Spartan Negotiator

The Spartan Negotiator

PRESS

The Spartan Negotiator

John F. Saunders

First Edition

First Printing

Copyright © 2013 John F. Saunders

All rights reserved.

Cover design: Debbie Zime/DeZime Graphics

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-937706-07-4 (print)

Published by:

Savage Press

P.O. Box 115

Superior, WI 54880

Phone: 218-391-3070

Email: [email protected]

Website: www.savpress.com

Dedication

To my beautiful wife, Lynn. It takes a very special woman to love a knucklehead like me.

To my sons John and Jake. I am proud of the men you have become.

To all the honorary Spartans out there who know that life is obligation and some debts can only be paid in blood.

SFFS. Straight roads. No cages.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: Seven years later

2

3

4

5

6

7

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9

10

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86

87

Epilogue

Book III Coming Soon

Hard it is on earth,

With mighty whoredom;

Ax-time, sword-time, shields are sundered,

Wind-time, wolf-time, ere the world falls,

Nor ever shall men each other spare.

—The Elder Edda

Prologue

Three men were dead. Murdered.

No, that wasn’t the right word, Dennis thought. They had been executed. Even when he closed his eyes, he could still hear the roaring of the guns; see the dark splashes of blood on their clothes, even smell the acrid stench of gunpowder. It was a waking nightmare and he couldn’t escape it. Dennis closed his eyes again. His world seemed to have gone insane.

The dark blue unmarked Ford Crown Victoria turned slowly into the driveway. The tires crunched on the bits of debris on the old concrete. FBI Special Agent Richard Redding shifted the car into park, but didn’t turn it off. He looked to the man in the passenger’s seat.

Dennis, we’re back. Safe and sound just like I promised you. Now go inside and get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be another big day.

Dennis opened his eyes and looked around. He saw the silhouettes of the two cops in the black and white police cruiser parked at the curb in front of the house.

Will we be coming back here after I meet with the grand jury again?

No. After you testify, we’ll move you to a new safe house. Now get inside and lock up tight. I’m going to check in with the officers down there on the street before I head back. I’ll see you at eight o’clock sharp. Wear a clean shirt and a tie if you have one.

Dennis nodded. He hated being chaperoned like a child. He got out and walked to the door just off the small one-car garage. The house was a small two-bedroom, two-bath bungalow. It was painted a muted tan and white. The front hedges were neatly trimmed just below window height. The yard had been recently mowed. There was nothing remarkable about the house. It disappeared from memory as soon as you looked away. Maybe that was the point. A safe house had to be invisible to provide safety.

He could just hear Redding and the two cops talking beside their squad car.

All quiet here, fellas?

Yes, sir.

I’m Special Agent Redding.

I’m officer Van Horn and this is officer Middendorf.

They all shook hands.

Good to meet you both. Nothing out of the ordinary tonight? Nobody walking their dog around? No late night joggers?

Nothing. Not even a stray cat. You would have to have some big brass balls to approach a house with a police car parked out front.

Keep your eyes open. The Bureau doesn’t want anything to happen to our boy. We are counting on his testimony to put away some very bad guys for a very long time.

Dennis couldn’t hear the rest as he went inside. He locked the door behind him. More babysitters. He walked down the hallway to the back bedroom. The master, they called it, but it wasn’t much larger than the other bedroom. The only difference was the en suite bathroom. He reached to turn on the overhead light forgetting there was no switch. He walked to the bed and turned on the lamp by the bed and farther in, the tall lamp beside the reading chair. Like he was going to do some fucking reading with people trying to kill him.

In the bathroom he turned on the light and shut the door. He took a much needed piss and let out a long sigh of relief. A good piss was definitely under appreciated by most people. He flipped the overhead fan on and knelt beside the Kleenex dispenser. He opened it and removed a half empty pack of Camel cigarettes and a book of matches hidden inside. He saw the two joints. They were tempting Sirens calling him. He thought better of it. Dennis tapped out a cigarette and lit it instead, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs. Held it. Finally, he blew the blue smoke up at the fan. Then waved his hands dispersing the cloud that remained.

The cops said no smoking in the house. Against the rules. Fuck ‘em, he thought. And fuck the rules. And fuck Katy too. Damn bitch. This was all her fault anyway.

