I was on the phone to Jase, my technology artist, as I finished off my breakfast in the apartment where Sarah and I were staying.
"Mr Owen, I've got a line on the boyfriend.The Russian connection turned it. 'Peter Johnson' is really Pyotr Ivanov. Nephew of a bigtime Russian hood who recently came out on the short end of some kind of deal in St Petersburg."
"How short an end are we talking here?"
"Floating in the Neva."
"So if we assume it's Pyotr calling the shots here, is he running or has he got some stupid idea of revenge?"
"No clue, Boss. None of the agencies that I can crack into have any real idea how deeply, if at all, Pyotr was involved with his uncles business. With him moving over here and anglicizing his name, opinions varied. Some thought he wanted nothing to do with it and some thought that was exactly what he wanted us to think."
"Nice work, Jase. Cover your tracks and clear down."
"You got it, Boss. I'm almost insulted. Any tracks I left are already covered."
Looking at Sarah over the table as I hung up the phone, I noticed her staring into her coffee cup with a thoughtful expression. I'd had the call on speaker so she could hear it all. As I watched, her frown deepened. They say women shouldn't frown but when Sarah frowned it almost became a cute pout. I kept my muzzle shut and waited for her to finish her thoughts.
"This is going to be hard, Dafydd. We're now looking for a couple, with false identities and likely no longer in town. Add to that they are hiding out from an organized criminal gang which means they are going to be alert to our methods of looking for them, since ours aren't really so different from theirs."
"True enough. Then you've got the kicker of just who that mob is. If our paths cross in the process of pursuing this, there's no way everyone involved will br walking away from it. Then in addition to the other difficulties we'll have a little war on our hands."
I poured myself another cup of coffee and then it was both of us sitting at the table and staring into our respective mugs, lost in thought.
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Can't visit Vegas and not spend some time on the strip, right? As it happened, we were on the strip alright but we were working. I was right where I'd said I'd be, playing at a moderate-stakes table. Sarah had got here a few minutes after I had. She ws providing a little overwatch while playing slots. I didn't have long to wait before a voice with a faint Russian accent spoke from behind me.
"Mr Owen. Marko said I'd find you here."
I looked over at the smartly dresssed ferret. Dressed much as I was, in a simple dark suit, he could have been a player or a casino employee. The cut of his suit told me he spent at least as much on tailors as I did, and probably for the same reason.
"Your timing is perfect." I looked back at the table. "I fold and I'm out for now." I gathered up my chips and left the table.
"I have a room here. We can talk there." We walked over to the elevators and stepped into one. We were joined by a young couple and by Sarah just before the doors closed. The young couple got out of the elevator on the eighth floor before anyone spoke.
"May I introduce my partner, Sarah?" The ferret looked at her, tilting his head slightly in the same slightly strange gesture I'd noticed when he addressed me at the table. Now it clicked. He was blind on his left side. The odd lighting in the elevator showed his two eyes didn't quite reflect the same way. That plus his slightly odd body language told me that the left one was made of glass.
"That was very well done, Sarah. I am Grigoriy. I was sure Mr Owen would have some sort of coverage but I did not spot you."
"Call me Dafydd, please, I see no need for formality with any friend of Marko's."
"Marko and I are not precisely friends, but on the occasions we have found ourselves to be associates, it has always been a pleasure. He speaks very highly of you."
"I'm sure he exaggerates." The doors opened and Sarah and I stepped out together, turning away from each other and each instinctively scanning our side for any threats. Grigoriy chuckled.
"And now I am sure he did not. The room is this way."
As he opened the door, a faint beep sounded from the ferrets jacket pocket.
"I swept the room before coming down to find you and it has not been entered since I left. We can talk freely here." Closing the door and locking it, he continued. "I understand from Marko that you need information about the activities of some of my former countrymen in this town?"
"That would be accurate, yes."
"Govno! Where are my manners? Sit down, relax. Then we can discuss specifics over a drink the way such things ought to happen."
