The Guise of Another (24 page)

Alexander had Ianna drive the Charger while he looked up what books in the Bible made mention of King Solomon. Although his research fell far short of being thorough, he found three books that dealt with Solomon: 1 Kings, Proverbs, and Song of Songs. He shut his phone back off and returned it to his pocket.

Alexander and Ianna ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape and entered Ianna's apartment. Ianna led the way to the study, where all of Jericho's books lay in a heap on the floor. They started digging through the mess, and about halfway down the pile, Alexander found the Bible.

At first, he examined it to see if it held any secret folds or cutouts. He didn't expect to find one, but he looked anyway. Then he flipped through the pages until he found 1 Kings. He licked a finger and turned page by page, looking for any underlined words or notes in the margins. He found none.

“Is this his only Bible?”

“As far as I know,” Ianna said.

He shuffled forward and came to Proverbs. Again he paged through until he came to chapter 10. There he found verse 11 highlighted with four words underlined. Alexander read the passage aloud. “The mouth of
the
righteous is a
fountain
of life, but the mouth of the wicked
conceals
violence
.” Then he read just the four words that Jericho had underlined: “
The
fountain
conceals
violence
.”

Alexander and Ianna both turned to look above the fireplace, where the painting of the fountain once hung. Simultaneously, they stood and ran to the front room and began digging through the piles of shredded couch cushions until Ianna found the painting. The intruder
had ripped the canvas from the frame and crushed the frame into small pieces.

“Behind the fountain,” Alexander said. “The fountain conceals the violence.”

Alexander went to the fireplace and began feeling around the edges of the mantle but found no secret holes. Twelve granite plates—three plates wide and four high, rose above the mantle, up to the ceiling. Alexander took out his knife and began to tap on the plates with the brass heel of his knife, listening for a change in tone. When he tapped the center stone in the second row, the report came back hollow.

Alexander looked at Ianna and smiled, but neither said a word. He flipped open the locking blade and cut into the grout between the panels. The grout gave way to drywall, and soon he exposed the edges of the plate. He used the palm of his hand to drive the knife under the stone plate and pry. It came free and fell to the floor, exposing a square hole the size of a child's lunchbox.

Inside the hole lay a box made of insulation board and duct tape. Alexander reached up and pulled the box out of its hiding place. He cut the tape and dropped his knife as he worked the lid free. And there he found a flash drive, a DVD with the word “backup” written on it, and a small pocket notebook.

Alexander handed the flash drive and DVD to Ianna and began flipping through the pages of the notebook, recognizing it as Jericho's instruction manual on how to shift the extortion profits from bank to bank undetected. It also included a detailed explanation of what happened on the
Domuscuta
and Wayne Garland's personal phone number.

“Oh my God,” Ianna said. “This is it. We have the flash drive.” She threw her arms around Alexander, knocking him to the floor. “Do you realize what this means? We can start over just like we said.”

Alexander kissed her just to stop her from talking. Then he said, “We're heading north. I know a place where we can stay—just overnight—while we figure out exactly where to go next. First, we have to get out of town, and we'll need to take your car. The squads have GPS that can be tracked through Dispatch.”

“Are the police going to come after you?”

“They'll issue an arrest warrant because I skipped out on the grand jury, but in time—years from now—they'll stop caring about that. My brother, on the other hand…”

Max would never understand this. No matter how much hell and humiliation was on its way, Max would have told Alexander to stay and face it. But Alexander wasn't Max. He never had been, and never would be—no matter how hard he tried. Maybe the time had come for Alexander to finally admit it. “I'll have to write him a letter someday telling him…well, telling him to just forget about me.”

Alexander opened the back of his cell phone and popped out the battery. “They can also track a cell phone signal, so take your battery out or leave the phone here.”

“I think I left it at your house, along with all my clothes.”

Alexander smiled and then laughed. “I guess that'll be one more surprise for Desiree when she comes home.”

Max had managed to get five hours of sleep, rolling up his jacket for a pillow and stretching out on the floor of an interview room. He'd left a note for his partner, Niki Vang, to wake him when she arrived. Niki didn't see the note until after the morning briefing. When she finally woke Max, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and filled her in on the details of the previous night's events, and Niki told him where things stood in the manhunt for Drago Basta.

