Chapter 13 #2
And that would have been another whole equation of problem solving. But on this day, Dane was saved the headache. The buzzer sounded and he opened the door and walked down the short hallway, leading with his gun, toward a closed door.
When the door opened inward, he dropped to a knee with his gun raised.
Shana stood behind him against the wall with her gun raised and stretched across the front of her body.
They both yelled at the poor woman in the door to stop and raise her hands.
To the woman’s credit, she didn’t vomit, or cry, or shut the door in their face—all of which were real and actual past scenarios of how this scene had played out—she stood, as instructed, with her hands raised.
Shana came around him and patted her down quickly, then turned and nodded and slipped her gun into the back of her pants.
“I’m sorry, miss. We’re here on behalf of Anatoly Ivanov. We’re looking for his granddaughter who has been missing and we have reason to believe she may be in danger,” Shana said as she swept past the shell-shocked girl into the apartment.
Dane moved forward and said, “It’s okay. You’re her roommate, right?” He shoved his gun back into his pants and put out his hand, “I’m Dane Blaise. May we come in and ask you some questions?”
The girl nodded vigorously, but said nothing. Still shell-shocked. They needed to work on honing their encounters with innocent civilians.
Shana was ahead of him and had her gun out again, making a motion that she would check the other rooms while he waited with the girl in the kitchen.
Dane motioned for the girl to be quiet with his index finger raised over his lips.
He heard Shana move from room to room and watched the girl becoming gradually paler until Dane was afraid they’d end up questioning a ghost.
Finally, Shana reentered the kitchen, slipping her gun back into her pants and smiling. “All clear. What’s your name?”
The girl stood mute. Dane gently guided her by the arm and led her to a rocking chair in the corner of the room—one of those newfangled glider jobs that looked like it was used to rock a baby—Paulette.
“Are you Lara’s roommate?” They weren’t told about a roommate, but Dane figured it was a good icebreaker.
“No—I’m a friend—a neighbor. I live next door. Look, I was just looking in on her cat. I haven’t seen Lara in a couple of days.” The girl started crying.
Dane looked around for the cat and didn’t see one, but he saw the rug-covered tower in another corner of the room.
Shana stooped down in front of the girl and asked in a gentler voice, “What’s your name?”
“Debbie.”
“Debbie, we’re here to help. We’re looking for Lara and we—”
“What about Paulette? Is she... is she—”
“No,” Dane said. “She’s not missing. Paulette is staying with us in a safe place.” They’d have to make sure Paulette was moved out of the beach shack as soon as possible. Too many people knew her whereabouts now.
Debbie leaned back in the glider-rocker and closed her eyes. “Thank God. I was so worried. You have no idea.”
Dane didn’t bother telling her he had a very good idea but asked, “What do you mean? What can you tell us?”
“Like I said, I haven’t seen Lara for two days—but I haven’t seen Paulette for three days. And I—well, I don’t know if I should say—”
“Has there been a man around here speaking with a Russian accent, small and wiry, dark hair, quiet and mean?” Shana asked.
“Yes—that’s her new creepy boyfriend. He has a funny name—I only heard her say it once and he almost smacked her for it. We were outside on the front porch when he came up the stairs. I’ll tell you Lara didn’t look too happy to see him considering he was her boyfriend.”
“Spartak?” Shana prompted.
The girl nodded.
“What makes you say he was her boyfriend?” Shana asked.
“He said so. Lara didn’t say much. He’d only come around a few times.
Didn’t stay long. Lara refused to talk about him.
Even when I told her I thought he was bad news and she ought to ditch him.
Lara is a beautiful girl—and sweet—the kind of girl who could get anyone she wants.
” Debbie took a breath and then started up again before either he or Shana could ask a question.
“Before you ask—I have no idea what the story is with Paulette’s father.
She won’t talk about it. Lara is very serious about finishing school and having a career. ”
“Can you give us the name of her babysitter or anyone else who might have information?”
“I’m her babysitter. She doesn’t need much help. Her grandpa helps out most of the time. He’s—”
“A prince. We know.” Dane didn’t want her to get started again on another tangent. He looked at his watch. It was getting late and they needed to get back to the Vineyard before Sparty. “I think we have what we came for,” he said.
Dane pulled Shana to a stand. “We need to go. Now.” She nodded and they left.
“You drive,” he said and tossed her the keys. “I’m going to make some calls.”
