Leverage (37 page)

The three-hour drive from Seattle down to Portland felt interminable. I hadn’t realized earlier that Greg would not only be escorting me, but that he planned on attending the funeral to offer his condolences to his father’s former colleague, a way to extend his hand in friendship, he said. I knew it was just a ploy to deflect possible blame. Afterwards, he’d say he’d been at risk, as well, another target caught in a madman’s crosshairs.

I wondered if he realized how tempting it was for me, to know I could just as easily kill him as Lebedev, but I knew Greg well enough to know he’d left nothing to chance, and had set up some form of retaliation should I stray from his orders. That thought alone, knowing he wouldn’t hesitate to destroy those I loved, kept my temptations from getting the better of me. No matter his promise, my family would never be safe, just as I would never be free of his leash.

We arrived at River View Cemetery an hour before the scheduled burial. Our driver entered the heavily treed graveyard from the west end and pulled Greg’s black Audi A8 to the shoulder of one of the narrow paths that meandered through the stunning parkland. After reviewing the map for the hundredth time, Greg retrieved a small device from his coat pocket.

He turned around in his seat in the front and held it out to me. “Here, an earpiece, so you can hear me at all times. Use it,” he ordered.

I grabbed it and held it up for inspection. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“If something goes wrong, I need to be able to communicate with you, but no matter what happens, you are to follow my orders to the letter. Are we clear?” He raised a brow as he tapped his finger against the center console.

With a sigh, I nodded.

“Good. Now put it in place so we can test it. I have a small mic inside the collar of my coat.” He ordered me out and told me to close the door. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

Another nod indicated I had. And that was it. After retrieving the weapon from the trunk, I was ordered to our prearranged hiding spot well below the east-facing hillcrest. Greg had only brought his driver for protection, one of his more normal-sized, less-intimidating guards, but lethal nonetheless, even unarmed. Lebedev’s men would search every person in attendance, and Greg didn’t want to offend or threaten him in any way. He wanted to appear the meek little mouse come only to pay his respects. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he had hidden weapons. That would be just his style.

The Audi pulled away after I ducked into the tree line. Once over the low crest, I headed downhill toward the Willamette River. The burial ceremony was being held just outside the family’s large mausoleum. Though it sat alone in a private lawn, there were plenty of other sizable crypts close by, owned by some of Portland’s oldest and wealthiest families. While the wooded hillside offered ample protection, the concrete tombs would act as shields should return shots be fired in my direction.

A white canopy tent had been set up to protect the congregation from inclement weather—always an issue in the Pacific Northwest—and two dozen white folding chairs were assembled in neat rows with a center aisle splitting them into two sections. Up front, in the center on an easel, perched a large portrait of Katy Holender. Her smile was bright and her golden hair gleamed like a halo about her head. Countless flower arrangements flanked her image, set between the front of the mausoleum and the row of chairs facing it, while even more were scattered around the perimeter of the gathering area.

The shear number posed a serious obstruction to my line of sight, and with the low canopy in place, my hillside advantage proved anything but. I was too high and couldn’t see beneath the awning. I had to relocate, but I had no way of letting Greg know. I only had an earpiece; he had the mic. Hopefully, once in place, he’d realize the obstructions and communicate his wishes. Until then, I had to do what I felt best, though, to be honest, I wasn’t convinced I’d even be able to pull the trigger with a live human being in my sights.

As the caravan of cars arrived and lined the narrow curving lane nearby, I dashed from tree to tree, hidden in the shadowy darkness. Those attending had to walk a quarter mile across the well-groomed lawn to take their seats under the open canopy. To have a clear shot beneath it, yet remain hidden, I had to take up position an additional hundred meters away, a long shot, but still within my well-practiced abilities, that is if my performance test was to be believed.

My shoes soon became soaked by the rain-drenched grass, as did the knees of my jeans from kneeling down and spying on the crowd through the scope atop my rifle. It chilled me to the bone to secretly observe all the people with my crosshairs slung across their shoulders. The crowd swelled and settled in for the internment, and, as the white casket was carried in by six sturdy pallbearers, the family finally arrived and was shown to their seats.

Once the service began, I hunkered down for the duration, but kept my eyes trained through the scope. I hadn’t heard a word from Greg, nor could I see him, but, even though the crowd was thick and the partition of flowers a nuisance, I could clearly see my target, Aleksander Lebedev. And beside him, at his right hand, just as Greg had predicted, was Eduard Meier—both marks within easy reach. I only had to wait until the crowd thinned.