He took his time smoking. Savored the cigarette down to the filter. He tossed it and the burnt match into the toilet, flushed and hid the cigarettes. You couldn’t be too careful with cops. They did everything by the rules. They might search his room tonight after he went to sleep looking for his weed. He would have to remember to sneak the cigarettes and joints out with him tomorrow. He switched off the light in the bathroom as he turned back into the bedroom. He jumped when he saw the man sitting in the reading chair.

The man was large like a body builder or pro football player. He wore gray coveralls, paper shoe-covers, black gloves and a black balaclava. Only his blue eyes were visible. The eyes seemed to glow in the lamplight. The big man motioned with the gun he held in his right hand. It looked almost like a prop from some movie with its large noise suppressor. Dennis knew it was real.

Sit, the man said.

Dennis did not move. He couldn’t. His body wouldn’t respond. His brain was locked up.

If you want to live, you need to sit down.

Dennis fought for words. You’ve got the wrong guy, was all he could think to say.

The man smiled. Dennis could see it through the balaclava. See the material change shape at the mouth. The big man’s voice was calm with a touch of humor. You are Dennis Torney. You are twenty-eight years old. You have one sister, Evan. She is married and lives in Kentucky where she raises horses. Both of your parents are dead. You graduated from Louisville with a degree in business. You, until recently, were working as the manager of an American Auto Parts store. Your long-time girlfriend, Katy, just moved out of your apartment. Now if you need me to, I can give you your social security number and birth date. But I would have to go back to my car to check the numbers and to tell you the truth it would be easier to just shoot you in the head.

Terror crept through Dennis. His mind scrambled to find a way out. He could make a break for it. He might make it.

The big man read his mind. Shaking his head he said, You’ll never make it, Dennis. This is a Kimber, arguably the best handgun in the world. I am very good with it. And since it is loaded with 147 grain, 9mm Ranger SXTs that will shred you like you were hit with a chainsaw, I don’t even need to be too accurate.

The truth was, in almost every way, the Kimber was a perfect killing weapon. It was accurate. It was expertly designed. It used the finest steel for its frame. And it was embarrassingly beautiful. The big man’s only complaint with it was that it was hard to clean. Glocks and Sigs took seconds to break down. Hell, he could do it blindfolded, but the Kimber had to have a special Allen wrench inserted in the spring. It was a pain in the ass.

If I yell, the cops will hear and come check it out. You’ll be caught.

The hint of the smile showed again through the balaclava. It’s nice of you to worry about me. If you shout and the police officers do hear and respond, then their wives will become widows. Their children fatherless. In any case, I promise, you will not be alive to witness the outcome.

What have I got to lose? You’re going to kill me anyway.

That is not true. You will decide what I need to do, Dennis. The only way you can survive is if you do as I ask and listen to what I have to say. Now, please, sit down. I don’t like to ask more than once. It shows a certain level of disrespect for me.

Dennis sat on the edge of the bed.

On your hands, if you don’t mind. And cross your legs at the ankles.

Dennis did as he was told. The position kept him off balance enough to impede getting to his feet, it also helped condition him to do as he was told without asking why.

What did you tell them, Dennis. At the preliminary grand jury hearing?

I didn’t tell them anything, he lied. I don’t meet with them until tomorrow.

The man chuckled to himself. He shook his head. I usually don’t tolerate lying, but I understand your situation, Dennis. You have to try certain things, so I will not punish your lapse in judgment. Let me rephrase my question. I have seen the transcript of your testimony....

How...?

Dennis, we know everything. We own everyone. We have people everywhere. That’s why I could find you so easily. Now tell me your story. I want to be sure I understand exactly what happened. Exactly what went wrong.

Dennis sighed. I’ll tell you, but, I don’t understand it all myself.

Fine. I will try to explain what you don’t understand as well if I can. Start from the beginning.

I had broken up with my girlfriend, Katy. It was all my fault. I was a jerk. The break-up was killing me inside. I started drinking more than I should. A lot more.

That is why American Auto Parts let you go?

Yeah. I was spending a lot of time at the Hideaway. It’s a dive bar in town. Drowning my sorrows like some god damn cliché.

We’ve all been there. That’s why they’re clichés. Go on.

"I drank the place closed as usual. I went to my car to go home. Just feeling sorry for myself. I started to drive and realized how drunk I was. I couldn’t keep the car on the road.

Your statement left that fact out.