Sarah and I relaxed into two of the comfortable chairs set around a low table. Grigoriy joined us, setting a bottle of vodka and three glasses, each containing what looked to be a very generous double shot, on the table.
"The Americans are making very fine vodka these days. Some of it even surpasses the best that is available from Russia. Russia does not export this brand. A friend brings me a case when he visits." I took a sip. Grigoriy clearly felt the same way about his vodka as I did about my single malt scotch.
"I can see why they would wish to keep this secret at home. It is very fine." Grigoriy smiled.
"To business, then. You must understand that in the kind of business you wish to discuss there are three distinct groups of Russians operating in this town, and to some extent everywhere in this country. There are those such as I, who have been here a long time - since before the Soviet Union fell apart. We are businessmen, Dafydd. We just happen to be doing business with people who may not have quite the respect for law as some people would like and so sometimes our negotiating positions might raise a few eyebrows. The second group are very similar, they are mostly people loyal to some Russian corporate interest, or more specifically to the group of oligarchs that control it. For the most part, these two groups do not cause trouble - at least not with anyone who might report that trouble. I am sure you understand my meaning." The ferret paused for a sip of his vodka.
"It is the third group that causes difficulties and I assure you the others resent this. They are damaging our operations by making Russians inherently suspect. because of their nekulturny actions and drawing a level of scrutiny upon us that makes some of our business much more dangerous."
Sarah nodded. "I suspect, Grigoriy, that our interest is particularly with the third group. There's a chance, however, that it might peripherally overlap onto the second."
"From the little that Marko told me, I suspect this also. He informs me that you are seeking somebody who has apparently gone underground in the company of a Russian?" I handled the reply to this one, putting one of the photos of Kelli and 'Peter' down on the table.
"Our target is the young bison woman in this picture. Her family hired us to find out why she vanished, discover if it was of her own volition and to locate her. There is also an element of ensuring that if she has been harmed those responsible should be held accountable for that. Her father is a personal friend as well as a client."
"How long has she been missing, Dafydd?"
"Nearly four weeks. So far we have discovered that her disappearance was planned and likely voluntary, that others are looking for man in this picture. He was going by the name of 'Peter Johnson' but we believe his real name is..."
"Pyotr Ivanov. Yes. I have never met the young man myself, but I knew of him and his uncle Illya. His uncle was part of the second group, or at least his employees were. He was a moderately successful party apparatchik, with ambitions to become one of the vlasti. He was corrupt, of course, as were all with such ambitions, but while my former colleagues in the second Chief Directorate were taking an interest in him, he was acquiring influence and bribing the right people to keep them off his back." Another sip of vodka as the ferret leaned back in his chair.
"Former colleagues? You were KGB then. I presume First Directorate?"
"Indeed. I had been here for many years and my cover as a businessman was unbroken. I simply chose to take early retirement from the KGB and establish a new business. As for Pyotr's uncle, when it all came apart almost nothing changed. His area of operations was renamed from Leningrad back to St. Petersburg and he went from being a corrupt party man to being a corrupt businessman. He was still bribing and being bribed by the same people. He managed to acquire what his former party colleagues would have considered an obscene amount of money and quite a respectable shipping and transport empire. Unfortunately Vladimir Ostrakov, the top gangster in that city, decided that the rates being charged for smuggling his people and their supplies over here had become somewhat excessive and chose to take over the operation. Poor Pyotr. He was only associated with the entirely legal side of his uncles business, so he did not know to come to me for assistance."
"So it is Ostrakov's people who are looking for him, then?"
"Almost certainly. You say that they are still looking?"
"They've been asking around town about him and somebody is watching Kelli's former apartment. Before talking to Marko I was considering acquiring those watchers for a little chat."
"Ochen kharasho. That is very good to hear. If they were not still looking, that would mean they had found them. They have certainly not found her at this point, or the watchers would be gone and she would be dead or worse." Sarah frowned.