The dogs had followed the scent through Fort Snelling State Park and up to the highway again. They lost the scent when it mixed with car exhaust and warm tire rubber but picked it up again where the highway split and two lanes curved into the airport. On the second floor of the long-term parking, they came to a dead end. TSA joined the effort by examining airport surveillance footage but as of yet had found nothing helpful. Basta's picture went out to all squad computers to replace the driver's license picture of Walter Trigg.

Around 10 a.m., TSA sent over a picture of a white minivan seen leaving the airport parking ramp with a driver who resembled the photo of Drago Basta. They ran the plate and put a call in to the vehicle owner, but the call went to voicemail. Dispatch then sent a squad out to hopefully make contact with the minivan owner or a spouse and issued a BOLO for the van itself.

“So…” Max sat back in his chair in the cubicle he shared with Niki and laced his fingers together behind his head. “He runs from the hotel through the woods and up to the airport, steals a car, and…?”

“Either gets the hell out of town or finds a new hiding place,” Niki said.

“My bet is that he's still around.”

“They're getting a press release ready. They're going to put his face on television.”

“Well, if he hasn't gotten out of Dodge by then, that should do the trick.”

Max was taking a sip from his second cup of coffee of the day when his phone rang in his pocket. It was Reed Osgood.

“Hello, Reed. What's up?”

“What's up is that it's past ten in the morning and your brother still hasn't shown up for his grand-jury testimony.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and they're super pissed.”

“Christ, Reed. We had all hell break loose last night.”

“I know. We heard all about it. By the way, I'm glad to hear you didn't get yourself shot.”

“You and me both,” Max said. “Alexander went to secure a witness. I have no idea what's going on with him.”

“Changed his mind?”

“Not as of last night. In fact, I've been after him to lawyer up, but he was dead set on having his day.”

“If I were you, I'd find him, and fast. They're talking arrest warrant.”

Max hung up with Reed and tried to call his brother, but the call kept going to voicemail. Max replayed the conversation that they had at Delancy's the night before, and he found nothing to suggest that Alexander had changed his mind about anything. The thought occurred to him that Alexander might be in trouble—with Drago Basta still on the loose. He dialed Dispatch.

“This is Detective Max Rupert.”

“Hi, Max, it's Everett. What can I do for you?”

“Listen, Everett, I got a favor to ask you. I'm trying to track my brother down, and I think his cell phone is dead. Could you run his squad GPS and let me know his location?”

He paused. “Excuse me?”

Max sensed the man's nervousness coming through the receiver.
Max's request ran afoul of policy, so he parried with an explanation half born of truth. “Everett, you know all about that man we're hunting, Drago Basta.”

“Sure, I've been moving squads around all morning like dogs chasing their tails.”

“Alexander is with a witness involved with that case, and we're keeping her hidden. I haven't been able to reach Alexander to check in. I just need to make sure he's at a safe location.”

“Um…sure,” Everett said. “Just give me a second.”

Max glanced sideways and saw Niki eyeing him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Max shook his head to wave her off, but she held her glare. Everett came back on the line and gave Max the coordinates for Alexander's squad car. Max wrote down the address, hung up the phone, and typed the location into his computer.

“Max, what's going on?” Niki whispered.

The address put Alexander's car outside of Jericho Pope's apartment. Max pulled up a subpoena form on his computer and started filling in the information.

Niki asked again, “Max, what are you up to?”

He stopped typing and turned to Niki. He lowered his voice so that no one else could hear what he said. “I'm doing an administrative subpoena for Alexander's phone. I need to get a ping location.”

“Alexander's phone? Why?”

“He's AWOL.”

Niki looked at him as if searching for some sign that he was joking.

“I need to find him. I don't know what's going on, but something's not right. His car's at Markova's apartment, but they left there together last night. Maybe they took her car or walked, I don't know. He's not answering his phone, so I'm going to track him down and find out what the hell's going on.”

He hit enter on his computer, sending his ping request to the county attorney's office for a signature. “When the subpoena comes back, get it out to the carrier as soon as you can.”

“Sure, Max.”

“I'm not going to answer my radio or phone for anyone but you. Call me if you hear anything.”