Earlier, Greg had warned me he would make his presence known only after the service was complete. That was to be my cue. So, once everyone rose and offered their condolences then began to wander back to their vehicles, I sprinted through the shadows of trees one last time and found the perfect position next to a large mausoleum with four columns supporting a carved pediment. The dark gloom of the crypt’s overhang and narrow intervals between the pillars provided excellent cover and protection.

I raised my rifle once more and settled the crosshairs on the last few remaining mourners near the face of the Lebedev tomb just as Greg separated himself from the forest of flowers, his man close to his side. He looked in my direction, like he knew precisely where I was. My earpiece suddenly crackled to life as Greg’s voice pierced the quiet of my head.

“This is it,” he said, “your moment of truth. Time to prove who you are, once and for all—a killer, a Vory, a Chernov.”

Though his words were a slap in the face, my blood ran cold when I realized I’d already become all three.

With Katy’s casket solemnly interned within the mausoleum, the service came to an end. Just as the last three mourners shook Lebedev’s hand, Greg made himself known to Eduard Meier and Lebedev’s pretty, young wife. Meier tapped his boss on the elbow, and Lebedev quickly ordered his wife to return to the car and leave. Greg’s mic was sensitive and broadcast their conversation clearly, and, through the scope, I could plainly see the tension tick up as Greg, his man ten paces behind, approached Lebedev and Meier with his hands raised.

Two of Lebedev’s guard rushed in between them as another captured Greg’s man and wrenched his arms behind his back. In stony silence, Greg and his bodyguard were thoroughly patted down for weapons. Satisfied they were both clean, Lebedev’s goons stepped aside, but remained at attention with their hands resting on the sidearms beneath their suit jackets. Greg turned toward his man with a nod, and the guard retreated a step to give them privacy.

Ever courteous, Greg faced Lebedev and Meier with a genial if somber grin and bowed. “Eduard, it’s been much too long since we last saw one another. And Alek,” he greeted, bowing even deeper, his face a mask of melancholy, “I’m so very sorry we meet again under such sad circumstances. My deepest condolences for your tragic loss.”

“Chernov,” Lebedev huffed in response. “What the hell are
you
doing here?”

A hand to his chest, Greg’s expression turned to mild surprise. “Why, I’ve come only to express my sympathies, of course. Katya and I were well acquainted, as you know. I’m at a loss for words at her passing. She was such a bright, energetic girl.”

Like lightning, Lebedev struck, backhanding Greg across the face. Greg crashed onto the damp grass at Lebedev’s feet.

“You fucking little weasel,” he railed at Greg. “You were nothing more than shit Katya scraped from the sole of her shoe. You are not worthy to be here, nor are you welcome, so take your weak, pathetic ass and get the fuck out.”

My hands grew slick against the metal grips of my weapon, and a rushing roared loud in my ears as my heart leapt within my chest. From the ground near Meier’s feet, Greg swiped his thumb across a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. He stared at it before sucking it off and shifting to sit cross-legged with his elbows on his knees. He actually started to chuckle while everyone, including Greg’s thug, just stood there and stared.

Then he looked straight at me and said, “
Pora, moy drug.
”

I had no idea what that meant, if it was a green light for me to take the shot. My orders were to wait until Greg had cleared the area, but before I could make sense of any of it, a single, low caliber shot rang out, and Meier crumpled to the ground next to Greg. With his hands wrapped around his bloodied knee, Meier writhed and cursed in pain. Greg gawked at him in shock as he scampered away backwards. His man lifted Greg to his feet then pushed him back into the jungle of flowers. Greg’s initial shock morphed into genuine outrage.

Lebedev’s guard quickly surrounded their boss, pushing him back toward the mausoleum with their weapons drawn. All eyes scanned the surrounding area as guns swept back and forth. I pulled my rifle up and slipped into the shadows, daring only brief glimpses around the thick concrete column at my back.

What the fuck is going on? Who took that shot?

The stunned silence under the canopy gave way to profanity, with shouts of furious indignation from both Greg and Lebedev, but their anger was instantly allayed as one of Lebedev’s brutes hauled a struggling form from the woods on the opposite side of the tent.

I ducked back into the darkness and swore to myself. “Oh God, no.
Fuck!
”

It was Conner he dragged toward the tent. Blood oozed from his nose and covered his mouth and chin. With two fingers, the thug restraining him dangled a small silver handgun out in front as he pushed Conner to his knees, though he refused to release the boy’s wrists. Conner howled in pain, his already-broken limb twisted awkwardly behind him.

Greg sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes wide and round. “Maguire? What the bloody hell are you doing here? What is going on?”

“You know this boy?” Lebedev drilled Greg. “He’s one of yours?”

“Kill him!” Meier ground painfully through gritted teeth.