"What about him?"
"Impossible to say. If he cares for her as he appears to, and she for him, it would make sense to split up, at least for a while, so that one cannot betray the other by a mistake, da? All we know for certain at this point is that they have not found her."
"What can you tell us about Ostrakov's people in Vegas, Gregoriy?"
"They have a base of operations outside the city, a private compound out in the desert near Sloan. They are smugglers of weapons, drugs and women. Russian owned businesses that do not have significant connections pay them protection money or bad things happen. They have not yet dared touch my operations here. They are not yet strong enough in this town to do that and they also have their paws full consolidating their hold on the business that Ostrakov has just taken over."
"Any particular bad actors we should be aware of?"
"The whole crew is dangerous, Dafydd. In particular watch out for Oleg Vladimirovich"
"Would that perchance be Oleg Vladimirovich Ostrakov?"
"Da. His youngest son. That boy is beyond nekulturny, Dafydd, he is quite sick. I believe he would be described as a sociopath."
"Gregoriy, I thank you. This is something we can use."
"It is nothing, my friend. I know you are trying to save Kelli, but if you can save Pyotr as well I would be in your debt. If you have to do that by wiping out this nest of vipers in our midst I would owe you more than that. All of us in this town would."
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Sloan was a little shithole town, just to the south of Vegas, buried out in the desert. The only purpose it was good for, as far as Sarah and I were concerned, was that it had a parking lot where we could stash the Jeep and unload the dirt bikes. We strapped most of our kit to our bikes, pulled the rest over our shoulders and ripped out onto the sand and dust, our paths diverging as soon as we were out of sight of the town. I was within a quarter mile of my objective when the earpiece in my helmet beeped at me.
"Dafydd, I've hit heavy sand. I'm not going to be in place for at least another hour."
"I'm carrying more weight than you are, but Ive been a little more lucky. The rocks I'm aiming for look to be about two minutes away."
"Dont start anything without me."
"With any luck, neither of us will be starting anything at this time."
"With the way this case has been going I wouldn't give you any kind of odds on having that luck."
"Just let me know when you're in place."
It was three minutes, not two, before I was able to park the bike at the foot of the rock that reared out of the desert. The heat was blistering, now that I was no longer moving, and I rapidly stripped down to a pair of shorts and crammed a broad-brimmed hat on my head. I looked up at the rock and grimaced. That was going to be a bitch of a climb. I gathered my gear into a bundle, with the exception of my camelbak hydration pack. The 300 pounds of gear I'd brought with me in a pair of oversized duffels got one end of a long rope tied to them and then I spent a few minutes carefully coiling that rope before taking the other end and clipping it to my belt. I took a short sip on the water and electrolytes in my pack and set my paws to the rock.
Don't get me wrong, here. I love free-climbing and will often do it purely for amusement. On the other paw, going up the hard side of a rock like this in desert conditions was almost not fun at all. About half way up I had a nasty moment when a hind-claw that I thought was solidly wedged pulled loose when I put my weight on it. The adrenaline rush from that made the rest of the climb more bearable. Ten minutes later I was hauling myself over the final ridge onto the top of the rock. I checked that my headset was still attached to my radio and keyed the mic.
"On perch. Setting up."
"At least another 40 before I can start the climb to mine."
"No worries, a few minutes here or there isn't going to hurt at this point."
I unclipped the rope from my belt and slowly hauled my gear up to join me. First out of the bags were a camping pad and a couple of sand colored sheets. Next out was my spotting scope and the disassembled pieces of my rifle, which I put together as fast as I could. I pulled both of the packs into position by a crevice in the rock and spread one of the sheets over them.I fitted the glare hoods to both the scope and the sight on the rifle, set them both down next to the camping pad and stretched out, pulling the second sheet over myself and both my scope and my weapon. Finally set, I put my eye to the spotting scope and trained it on the compound half a mile in front of me, to the north and down on the desert floor. It sucked to have no separate spotter for this. Unfortunately my only potential spotter was heading for her own perch, on the other side of the compound we were watching.
