The Spirit Survives (41 page)

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Less than five miles away, another person lay in bed with his eyes closed. He lay next to his wife of eighteen years, whose rhythmic breathing assured him that she was asleep. She had no idea that he had his people in place to take over the two largest Mexican drug cartels in the United States and the Chicago family of the Russian Mafia. She had no notion that he had millions stashed away in Swiss bank accounts and in the Caribbean. She thought he was a pillar of the community and a model of excellence in his profession. She was proud to be his wife. She had no idea that, when he completed the events that would lead to accomplishing his long-planned goals, she and their children would meet with a fatal accident, which would end their lives and give him the freedom that he deserved. He lay with his eyes closed, planning his coup d’etat, leaving no margin for error in human lives.
 

The Benefactor had long been a master chess player in life and at this moment, he felt invincible. His people were in place in the cartels, and today he completed the deal with the Russian, who would take over from Sergey Ivanova in the “unlikely” event of his death. Now the Benefactor needed to tie up all the loose ends.
 

Sergey had to die. Macy had to die, and in the process it was necessary to kill Ben Harris and Leah Hamilton. They were too implicated in the operation and Harris was so persistent that he was one of the only men that the Benefactor feared. He had never seen anyone like that tough bastard. The man was extremely hard to kill as many professionals had found out. However, he had not faced the Benefactor and no one escaped with his life if the Benefactor wanted them dead. He even fantasized about taking the eyes of his wife and Leah Hamilton. Both would add variety to his collection. He knew that the next couple of days would test him, and he knew that he would succeed.
 

With no conscience to bother him he drifted off into a dreamless sleep
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Chapter 82

I awoke with a start as the sunlight inundated the bedroom. I got up and looked out the window of my hotel room. The sky was cloudless and it was certainly going to be a beautiful summer day in Houston. Sometimes in late summer, when the humidity is low and the breeze moves the air, Houston, Texas is like being on a tropical island. Other days with high humidity and still air, it’s like being in a city just north of hell.

As I gazed out the window, the events of the day before came rushing back. I remembered the elation of finally getting Leah back and then the depths of realizing that she was emotionally damaged by the whole experience of her kidnapping. I trusted that Dr. Giovanni could make her well. I was very upset that I couldn’t see her or talk to her for at least two weeks, but on the other hand, I had a job to do. The haunting words she had spoken to me that Sergey Ivanova had raped her and that Cheche had beaten her burned in my soul. The soul dies slowly and the brave spirit survives. Leah possessed a brave spirit, and she would survive. I was sure of that. On the other hand, I was going to find everyone who had anything to do with her suffering, and I wasn’t sure that they would survive.

I showered and dressed with my usual jeans and polo shirt. After a quick breakfast of grits and toast and two cups of coffee, I was ready to begin my quest. The first order of business was to use my connections and get in to talk to Cheche. Gerry had informed me that he was being held in the Harris County Jail. I was very familiar with the sergeant in charge of the jail, Henry Clegg, from my work with the police department.
 

I went to my rented car in the hotel parking garage and proceeded to the jail. After parking in the visitor’s lot, I entered the building. The guard at the desk greeted me, “Well Ben, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, it’s good to see you.”

Jim Slayton had been the guard there for many years and with my numerous visits there, we became friends. “Jim, it’s good to see you to. I hope the family is well.”

“Really good,” he replied, “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“I need to see Henry. Is he in?”

“Sure, have a seat and I’ll call him.”

I took a seat in the waiting area and in less than five minutes a smiling Henry Clegg came striding toward me with his hand held out. We shook hands and he said, “It’s great to see you, Ben.”

We exchanged pleasantries and I briefed him on some of the things that had happened since my stint on the Houston police force.

“I’m sorry you’ve had so much trouble,” he said. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, anything.”

“You have a prisoner here named Viadislav Lenechka, called Cheche. He was implicated with Leah’s kidnapping, and I need to talk to him for a few minutes. I know it’s asking a lot, and I’m sorry. I need this, Henry.” I felt ashamed by using my friendship with Henry to ask him to do something clearly against the rules, but that bastard beat Leah and in my mind all bets were off.

Henry looked me straight in the eyes. “I don’t want you to kill him in my jail, Ben. Special Agent Stewart told me what he did to Leah.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” I said. “Just need to talk to him.”

Henry got up from his chair and said, “Follow me.”

We walked through a secured area and into the jail holding cells. There was a visitor’s room located in the front of the space. It was used primarily for lawyers to visit prisoners in private to discuss their cases. There was a small table in the center of the room with three wooden chairs around it. “Just wait here, I’ll have him brought in,” Henry said.
 

After waiting about twenty minutes, two jail guards brought in the big Russian. His hands were cuffed and his feet were chained together. His good eye changed from blank to wild when he saw me. His other eye was bandaged from our fight.

 
“What in the hell is he doing here? I want to see my lawyer right now!” he said in broken English.
 

The guards didn’t reply. They just sat him down in the chair across from me.

One of the guards looked at me and said, “Are you sure you’ll be okay? Henry said to lock the door when we leave.”

“Thanks,” I said, “I’ll be just fine.”

The two guards left, locking the door behind them. I stared at Cheche and saw beads of sweat forming on his brow.
 

“What do you want from me you son-of-a bitch?” he snarled, trying to show his toughness.
 

“I want to beat the shit out of you and kill your ass!” I said in an unemotional voice. “I may hold off on that if you tell me about who delivered Leah to you and what Sergey has to do with this.”
 