They told me not to mention it. I think the cops thought it would make me look bad. Anyway, I figured that, with my luck, I would get pulled over for a DUI or total my car. I saw a closed gas station and pulled in. There were a bunch of cars parked at the side. I figured I could park there, catch a few hours of sleep and be gone before they opened.

That explains why you happened to be there.

I crashed in the back seat. Sometime later I heard a car pull in. I’m thinking it’s the cops so I lay low hoping they’ll drive by. But the car stops. I peaked out the back window just as three big motorcycles roared up. They parked facing the car. It was a Caddy. The guys in the car get out. There is a giant black guy and he’s got a shotgun across the crook of his arm. He’s not even trying to hide it. There’s also a young Asian guy with some kind of machine gun, and another older Asian guy gets out of the back. They look like businessmen. All nice suits.

That would be Mr. Lei and his bodyguards. What did the three motorcycle men do?

The black guy with the Asians hollers that he wants to see they are unarmed. One of the bikers is real skinny. He’s got this white wife-beater on and baggy jeans. He lifts his shirt and turns around slow. The second one is wearing a shirt with a confederate flag on the front. He protests, but I can’t hear what he says. The lead biker says something and the flag guy raises his shirt and turns around. The black guy points the shotgun at the leader of the bikers.

The one you identified to the police, correct?

Yes. He had this long white scar down the right side from his ear all the way down his neck and a mostly white beard. The police said he was Robert Ziglar.

Bobby Z. Zee Money. Blanco Grande. His scar is very distinctive. It is hard to miss. You couldn’t identify the other two with him?

No. The cops showed me a lot of photos, but I couldn’t be sure.

What happened next?

The one called Bobby was wearing a leather vest with a red t-shirt beneath it. He lifted it up and turned around. The big black guy nodded and said something. The older Asian and Bobby approached each other. They talked for a few minutes and then the Asian laughed. It was a really weird laugh. High like a girl’s. They stepped apart and the Asian walked back to the car.

Do you know why they were meeting, Dennis?

The police said they didn’t know why.

The big man laughed.

They knew. Or at least they had a very good idea. Mr. Lei, with the backing of a Vietnamese Triad, was trying to move into the area to sell heroin. It was an area controlled by us. Although we had no heroin trade ourselves, it was our territory so we requested a percentage of their profits to allow them to operate.

It was a drug deal?

At the most basic level. Protection for access to a new market. A fair business arrangement. Unfortunately, Mr. Lei did not wish to pay for this privilege. He felt he should be exempt from such things. He thought he was too well connected for such considerations. Which was why he was laughing. What happened next?

The bikers started to leave when the one with the confederate flag seemed to get mad. He started screaming that, he wasn’t going to let some nigger tell him what to do, and that, the next time he would kick his black nigger ass. Things like that.

What did Mr. Lei do?

He laughed at first. The same girly high-pitched laugh. The black guy was getting angry and started toward the white guy. Lei put his hand on the guy’s chest to stop him. The two of them started to argue. That’s when it happened.

What exactly? I am very interested.

Out of nowhere, the one with the scar has a big gun in his hand and starts shooting. It sounded like a fucking cannon.

It was a 45. A very loud weapon. Causes some people to freeze up.

The big man smiled at Dennis’ description, out of nowhere. He knew that Bobby Z had a special upside down holster in the back of his vest. It was almost invisible. The big man had designed it himself. Bobby Z was a regular fucking boatman. Not as good as The Jake, but damn good. The Jake now, that was another story altogether. He was almost as good as the big man himself. Almost.

What happened then, Dennis?

The black guy fell first. Lei and the other Asian with the machine gun turned toward the shooter.

Did they open fire?

Before they could do anything, the skinny guy had a gun out and he shot the Asians three times real fast.

The big man knew the gun had been hidden in an ankle holster. It had happened as he had drawn it up. The racial taunts distracted the black man and Mr. Lei so the Spartans could draw their weapons.

Lei looked stunned. He started begging in Chinese or something. The guy with the scar walked right up to him and shot him point blank in the front of the head. Blew his brains out all over the hood of the Caddy. Then he turned to the black man on the ground. He may have still been alive. He said something and shot him again.

The black man, was called Big Tom, the big man said. He and Bobby had been friends at one time.

Friends? They had been fucking friends? He killed him.

The big man shrugged. Without emotion he said, You stand against the Spartans you get hurt. Big Tom made his choice.

Spartans. Those bikers were Spartans? They weren’t wearing colors or anything.