Lebedev glanced at his accountant rocking back and forth on the ground. “Shut up,” he said then turned back to Greg. “Well?” he ordered.

Greg, still in shock, shook his head and stuttered, “No…I-I mean…yes, I…I know him, but…no, he’s…he’s not one of mine.”

With everyone’s attention on Conner, I repositioned with my eye on the scope and my finger on the trigger, ready to kill should any of them threaten Conner’s life. I wanted to rush out into the fray, but doing so would only put us both at further disadvantage. At least now I had the upper hand should things get even more out of control. With my heart pounding in my ears, I calmed my breathing as Lebedev leveled his gaze at Conner.

“Who sent you, boy?” he asked. “Tell me now and my men will kill you quickly. Make me pull it from you and you will suffer as you never have before.”

Conner raised his terror-stricken face to Lebedev. “No one sent me. I came to kill that piece of shit,” he spat with a nod at Greg. Then he crumpled a little and choked out, “Greg’s responsible. He killed Katy, and he killed our child.”

Greg shook his head when an angry murmur rumbled through Lebedev’s men. But Lebedev, his brow scrunched in confusion, kept calm, his attention still on the boy at his feet.

“Let him go,” he first ordered his man, then, “What are talking about?” he demanded of Conner.

His arms now free, Conner cradled his cast against his chest as he glanced at Katy’s portrait before him. “My name is Conner Maguire,” he said, and Lebedev sucked in a startled breath. “Leo Vasin was my best friend. Katy and I became…close after he died. She was pregnant with my kid, until that bastard destroyed them both,” he told Lebedev, though his eyes fumed at Greg. “I want him to pay for what he’s done.”

Lebedev stared down at Conner. “Maguire,” he repeated. “She spoke of you.” He choked up, and a single tear escaped the corner of his eye.

“He lies,” Greg interrupted in a panic. “He’s the son of my enemy, the man who killed my father. He’d say anything—”

“Silence!” Lebedev roared, and two of his men reclaimed both Greg and his guard, holding them with guns to their sides. Then Lebedev helped Conner into a chair. Once there, he pulled up his own in front of the boy. “Katya admitted she was pregnant,” he explained tenderly. “I was angry at first. She was my only child. But I saw that she was excited to become a mother, and I hoped she might leave her wild ways behind and finally settle down. I believe she loved you, Conner Maguire.”

With those poignant words, the big man crumbled into a wave of tears, all hope of a future generation washed away in its wake. But his display of sorrow was brief, and not a moment later did Lebedev shake the anguish from his shoulders and sigh as he peered deep into Conner’s eyes. As strange as it was, they were two men bonding over the same loss.

Their moment was broken, however, when Greg squawked from the sidelines. “The boy is mad,” he said as his eyes darted from Lebedev to Conner and back again.

“He drowned her,” the boy countered. “To get you here. This is Greg’s mission.”

“No! You cannot believe a word he says,” Greg railed. Fear etched his brow in deep scores as beads of sweat sprouted above his lip.

Lebedev stood, his fierce eyes trained on the sniveling Greg. “Bury them,” he ordered, and his men began to drag Greg and his bodyguard away.

Greg’s panic-filled gaze flitted in my direction. “Do it! Do it now!” he screeched, so loud I nearly tore the earpiece from my ear.

In alarm, Lebedev turned in the direction of Greg’s gaze, as did his remaining men, all four of them with their guns pointed in my direction.

I retreated behind the column once more.
“Shit!
” I swore, certain this was my last moment on earth, but then I heard Conner’s voice call out.

“No, wait, please! Stop!” he pleaded.

Worried they might be ready to pounce on the boy, I took a deep breath, and, with the gun out and my hands raised, I walked out from behind the stone pillar, surrendering myself. I closed all but the last ten feet between us. Conner was standing with his arms high, as well, but he appeared to be trying to keep Lebedev’s men from cutting me down. He’d skipped out in front of them, placing his body between them and me.

“Please, don’t shoot!” he begged. “He’s my stepfather! Let me explain, please!”

Lebedev’s hand shot into the air. “
Ostanovka!
” he bellowed, and the men lugging Greg and his guard halted in place at the edge of the canopy. To everyone, he motioned downward with his hands and said, “
Kobury oruzhiye
,” and they all holstered their weapons, though Greg’s captors refused to let go of their charges. The big man focused back on Conner. “You better start talking, young man, lest all four of you end up face down in freshly dug graves.”