Half an hour later I hear in my ear.. "Climbing now."
"Got that. I'm in position. I see no activity, looks like a couple of housing or barracks buildings and three others. I think I see what looks like a shooting range off to the east. Unless I am totally wrong here, we should both have clear lines of sight to all buildings."
"I'll let you know when I get to the top of this thing."
I sucked more water and grabbed a piece of jerky from the cool-pouch. I settled back down to watch some more.
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"Dust cloud to the east, Dafydd. Vehicle approaching, I think."
"I have them. Looks like a mini-van. Let's see where they park it. It could be where they keep all their vehicles. Off scope for a while, setting up our nasty surprise." I crawled out from under the sheet and went back to the stash of gear. I lugged the bigger of the two duffels out to sit next to my perch and unloaded the biggest and heaviest item in its contents. Eighty-five pounds of steel came out of the duffel in three pieces which I rapidly assembled and set on the ground, carefully checking its orientation towards the compound below. I took a little time to train my rangefinder on each of the buildings in the compound, carefully calculating the adjustment required for the drop in elevation. Then I organized the rest of the contents of this duffel so I could lay my paws on any item within it without looking. A third sandy sheet from the second bag was draped over everything I had just set up and I settled back to my scope in time to see the minivan pull into the smallest of the non-dwelling buildings visible below me.
"Doorway is facing you. Any other vehicles in there?"
"I see what looks like a hummer, civilian model, and a pickup. They are unloading the minivan now, I see two furs with what looks like AK-type rifles and.. SHIT! Four women, Dafydd. Looks like their hands are bound behind their backs. We've got innocents on site."
"I see them." The two guys with the rifles were pushing the women towards one of the housing buildings. If any of them had been a bison, I'd have got behind my rifle right then, but they were a vixen, a bunny and two canines. "Let 'em go for now, Sarah. It sucks but we don't have enough to start anything yet. No idea how many others are down there."
"That smaller building they are heading towards, Dafydd, does it have any windows facing you?"
"Negative. Just a door. One of them is unlocking it now."
"Yeah, that makes sense. I've got some glare so I'm not sure, but I think there are bars on all the windows facing this side."
"I think we can definitely tag that building as non-target."
"It will be getting dark soon. We can then start counting lit windows and using thermal."
"Yep."
At that point, my phone started vibrating on my belt. I grabbed it and held it to my ear.
"Owen."
"Dafydd, It's Frank. I just got a strange phone call about Kelli. What do I do?"
"What did they say?"
"I recorded it. Hold on..." A few seconds of silence and then playback. "...This is Peter. If you want to reach Kelli, call her on 775-301-2847. Get her some help and tell her that I love her..." there was a click and then Frank was back on the phone. "What do I do, Dafydd?"
"Don't call her. I will. There are some very unsavory characters looking for your daughter and her boyfriend and they are certainly watching your phone records. I have an untraceable burner I can use. I'll get back to you."
"Thank you, Dafydd."
I shut off my phone. If the bad guys were tracking numbers that Frank dialed I didn't want them triangulating towers and discovering me right on their doorstep.
"I take it you heard my end of that?"
"Yes, I did. What's happening?"
"Pyotr called Kelli's dad, gave him a number to reach Kelli on. It sounded an awful lot like a lovers farewell."
"What are you going to do?"
"Grab one of the burners we've got with us and call her."
"Ok."
Whenever we were working a case Sarah and I always made sure we had a nice squeaky-clean burner phone available, wherever we were. Today, mine was in the second duffel, sitting back in the crevice in the rock. I grabbed it and dialed the number Pyotr had left in his message.
"Hello?"
"Kelli, my name is Dafydd Owen. I'm working for your father. Peter called him and gave him this number to reach you."
"Oh my God.. No.. They must have found him.. No.. "
to be continued...