“Where am I driving to? The governor’s heliport? The Ivanov mansion? Or Sparty’s place?” Shana raised a brow.
“Good question. Let me call Toly to see what his men found.” Or didn’t find.
He punched in his new best Russian friend’s number and hoped to hell his hunch was wrong and Toly’s men had found Sparty at home.
And if they did, they were heading straight over so they could get their licks in before calling in the authorities.
Toly answered on the second ring.
“Any word?”
“Nothing good. That traitor Spartak has cleared out.”
“No sign of Lara?”
“There is a sign of her, but she’s not there now.”
“Where else could she be, Toly? Think—what other properties does Spartak have access to or use for business?”
“I’m told he’s been using a warehouse lately—out at the waterfront.” Toly gave him the address and he repeated it to Shana.
“Commercial Wharf? I have no idea where that is, but I do know it’s not anywhere in this neighborhood.”
“Get us back onto Storrow Drive East, heading back into Boston. Can you do that without getting us lost?”
“I may be from out of town—”
“Out of the country—make that out of the hemisphere, Ms. Aussie girl.”
“But I learn fast. I have an aptitude for navigating.”
“You mean you have a good sense of direction.”
“Never mind—make your damn calls. One of them better be to David Young or the governor.”
Dane dialed David Young and prepared himself for bad news about Beachcomber Investigation’s relationship with the FBI.
“We’re making progress,” Dane said. “Anatoly Ivanov is going to give us his grandson Spartak Ivanov for the baby farm operation—and whatever else you and the FBI can pin on him—including kidnapping. It looks like he or his men have Lara Ivanov, Paulette’s mother, aka Anatoly Ivanov’s granddaughter. ”
“You’re a fountain of good news,” David said. “Any possibility you can stop in at the office in between tracking down kidnappers? I have the ASAC Mark Richards waiting in my conference room and he’s rather anxious about all this. Any little reassurance would go a long way.”
“After we check out a warehouse on Commercial Street we’ll stop in. Maybe—if we’re very lucky—we’ll bring them a witness.”
“Lara Ivanov? Won’t that make your friend Anatoly upset?”
“Not as upset as he’d be if we let his grandson get to Paulette. I’m thinking she’s the target now and Sparty’s going to use her for leverage.”
“Sparty? Good nickname. I think you could be right. I’ll check in with Captain Lynch.”
“Do that—and tell him to move Paulette to another location.”
“Roger that.”
Dane ended the call and looked out the windshield to see that they were off Storrow Drive and sailing down North Washington Street well on their way to Commercial Avenue and the warehouse district.
“I’m impressed.”
“You should be. I typed in the address in my phone one handed while driving because you’re a useless slug over in the passenger seat—which is traditionally where the copilot and trusty navigator sits.
” Shana spoke conversationally as she gunned the gas into a left-hand turn on a yellow arrow onto Commercial Street.
“Start looking for numbers.”
“Maybe we ought to slow down. Toly’s men were going to meet us here and we shouldn’t go in light. Chances are good that Sparty has some upstarts with him in on the coup of his grandfather’s operation and standing guard.”
“No kidding. And hey, you better watch out with that nickname shit ‘cause if you say it in front of him—”
“Oh yeah? What’s he gonna do? Shoot me?”
“Like, yeah.” She laughed and then slammed on the brakes, pulling the wheel hard to the left. “Sorry. This is the place.”
Sometimes Shana George was a little too competent. After he lurched back to a rest in his seat and rubbed his whiplashed neck, he opened his door and said,
“You stay here and watch for Toly’s men—I don’t want to get caught in any cross fire. I’ll call Toly and let him know I’m here.”
Dane made the call to Toly and his old comrade directed him to an office at the back of the building as the most likely place to store a person.
They’d had occasion for keeping people stashed there in the past, he explained, and Spartak was well aware of this—had even pulled guard duty on occasion.
Most importantly, Toly said, “He has a key.”
“Tell your men I’m on their side when they get here, Toly, or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Don’t worry, comrade. Bring my Lara back to me. And be safe.”
Dane thought of telling the old man that Dane would be taking his granddaughter on a short detour to the FBI’s office, but this wasn’t the right time.
He signed off the call and hoped to hell he wasn’t going to get stuck in a gunfight in between two opposing teams of Russian thugs.
He had the edge so far. He needed to get in and out as fast as he could—if luck was with him—before the Russian backups arrived.