m not going to get my stress-relieving massage this afternoon.”
“I need to know what you’ve learned so far.”
Fortner sighed. “As of right now? Nothing. I had to work some back channels to get things moving because our agency isn’t exactly equipped or trained to handle this type of investigation.”
“Are your back channels involving a pair of agents named Brady Hawk and Alex Duncan?”
“Technically, it’s Alex Duncan-Hawk now.”
“Those two are married?” Thurman asked with an arched eyebrow.
“Just became official a few weeks ago, but I’m sure it won’t interfere with their missions. They’ve been working together for a while anyway.”
“But they still haven’t come up with anything yet?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Fortner said.
Thurman stood, his fists clenched, and then paced around the room. “We can’t let the Russians get away with murder like this on our own soil, especially killing a senator’s son—my son.”
“Just give it some time,” Fortner said. “I know this is all still very raw for you and shocking for everyone else.”
“Give it some time? Give it some time? I don’t want to give it time—I want revenge.”
“And eventually, I know we’ll exact the kind of justice that you’ll find satisfying and hopefully give you closure. But in the meantime, I think—”
“You’re not listening very closely,” Thurman said with a growl. “We know who pulled the trigger. Let’s just take care of it.”
“Hawk and Alex are doing the best the can, and when they’re satisfied that we’ve got the right man, they’ll take swift and decisive action.”
“Perhaps I’m not being clear enough for you. I want that Russian dead twenty-four hours ago. We don’t need an investigation.”
“Please have a seat and calm down,” Fortner said.
Thurman moved back in front of Fortner’s desk but remained standing. “I’m not calming down until I get a promise out of you that you’re going to do what I asked and order your agents to move on the actionable intelligence we already have regarding who was behind this.”
“Well, Senator, I’m not sure I can—”
“I don’t need excuses,” Thurman said, putting his knuckles on Fortner’s desk and leaning forward. “Need I remind you that I’m on the senate’s intelligence committee, the one that makes decisions about who gets to run this agency? I have the president’s ear, too. And if I think you’re jerking me around about this, I’ll take some action of my own. Is that clear enough for you?”
“I think you need to let the professionals handle this.”
“It’s not easy when they’re dragging their feet,” Thurman said, standing upright and backing away from Fortner’s desk.
“I’ll keep you posted on anything our agents learn.”
Thurman spun toward the door and stopped once he reached it. He turned back around.
“You better, General. I’ll be expecting a call very soon with the news that you avenged my son’s murder and eliminated a rogue FSB agent taking aim at American citizens. Anything less will be very disappointing and will result in swift consequences.”
Thurman exited the room and stormed past Fortner’s secretary. She wished him a good day, but Thurman didn’t respond as he charged out the door.
The only thing that’s going to make this a good day is news about a dead Russian spy.
CHAPTER 8
New York City
HAWK’S THOUGHTS ALWAYS turned toward protecting Alex when he had found himself in dangerous situations in the past. But this situation was intensely different. She wasn’t just a colleague any more—she was his wife.
Hawk’s first instinct was to engage as many men as possible and render them immobile. If Alex could hold one of the men at bay, Hawk would then be able to assist her in dispatching the remaining attacker. But things didn’t go as planned.
Two of the men grabbed Alex first, each one holding her by an arm. The remaining henchman circled Hawk, gesturing for him to come closer.
Hawk took his jacket off and set it down on a nearby crate, maintaining eye contact with the man. Then Hawk rolled up his sleeves.
“Would you like to fix your hair while you’re at it?” the man asked.
Hawk glared at him but didn’t say a word. With a quick glance and head nod toward Alex, Hawk signaled for her to be ready.
Turning his full attention back to the thug, Hawk rushed toward the man, stopping just short to swipe at his leg. Since he was already leaning forward in preparation for Hawk’s onslaught, the man went down easily. With a swift kick to the ribs, Hawk took control of the fight. The man moaned as he struggled to get back to his feet. Seizing on the man’s weakened state, Hawk kicked the man in the face, which sent him sprawling back to the ground. Hawk waited for the man stand upright before delivering a throat punch. The man staggered backward as he gasped for air, his brass knuckles slipping off his hand and clinking against the asphalt. Hawk dished out one more punch to the side of the man’s head, knocking him out cold.