Conner lowered his arms with a shaky sigh. “For months, my stepfather and I have been used as pawns in Greg’s scheme to reclaim control of your organization. He’s using my mother and me as leverage to force my stepfather to eliminate you, your accountant,” he added with a nod toward Meier, still in pain on the ground, “and several others he feels are in the way to reclaiming his so-called kingdom. But…” he said and paused with a slight but hopeful grin in my direction, “we’re safe now, out from under his thumb. Greg can’t use us anymore, Ty. Mom and Nicole are with Maks. It’s over. You don’t have to do this.”

Relief filled me, drowning out any other emotion that might continue to serve me in our still-precarious situation. But I couldn’t help it. I was overcome. With the rifle as a crutch, I dropped to the ground, my knees sinking into the wet earth.

“Not so fast,” countered a familiar voice, but with an unaccustomed edge.

Maks.

At first, I smiled, believing my reprieve complete, but when I looked in his direction, time ground to a halt, and my heart shattered into a million brittle pieces. Maks did indeed have Hannah, but her face was twisted in horror. She stood directly in front of Maks, a wire wrapped around her throat and secured to the end of a sawed-off shotgun held a mere twelve inches from the back of her head. Maks’ hand was duct-taped to the handle, his index finger wired to the trigger. It was a fail-safe.

If Hannah moved, if Maks tripped or fell, if they separated the by smallest fraction, the gun would go off, and Hannah’s head would be blown from her body. But why? I didn’t understand. And neither, it seemed, did anyone else. As one second stretched into two, they all stared with mouths agape, all except Lebedev. He looked incensed. Unsure who to trust, I leveled my weapon at Lebedev before his men could reach for their still-holstered sidearms.

“Nobody move!” I commanded in a panic.

Unafraid, Lebedev pointed at Maks and Hannah and barked, “Who the fuck is this?”

Tears bubbled up, and his tortured eyes slowly closed as Conner tipped his head back. “My mother,” he sighed on a ragged breath.

Lebedev raised his brow high. “And her
friend
?” he inquired scornfully.

“Maks Sidorov, Special Agent, US Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Maks introduced, his ID in hand for all to see.

“FBI?” Lebedev asked Maks, his brow higher still. “You’re FBI?” He flapped his arms and snorted as he twisted from one side to the other. “Is this a joke? Am I being punked?”

“No joke, I’m afraid,” Maks offered, careful to keep Hannah between us. “Ty, kindly keep your weapon trained on Mr. Lebedev. Hannah’s life depends on it, my friend.”

My cool had long ago shattered, and sweat poured down my forehead. I swiped it from my eyes and my hands grew slicker still. The rifle trembled in my grip.

“What’s going on, Maks? What the fuck are you doing with my wife?”

“Listen to me very carefully, all of you. Alek, if you don’t want my friend Ty here to burn a hole in your head, you’ll instruct your men to peacefully relinquish their weapons. Conner, I want you to gather their sidearms and deposit them inside the mausoleum.”

When no one moved, Maks pressed the shotgun to the base of Hannah’s skull, making
her
scream and
me
rush toward Lebedev, my laser aligned between his eyes a mere foot away.

“Do it,” I hissed. “Do it now.”

Lebedev, fists curled at his sides, turned his head slightly but kept his eyes glued to mine. “
Otkazat'sya ot svoyego oruzhiya,
” he snapped at his men, then added, “
Pryamo seychas!
” when they didn’t move fast enough.

“
Legko seychas,
” Maks spoke, his tone a clear warning. “Easy now. Easy.”

Conner scrambled from one thug to the next, reached inside their coats, and carefully pulled their guns from their side holsters. With the four closest men disarmed, he approached the last two goons with Greg and his guard. Conner’s eyes locked onto Greg’s as he pilfered his captor’s sidearm, but when he reached in for the last weapon, Lebedev’s man swung his arm out at Conner, knocking him into Greg.

That move cost him valuable time, and in a split second, I moved my sites from Lebedev to his man and pulled the trigger, and before his lifeless body even settled to the ground, my weapon was already trained back on Lebedev. I swiped my eyes across my sleeve and heaved a quivering breath.

I’d simply reacted, thinking only of protecting Conner and preventing the situation from dissolving into chaos, Hannah’s life surely forfeit in the aftermath. I did what I had to, but bile still rose in my throat. I pressed my mouth onto my wrist to keep from puking. Conner bolted from the dead body at his feet, his eyes wide in shock. Walking backwards, he nearly collided into Lebedev before he bee-lined for the crypt and laid the surrendered weapons down.

“Now close the door,” Maks ordered.

Conner obeyed then retreated, keeping a safe distance from everyone. Hannah was crying with her hands at her mouth, but at least they were unbound. Maks leveled calm eyes at me. There was a message there, but I couldn’t decipher it. I didn’t understand what was going on, why he was using my wife so brutally, what part he played in this twisted affair.