The instant Sergey was mentioned I saw panic enter his eyes. “Go to hell,” he mumbled.

“Listen to me, you asshole,” I said, letting anger enter my voice, “we’ve got you cold on kidnapping and assault. That’ll get you ten to thirty years. When we add your involvement in the sex-slave business, that will kick up to maybe fifty years. Talk to me and maybe I’ll get Leah to drop the kidnapping charge,” I lied.

“Go to hell!” he said again. He was unmistakably more frightened of Sergey than me or any jail sentence.

“Listen you scum, you beat the woman I love. One way or another, I’ll get you.”

What happened next was beyond what I could stand. He grinned at me and said, “It was fun playing with your bitch.”

I stood up and strolled over to his side of the table. I calmly pulled out his chair from the table.
 

“What in the hell are you doing? Guard! Guard!” he screamed.

I took the stance, pivoted on my left foot and delivered a hard side pivot kick directly to his balls. He screamed in pain and doubled over. I walked over to him and pulled his head up by the hair. “When you get out, you’re a dead man,” I said.
 

While holding his head up by his hair, I kicked him again with my left foot in the same place. I pushed his head backward and the chair fell over.
 

I could hear his grunts as I knocked on the door of the room. The guard opened the door. “He accidentally fell over and hurt himself,” I said.
 

The guard smiled at me as I walked past him. I had just done what he had had wanted to do a hundred times, kick a scum bag in the balls.

Our jails are safe for criminals, but once in a while circumstances may dictate that other measures be taken. This was one of those times, and I was sure that the guards had my back. Who’s going to believe a proven Mafia guy in jail for kidnapping, assault, and slave trafficking when he said a man kicked him in the balls, particularly if all the guards say he accidentally fell? I got some measure of satisfaction that he was going to suffer every time he had to piss for a couple of days.

I was, however, disappointed that he wouldn’t give me any information about Sergey. As I was getting into my rental car to go back to the hotel, my cell phone rang.

“Hello this is Ben,” I answered.

“Ben, I’ve got some important information for you,” said the familiar female voice who had called me twice before. “I know you rescued Leah, and you know you have me to thank for that. Now I want to help you get Sergey Ivanova for raping her. He was behind the murder of Lopez and was responsible for sending Leah to Houston to be sold into a life of hell.”

“Who is this and why should I trust you?” I asked.

“You have no choice but to trust me if you want to obtain evidence to put Sergey behind bars for life. I have contacts in Chicago who can give us access to his private condo. There has to be information there to incriminate him. If we don’t have hard evidence, he’ll deny everything and have ten witnesses to back up his story. Right now it’s his word against Leah’s. That will never hold up in court. She is also the only one who can connect him to Bo Lopez, but as we both know, she has some mental problems right now and the lawyers will totally discredit her as being an unreliable witness and mentally unbalanced. If she got on the stand to testify, they would easily destroy her.”

I have been in enough courtrooms to know that the woman was correct in her assessment. If I didn’t get hard evidence, Sergey would get away with it. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” I said. “You refuse to tell me who you are or why you want to help me.”

“Let’s just say it is to my advantage, career wise, to put him in jail for a long time,” she said. “That’s all I can tell you now.”

Since I had nothing else to go on, I knew I must play this out. “What do you want me to do?”
 

“Book a flight to Chicago tomorrow and take your normal place at the Presidential Towers. I’ll call you late tomorrow with further instructions, and if you tell anyone about this, you’ll never hear from me again.” She abruptly hung up.

I had so many questions. How did she know where I normally stayed in Chicago? Was this some sort of trap to lure me there and kill me? How did she get my cell number? Who in the hell was she? Nevertheless, I decided to follow her instructions, understanding that, if Leah knew that her assailant was behind bars for a long time, it would put her mind at ease and help her get over the trauma.

I drove back to my room and called Continental Airlines to book the trip back to Chicago. I was able to get a 10:00 a.m. departure to O’Hare and then made reservations at the Presidential Towers.
 

Chapter 83

September is actually a pleasant month in Chicago with delightful temperatures of seventies during the day and fifties at night. It softens you up for the brutal winters when snow and ice limit your mobility and stagnate your mind. The constant wind makes the wind chill factor significant and drains you of the desire to go outside. It’s called the Windy City, but not because of the wind. Chicago’s politicians have been and always will be “full of wind,” and the name windy city came from that. In politics, there’s the American Way and there’s the Chicago Way. The Chicago Way is
Pay to Play.
This corruption reaches all levels of government in the Windy City.
 

Since his move to Chicago from Houston, Sergey Ivanova studied the Chicago Way and took full advantage of its corruption. He had been buying off politicians and the police for years. Like anything in life, the higher you go up the line the more it costs you. He was paying one high ranking police official a fortune, but it had been worth it. Time and time again the information from his source had proven solid and correct. He had come to depend on this man to keep his drug and human trafficking business safe from the law. Now he needed him more that ever. For the first time, he was vulnerable. The murder of his daughter, Veronika, caused him to take unusual chances to extract the revenge necessary for his mental well being. In the process Bastone had been murdered and his most trusted man, Bern, had been killed by the FBI. Three of his men were in custody and the most dangerous thing of all was that the woman, Leah Hamilton, could connect him to the slaughter of Bo Lopez. He should have killed her on the spot and had her body disposed of just like Lopez. In the heat of the moment, he got greedy and dispatched her to Cheche to sell. That turned out to be a foolish mistake. Now he had to spend a lot of money and call in a lot of chits to eliminate this threat to his criminal empire.