Cops forget to mention that to you?

Fuck. The Spartans. Dennis stared wildly at the man with the gun. Then you’re the guy.

What guy?

The guy. The guy the Spartans send. The killer. That guy. Kane. Frank Kane.

The big man laughed. He was enjoying himself.

Kane? I’m not him. He’s a monster, some kind of brutal, relentless, killing machine. Thank your gods they didn’t send him tonight. If Kane shows up to negotiate, people die. Lots of people.

Then why did they send you if not to kill me?

I have a certain amount of seniority within the Spartans. It gives me leeway in these matters. I was told you were a problem and that I was to make you disappear, permanently. How was not specified. The logical implication was that you were to be killed.

Fuck.

Relax, Dennis. First of all, I respect what you did. It takes a lot of courage to stand up for what you believe in. I’ve checked you out. You’re not a bad guy. Unfortunately, I can’t let you testify against Bobby Z. He is like a brother to me. He is a good warrior and I stand by him. So we have two options. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.

Dennis leaned forward, intense. What’s the easy way?

That’s not too good for you. I put a bullet in your forehead and slip away.

What’s the hard way?

I was hoping you would ask. You have to disappear. Vanish. You call your sister. Tell Evan you couldn’t identify anyone at the shooting. Tell her the police were forcing you to identify a guy that you hadn’t seen. Tell her you are going away for awhile, then go.

Wont the cops come after me?

At first. But without you there to corroborate your earlier testimony and with your sister’s allegations that you were coerced, it will blow over. The charges will be dropped. Bobby will be released. And you get to stay alive.

How long do I have to hide out?

Forever. After tonight, you can’t call anyone. In a year or two you can call your sister tell her you are okay, but you can’t visit her.

Why not?

Someone might see or hear.

But you said the cops wouldn’t care in six months.

The Spartans won’t forget. The Spartans never forget. Someone will see. The word will be sent. They’ll send someone else, Bobby Z or even Kane, to make you disappear again.

What about my sister? Is she in danger too?

The Spartans do not make war on the families of our enemies, there is no honor in it.

Dennis stared at the big man, confused by the answer. Shit. It won’t work. I don’t know how to disappear.

It is easy. You walk out the back door. Cross through the neighbors yard. There’s a red Acura TL 3.2 parked in front of their house. The key is in the ignition. There’s some money under the front seat in an envelope. And be careful there is another patrol car cruising the block. Head east for half an hour. Stop and call your sister. Her phone records will show from where the call originated. Then head west. The Feds won’t be back before eight. You’ll be long gone by then.

What then?

Just live. Oh, I would dump the car when you get settled. Don’t try to sell it. Once you are on your feet, just park it somewhere and leave it

Dennis looked at his shoes. He started nodding. Okay. I can do this. I can do it. There is nothing for me here anymore any way.

Then I have your word?

Dennis stood and stared once more into the bluest eyes he had ever seen. That’s all you need for a guarantee?

It’s enough between men of honor, the big man said.

Honor was a powerful word for those who believed in it.

For those who didn’t, it was like a gambler’s tell that they would remember and hope to exploit against you later. Ironically, the big man believed fully in the power of the word.

You have my word.

The big man stood and walked to the bedroom door, saying only, Good. Get up.

Dennis rose, unsteadily. Wait. If you’re not Frank Kane, who are you? What do I call you?

Nothing. I’m a ghost. I was never here.

I hope I never see you again.

As long as you keep your word, you won’t. If you don’t, I’ll be the last thing you do see.

I won’t break it.

Go in the bathroom and spark up one of those joints before you start your new life, then go, before you have time to chicken out.

Dennis turned toward the bathroom and suddenly stopped. How did you know about the joints? he asked, turning around, but the man was gone. Dennis listened to the night. Everything was silence.

Chapter 1

Seven years later

Bruce Burns’ hand trembled as he lifted the telephone to his ear. He could smell the stench of his own fear as he punched in the number. He thought he could even taste it, sour and strong with an odd hint of metal. He fought to control his rising panic. What else could he do? There was no one else he could call. Not the cops. Not about something like this. His brother was the only one who might be able to help. In his heightened state, the phone seemed to ring ominously as he waited for someone to answer. The silence that followed each ring lasted an eternity. For God’s sake let him be in, Bruce thought. His brother’s unlisted private line was answered on the third ring.