“I'll keep you updated,” Niki said. “In the meantime, where will you be?”

“I'll be at Markova's apartment, hopefully kicking my brother's ass.”

Drago watched as Alexander Rupert and Ianna Markova entered the apartment and began digging through the piles of debris on the floor. He strained to hear and understand the conversation being fed to him by his surveillance transmitters planted in the condo. At first he heard something about a Bible and then a fountain. Then he watched as Rupert pried a stone plate from the wall and produced a box, and he heard Markova exclaim that they found the flash drive.

Drago held his breath as he listened to them plan their next move—their disappearance. They would be taking Ianna's Cadillac, and they would be running north.

Drago Basta sat on the edge of the bed and laughed quietly at his good fortune. Rupert and Markova were running away together. How perfect, he thought. His biggest fear—that the evidence of Richard Ashton's death would pollinate the world—now fell to the ground, and with it, any doubt that he would complete his mission.

Drago lay back on the bed and began to plan the deaths of those who had to die. He would begin with the two lovebirds. They would drive north, probably heading for Canada. Without the remote-tracking equipment, Drago would have to stop periodically to link up with the tracking system at Patrio. If Garland hadn't scheduled that trip to DC, Garland could have followed the tracking device from his office in New York. Once again, Drago had to deal with the burden of Garland's poor planning.

In the end, Drago decided that it didn't matter. He would let Rupert and Markova run for a couple hours, getting a head start while he followed their progress on his computer. He would mark their farthest point, shut down the computer, and drive to a town near that
point where he could once again access the tracker. This would keep him within a few hours of the fugitives. Eventually, they would have to sleep. He would not. They had no idea that he would be hunting them. He would know where they would stop for the night, and while they ate their dinner and had sex in their hotel room and slept in the peaceful belief that they were safe, he would be driving to them. He would find them and kill them in their sleep. Then he would take back the property stolen from him.

Drago watched as Ianna's Cadillac—or at least the blip on his computer screen that signified her car—made its way north on Highway 169. They had already gone past Lake Mille Lacs, which gave them a two-hour lead, and Drago had determined that he would wait to start his journey until he confirmed that they had driven as far as Grand Rapids. He would link back up to the tracking device from Grand Rapids and plot his next course from there. As he waited, he fixed himself a sandwich and ate it, washing it down with orange juice from Alexander's fridge. When he looked at the dot again, it had crept up close enough to Grand Rapids that Drago knew that they would go at least that far.

He cleaned up what he touched in the kitchen, then turned off the computer and slid it into its case. As he looked around the bedroom one last time, he heard a clicking sound coming from the front door. He dropped his computer bag, drew his gun out of the shoulder holster, and ran to a hall closet, where he would have a view of the intruder. He pulled the closet door shut until a crack of less than an inch remained.

A woman with long, dark hair and expensive clothes walked through the front door, pulling a small suitcase on wheels. He recognized her face from the many pictures hanging on the walls of the house and cluttering up the bedside tables. The gears in Drago's head turned as the chess pieces on the board rearranged themselves once again. This could be helpful. He pulled himself up tightly against the closet wall and waited.

The woman went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and called out for her husband, “Alexander, you home?” She showed no surprise at the lack of response, as
though she expected him to not be there but wanted to make sure. She kicked off her shoes and then took the jacket off, slipping it over the back of a chair. She perused some mail on the kitchen island while she unbuttoned the front of the blouse with one hand and sipped the water from the glass in her other hand.

Drago thought about revealing himself, because to watch her undress would demean his professionalism, but he waited for tactical reasons. She was still near enough to the garage door to run outside for help. He needed her alive, so he would have to catch her before she could alert the neighbors.

The woman pulled the blouse out of the waist of her skirt and let it fall open, exposing a black, lace brassiere far more provocative than one would expect to find hiding under business attire. She finished her water and her review of the mail, and then started down the hall toward the bedroom. As she passed by Drago's hiding spot, she reached behind her and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to her ankles. Then she gave the skirt a kick, sending it flying onto the bed. That's where she stopped—her attention captured by the mess in the bedroom.

Drago eased his door open, his gun trained on the back of the woman's head. She didn't notice him. Her attention was consumed by the sight of the covers wadded up on the floor, the strange computer and rucksack, and the unfamiliar pink negligee lying sprawled in the middle of the confusion.

