that briefcase to get his piston greased.”
“Is that my truck?” Jack asked, pointing at the Dodge.
Sergei heard him and dislodged himself from the blond. “Yeah. Give us a few minutes to load the shit and count your cash, and we’ll be done.” He barked an order to Malenkiy and the slow-moving Slav, who both went into the shack and came out with bundles
wrapped in plastic.
“I’ve seen you around.”
Jack’s heart popped up into his throat. Franko was staring sidelong at him. “Or you look like someone I know.”
Problems were best faced squarely, so Jack turned straight to the Russian. “I doubt you’ve seen me. I haven’t been in town that long.”
Franko chewed his lip for a minute, then shrugged. Jack turned away, but felt the other man’s eyes linger on him.
“Okay,” Sergei said, apparently resigned to the fact that he wasn’t getting any more action from the blond. “Let’s see the money.”
Jack held up the briefcase, but before Sergei could take it, a phone in his pocket rang.
“Cell service?” Jack said curiously.
Sergei tapped his own temple. “Satellite phone. For the man who has everything.”
He pulled the phone — a bit larger than the average cell phone — out of his jacket and answered in Russian. “Oh, sure,” he said, nodding politely at Jack and excusing himself with a gesture. He stepped away and said, “I don’t think so, no. Well, if you say so. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and turned back to Jack. “I’m sorry. It’s rude, but business. You know. Now, the money?”
Jack held the briefcase flat and popped it open, revealing the top layer of twenties and fifties. When he looked up from the case, he was staring at the black hole of a handgun. He frowned. “Do you want a check instead?”
Sergei spoke in Russian, and Franko drew his own gun. The blond watched curiously. Malenkiy, just coming out of the house with another load, set it down and produced his gun. The fourth Slav stopped, still holding his parcel.
“I get some funny calls on my satellite phone,” Sergei said. “That one was from Felix Studhalter.”
19. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 P.M. AND 3 P.M. PACIFIC STANDARD TIME
Without hesitation, Jack tossed the briefcase at Sergei and lunged toward Franko. But the Russian had been tough enough when he was outnumbered. Now he was even more difficult. The muzzle of his gun clipped Jack across the temple, spinning him around. Jack allowed the spin to carry him full-circle and he swung his fist against the Russian’s head. But Sergei dropped low, hugging Jack’s legs and shouldering him to the ground. Jack sat up, grabbing Sergei by the hair to peel him off, but Malenkiy had reached them by then and Jack caught his booted foot squarely in the
face. The little Russian put his knee on Jack’s chest and jabbed a gun against his cheek. “Don’t,” Sergei ordered. “Too close to the house. And too close to the road for the sound.”
Jack’s head was spinning from the kick, but he felt their hands paw him, taking his gun. He had no idea what sort of screw-up had given Studhalter the opportunity to call, but if he survived this, someone was going to catch hell.
“I don’t know who you are. I don’t care, either. I’m taking your money and my tina,” Sergei said.
Jack gambled. “I’ll tell you who I am. I work for the government, but I’m not here to sting you. I’m here to buy your crystal meth and use it as a trade for another case. Wait!” At the word
“Except you work for the government,” Sergei observed. He barked in Russian. Jack heard Malenkiy’s name, but understood nothing else. Malenkiy kept his knee on Jack’s chest and the gun in his face, and Jack was sure the little man would use it despite Sergei’s orders, if Jack gave him a reason, so he kept still for the moment, staring past the gun and Malenkiy’s eager eyes and up into the blue sky. It wasn’t often Jack looked up at the sky. It was clear today, and peaceful.
Sergei and Franko seemed to be finishing the transfer of crystal meth from the lab to the truck. A moment later, Jack felt hands haul him roughly to his feet. Sergei, Malenkiy, Franko, and the slow one all had weapons trained on him. Sergei barked at Malenkiy, who nodded, while he and Franko backed away and then hurried over to the truck.
Malenkiy snapped at Jack in Russian and pointed up the hill past the little shack.
“That way,” the other Russian said. His forehead sloped and his lower jaw was slack. He eyed Jack curiously.
Jack saw no opportunity to attack, so he acquiesced, walking up the hill with the two Russian men on either side of him and the girl behind. Uphill from the house was a trail winding its way through the brown grass. He followed it, always with the men flanking him and their guns steady. The trail climbed to the top of a small rise. There it made a sharp turn, running along the edge of a ridge overlooking a steep barranca. The trail continued into the mountains, but the Russians stopped at the edge of the precipice.
Jack had to make his move now. He tensed his muscles, but before he could do anything, Malenkiy gurgled. Jack glanced at him. His body was stiff and trembling, his eyes wide as choking sounds came from his throat. Taser wires protruded from his body, reaching backward. Jack just had time to realize that the blond girl held the taser when she kicked the slow-witted Russian in the chest, sending him backward over the cliff, tumbling down the hill.
With superhuman effort, the vicious little Russian tore the taser barbs out of his body. He tried to raise his gun, but Jack pushed it aside and punched Malenkiy in the face. The little man followed his comrade down the hill.
Jack turned to the blond girl, who had rearmed her taser. Her face was cool and calm as an iceberg. “Ivan?” he asked.
She spoke in perfect English. “Who the hell are you?” “Jack Bauer, Counter Terrorist Unit,” he explained. “And thanks.”
“Thanks? Jesus!” she said, anger melting her icy facade. “Do you have any idea how badly you screwed this?”
“Tell me later!” Jack said. He ran down the hill. He had to get that crystal meth.
The undercover FBI agent, “Ivan,” followed him. By the time he reached the shack again, he saw that the truck and the Mercedes were gone. He jumped into the BMW.
Ivan threw open the passenger door. “You don’t have the keys!”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He tore the panel out from under the dash and hot-wired the car in a few seconds. By this time Ivan was in the car with him. She scolded him as he kicked up dust on his way down the lane.
“Four months! Four months of that gorilla’s paws on my ass! And you come along and blow the whole operation!”
He reached the paved part of the lane and sped up, reaching the main highway in seconds. Dust drifting on the highway suggested that Sergei had turned right, inland, so he followed.
“What gives you the right to — aggh!” He burned rubber onto Topanga Canyon, throwing her almost into the driver’s seat.
“Seatbelt,” he cautioned. “I can’t explain even if I had time. I need that supply of crystal meth. I’m happy to bring down Sergei, but it’s not that important to me. My case is bigger.”