Elliott, thank God, you’re there.

You know me, little brother. I’m a workaholic. Where else would I be?

I need your help.

The terror in his brother’s voice shook Elliott.

What is it? What’s happened?

They’ve taken her. They’ve taken Judy.

What are you talking about? Who’s taken her? When?

I was taking a shower before work, when I got out she was gone. Vanished. No sign.

Maybe she had to run out. Get the morning newspaper or something.

At 5:30 in the morning? It’s still fucking dark outside. Her car is still here. I checked the house. I even called her cell. Nothing. They must have taken her.

What are you talking about?

I’m in bad trouble. Some men. Russians, I think. I was supposed to deliver something for them, but I don’t have it, so they took her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her.

Settle down, Bruce. If they did take her, then we can figure out how to get her back. It’s just a business deal gone south. It happens. We can figure something out. There’s always a deal that can be made. You know that. You may have to pay some restitution, but it will work out. You’ll get her back. There’s no reason for them to harm her.

That’s right, Bruce stammered, a glimmer of hope in his voice. That’s what I need, someone to figure out the best angle. A negotiator. Somebody who can act as an intermediary for me. Can you help me? Do you still know anyone from the old days you can send?

Elliot paused.

I’ll send, Frank.

Frank? Frank Kane? I thought he was dead.

He was.

I don’t know, Elliot. Frank was an enforcer. Thee enforcer. I don’t know if this is something he could handle. It might require some finesse. These are serious guys....

I heard Cyrus say once that Frank was the best negotiator the Spartans ever had.

Really? Cyrus said that? Cyrus was the top guy. He wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t true. Would he come? a distant, muffled noise reached Bruce. Wait I hear someone downstairs. It might be Judy. She might be home. Maybe I just panicked. I’ve been pretty jumpy lately. Listen, I’ll call you right back.

Call me right back.

Okay.

Bruce hung up and hurried downstairs. His mind was slow at processing the information it was receiving. The noise was wrong for his wife. It was too loud. He knew it wasn’t Judy, but he kept moving toward the sound. He was drawn to it like a swimmer to a distant shore. Someone else was in the kitchen. He could hear them going through the refrigerator. Even as his mind sorted this out his feet still drew him relentlessly into the kitchen.

A giant in a bad blue suit leaned against the sink. He was close to three hundred and fifty pounds easy. He wasn’t fat. He was just huge. There was a sense of enormous power in his barrel chest and thick legs. His huge arms were crossed over his chest. His face was blank. The heavy dark brows were furrowed as if in annoyance. A second man leaned out from the refrigerator where he was cradling an open carton of milk. He was thin and wore an ill-fitting gray suit with a white knit Polo shirt underneath. His long black hair was oiled and combed straight back. This man smiled. He had small cruel eyes that did nothing to reinforce the smile. He looked like a ferret in a suit. He took a drink of milk. Bruce did not move.

Good morning, Mr. Burns, the thin man said as he wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve. I trust we are not disturbing you with our early morning visit.

Who are you? What are you doing here?

You know who we are and you know why we are here, the man said. The smile stayed on his face.

Where is my wife? What have you done with, Judy?

The thin man smiled again. We have her. She is safe. For now.

Without thinking, Bruce lunged for the man, hoping to grab him and shake the information out of him. Before his fingers reached the thin man, the giant moved. The giant took only a half step and the punch was small. Yet to Bruce it was like an avalanche. It tore him from his feet and crushed him to the floor. Bruce struggled for air his lungs seemed unable to find. The big man stepped back against the sink and spoke in Russian to the thin man. Bruce understood nothing except the name of the thin man, Dimitri. The giant spoke for a minute. Dimitri nodded. He knelt beside Bruce on the floor.

We apologize for that. We truly do. It is a crude tool for communication. But these outbursts will not do, Mr. Burns. You must remain calm if you hope to see your wife again. You want your wife back, do you not?

Yes, Bruce croaked. He made no attempt to get to his feet.

Good. We have to make proper arrangements to be sure this occurs.

Sure. Just let me know what you want.

The Greek is not happy with you, my friend, Dimitri said and made a clucking noise with his tongue. You have failed to deliver the contracted merchandise. You have implied to him that you are hesitant to fulfill your obligations in this matter. This will not do.

No. That’s not it at all. He misunderstood me. It just hasn’t arrived yet. I was understandably concerned. That’s all. You’ll get the merchandise. We had a deal. That’s how I get paid.