Drago put his gun to her head and clapped a hand over her mouth in a single motion. “Don't scream,” he said. She screamed anyway, which he had expected. He turned her around so that she could see the gun, and she screamed again. This time he hit her with the barrel of the gun, sending her tumbling to the floor.

“I am not here to hurt you. Not if you do what you are told.”

“No! Please! Take anything you want. Just don't…please…don't.”

Drago picked up a bed sheet from the floor and tossed it at her. “Wrap yourself,” he said. By her reaction he couldn't tell if she was relieved or insulted. She lay at his feet half naked, her long, athletic legs freshly shaved, her perfumed body at his mercy, and he tells her to
cover herself, as though the sight of her disgusted him. Drago smiled at her bewilderment.

“What do you want?” she whimpered.

“I want you to be silent. No words unless you are answering my questions. No screams. No sounds. If you try to run, I will shoot you dead. But if you follow my instructions, I will not kill you. If you do not scream, I will not gag you.” Drago walked to the bedroom closet, keeping his eyes and his gun trained on the woman. Just inside the closet, he saw a woman's terry-cloth robe hanging from a hook. He retrieved it and threw it to the woman. “Put this on,” he said.

The woman obeyed, standing up and turning her back to Drago in some futile show of modesty. Drago grabbed some ties from a rack, also just inside the closet door. He walked up behind her and shoved her onto the bed. She squeaked out a small scream as she landed. He bound her wrists with the tie.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Desiree,” she said in a voice that shook with fear. “What are you going to do to me?”

Drago yanked hard on the tie that cinched her wrists. Desiree squeaked again as the tightness of the knot registered against her skin. He turned her over, gripped the lapel of her robe, and lowered her to the floor at the foot of the bed. She didn't struggle as he secured her to the bed using the second tie.

Satisfied that she couldn't move, he went to his rucksack and picked up another of the prepaid cell phones. He sat on the floor beside Desiree and calmly asked for Alexander's cell-phone number. Desiree had tears streaking down her cheeks. Her chest heaved as the fear squeezed her breathless. She managed to say the number between spurts of panic, and then watched as Drago typed it into his phone.

“I'm going to hold this phone to your lips in a second. You say hello to your husband. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

Drago punched the send button and waited. The call went immediately to voice mail.

“You've reached the phone of Detective Alexander Rupert. Leave a message.”

“Detective, this is the man whose property you have. I want to propose a trade.” He held the phone up to Desiree's face and nodded to her. She let loose her words in a voice that made even Drago feel sorry for her. “Alexander, please…please help me.”

Drago pulled the phone back and stood up to move away from Desiree. “I will kill your wife if you do not return my property. If you call anyone to tell them about our business, I will kill her. This is a very simple transaction, my property for her life. Don't try to be a hero and don't be stupid. You will call me at this number. If I do not hear from you within one hour, she will die a very painful death.” He hung up the phone.

When Desiree heard those last words, she went berserk, screaming and flailing her head, tugging at the restraints around her wrists. Drago picked up the pink, silk negligee lying on the floor and shoved it violently into Desiree's mouth, using the ribbon to lash it in place. He raised the back of his hand to slap her, and she winced and fell silent, her entire body trembling. Because she stopped screaming, he didn't hit her.

If Alexander Rupert agreed to an exchange, Drago would have to come up with a plan to get the flash drive back and kill Rupert in the process. If Rupert didn't go along with the trade, Drago would expect him to call his friends at the police department. He would be on the road by then. He also took the battery out of the phone so that he couldn't be tracked. He would check his phone in an hour to see if Rupert decided to play ball.

He untied Desiree from the bedpost, rolled her over, and trussed her up—her arms, hands, feet, and legs bound together in a tight package. “It is all up to your husband now,” he said. “If he gives me what I want, you will live. If he does not, you will die. I am sorry, but that is business.”

Drago then located a set of keys to a Ford Explorer parked in the garage and loaded his rucksack and computer. He opened the tailgate, walked back into the house, and came back with Desiree, carrying her over his shoulder like a bag of feed. He laid her in the back of the Explorer and covered her with a blanket. Then he drove out of the garage and headed north.