Dimitri seemed to ponder this information. He seemed confused by this response. He had thought there would be denials. He spoke to the giant. Afterward he turned back to Bruce.

This may be true, Mr. Burns. Have you contacted your driver to determine the reason for his delay?

I can’t. That’s part of the safeguards I use. He can only contact me when he arrives in the U.S. Once he’s safely across the border.

That is unfortunate for you. And your lovely wife.

The giant grasped Bruce by the back of his silk Hermes robe and jerked him to his feet. He did not release him. Bruce could only reach the tile floor with the tips of his slippers.

Please. I’m doing all I can, Bruce whimpered. You just have to be patient a little longer. It will get here in a day or two at the latest. I promise. You’ll see.

Dimitri smiled. I hope you are right, Mr. Burns. Time critical plans have been put into motion. The Greek has instructed us to begin taking out the interest if we are forced to delay much longer.

Sure. As much as you like.

Dimitri leaned in close. He breath was harsh. He pulled out a long bladed knife from a sheath hidden under his arm. He placed it beneath Bruce’s right eye. The polished steel gleamed. Bruce tried to pull away, but the giant held him firmly. Dimitri pressed the tip in just below the surface. Dimitri’s hand flashed and a thin pale line appeared down James’ flesh. It reddened and a thin tear of blood crept down his cheek.

Your wife has beautiful skin, Mr. Burns. It reminds me of fine Russian porcelain. It is so firm and cool. I would hate to have to remove her pretty pink nipples to motivate you.

Bruce struggled. The giant seemed not to notice.

Please. Don’t hurt her. Please. She hasn’t done anything.

Dimitri slid the knife back into its sheath.

I hope it will be unnecessary. But I warn you; the Greek is not a patient man. There are schedules that must be kept and as you Americans say, the clock is ticking. Now go and finish dressing. I would like for you to be on time for the work. Our shipment may be coming today. Many lives depend upon it. Not the least of which are yours and your pretty wife’s. And you may wish to put a bandage on that.

The giant released Bruce and he crumpled to floor. He tried to struggle to his feet. His legs didn’t seem to be able to work. They seemed like alien limbs attached to his body. Dimitri smiled and set the milk carton on the black granite counter top. He knelt beside Bruce and helped lift him to his feet with a hand beneath each arm.

We are not barbaric men, Mr. Burns, but sometimes we are forced to act that way. We understand each other now, do we not?

Yes.

Say it. Say you understand.

I understand.

Very good.

The giant barked something in Russian. Dimitri nodded like a trained dog. We must stop at Starbucks on the way. You have one nearby?

Yes. Sure lots of them.

Good. He likes the Starbucks. The very strong, sweet American coffee, it makes him happy, Dimitri smiled and shook his head slightly as if to say such a thing was silly. You should always try to see that he his happy. He can be very unpleasant if he does not get his coffee in the morning. Once when we were in Afghanistan....

The telephone rang. The two Russians stared at it without moving.

Who would be calling you so early in the morning? Your driver perhaps?

No, he knows to call me at the office. He doesn’t have this number.

Then who?

I don’t know.

The telephone stopped ringing. A few moments later it started again.

Have you called anyone, Mr. Burns? Told them your wife was missing? That would prove unfortunate.

No. Who would I call? I just found out she was gone.

Let us see. Answer it.

Bruce reached for the telephone. It had to be Elliott. He prayed Elliott would play along. He lifted the receiver to the drone of a dial tone.

Probably a wrong number. One of those robo-calls. I get those all the time. He cradled the telephone.

Dimitri did not seem convinced. For your sake I hope you are telling us the truth. A meddling friend would be an...inconvenience.

I told you. I didn’t call anyone.

Dimitri smiled. He lifted the telephone and pressed the caller I.D. function. Bruce held his breath. The number came back as blocked. Dimitri hung the telephone up.

Get dressed.

Bruce pulled his silk robe tighter and went back upstairs. He had met Frank Kane only twice, but he scared the Hell out of Bruce. Any man who had looked into those cold blue eyes knew he had seen the face of death. He prayed Frank would come. He knew it might already be too late.

2

Frank Kane ran five miles each morning before work and five miles after work. He ran at a comfortable pace in his work clothes. He called this combat running. He knew that when and if he had to run he would not be dressed in loose shorts