Counterplay

24

Special Agent S. P. Jaxon peered over the rock wall with his field binoculars. There was no movement in the mansion on Red Mountain, the aptly named rust-red ridge opposite the town of Aspen. But he knew there were anywhere from a few to a half dozen or more armed terrorists inside the house, as well as the owners-a Saudi prince and his family who were being held hostage. He also hoped that one person in particular had been trapped when agents of the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security, the Aspen Police, and a Pitkin County Sheriff’s Office SWAT team surrounded the property.

The various federal law enforcement leaders had arrived at the Aspen Square Hotel in downtown Aspen singly or in pairs, ostensibly tourists in the Wild West town of movie stars and wealthy tycoons ready to party. With the help of the hotel manager, a former FBI agent who’d retired young to run a high-end ski lodge, they’d assembled in the hotel meeting room where a sign on the door proclaimed that the room was closed to all but The Greater Cleveland Rotary Club members and their spouses. They’d also been joined by Homeland Security agent Vic Hodges, who’d apparently worked his way into the terrorist cell and was reporting to them at considerable risk to his life if one of the bad guys spots him with us, assistant HS director Jon Ellis noted to the others.

“Think he’s in there?” Marlene asked.

Jaxon lowered his binoculars and looked over at Marlene Ciampi, who’d walked up to kneel beside him at the wall. “That’s the information you gave us and Agent Hodges confirmed. Kane’s supposed to be in the main house with the hostages.” He paused to glance back at the mansion. “You ever going to tell me where you got this address? I mean, Aspen was on the list because the Green Opal jewelry store is one of only a dozen in the country that sells Carlos Torres chess sets. But the owner didn’t remember the pieces we showed him.”

Marlene smiled grimly. “I could tell you but-”

“-you’d have to kill me, I know. Isn’t everybody tired of that one yet?” Jaxon said. “Maybe someday when we’re old and gray, you’ll tell me.”

“I’m already gray, but it’s a deal,” she replied and thought, If you only knew.

Immediately after the bombing, Vladimir had insisted that they leave before the police arrived. So Yvgeny and Marlene split up, agreeing to meet back at the Karchovski house as soon as they could work their way there without being noticed. There, they’d argued about the next step, including what to do with the address she’d been given by Vladimir.

The old man had been the one to track down Carlos Torres, who was on vacation aboard a yacht in the Mediterranean, and had his man hand deliver one of the knights sent to Dugan that Marlene had taken with her. She’d figured that the FBI had the others, so when Vladimir had asked to “borrow” one, she’d consented. Funny, she’d thought when she handed it over, I trust an ancient Russian gangster more than I do anybody in the FBI, except Jaxon.

Torres had identified the piece as belonging to set Numero Dieciocho…I know each of these pieces as though they are members of mi familia. This exquisite creature is lost from his family, which I believe resides at the Green Opal jewelry store in Aspen, Colorado.

When Vladimir’s men visited the Green Opal, the owner had again claimed amnesia-until he was taken for a midnight helicopter ride and held upside down out the door over a thousand-foot drop above the Roaring Fork Valley. Then he’d suddenly regained his memory and said that a certain Saudi prince had purchased not one, but two of the Torres sets. The prince had been accompanied by a beautiful young woman whose only imperfection was a large mole on her cheek. She’d warned the store owner to avoid discussing the purchase of the chess sets with anyone, and something about the way she looked at him said it was worth his life to cross her.

Further investigation by Vladimir’s men had noted a great deal of unusual traffic at the prince’s home by an unusually large number of serious, fit, Arabic-looking men, some of whom had been seen carelessly handling automatic rifles when they slipped out at night to smoke cigarettes.

After getting back to the house following the bombing, Yvgeny had led Marlene into the library where he poured them both a shot of chilled vodka. I will take care of this now, he said. He reached for the telephone and punched in a number, then spoke rapidly in Russian before hanging up and saying to Marlene, Forget the note my father gave you.

Sorry, I want this guy to pay as much as you do, but I think I better give this address to a friend with the FBI, she replied.

Yvgeny was visibly seething-not that she blamed him; she was angry, too. Angry about Jojola. Angry about Vladimir. Angry and sick to her stomach for the woman and her child and the young couple who’d been murdered.

Nyet! Nyet! NYET! Yvgeny had roared and threw his glass at the fireplace where it shattered. Who do you trust there? A friend with the FBI? He is going to go after these vermin by himself? No, he will have to tell others, and there are spies in that agency. No, I have tried it my father’s way and I have tried it your way, and it almost got my father and myself killed; a woman and a child…those young lovers… were butchered by animals. My father wanted to give you this address so that what needs to be done could be done the quote “right way.” But I am through with this right way. I will take this son of a bitch down to hell my way! And then I will hunt those two whores down and gut them myself like that young mother was gutted by their bomb!

Look, Yvgeny, Marlene said trying to keep the anger she felt out of her voice. I can hardly believe this is me arguing against taking the law into your own hands. I mean, I’m already in deep shit for leaving the scene without telling the police what I saw, and I’m ashamed to say I did it because I was worried that being connected to the Karchovskis might hurt my husband’s political chances. When Butch hears, he’ll drag me down to the precinct by my ear. But think about this: say you go to Aspen and kill Kane and foil his plot, no one will know the depth of this conspiracy. It will just be a gangland killing where, as far as the public is concerned, you’re all bad guys-somebody ends up dead, somebody else probably winds up in prison-and I’d be surprised if you do this without innocent people being put in harm’s way, too. But also, if you’re right about this conspiracy, won’t the Russian government and the terrorists just come up with a new plan?

And why wouldn’t they even if your FBI catches Kane and kills Azzam?

Because maybe Jaxon can get to the bottom of this and expose it for what it is, Marlene said, scrambling to come up with reasons that she didn’t necessarily believe. In fact, while her mind was debating him, her heart was telling her to go with Yvgeny and settle this score with Kane. But it goes beyond that. There needs to be a message sent that civilized nations don’t have to revert to lawlessness or to military rule to combat terror. The public needs the reassurance that the people with the duty to protect them are out there doing their jobs. Besides, if you kill Kane, the moles go deeper, the plans next time are better.

Yvgeny paced to the window. He smashed a fist into his hand, his whole body trembling in anger.

It’s what your father wants, Marlene had said not knowing what else to say.

She’s right.

Marlene turned and saw the old man in the doorway of the library. He looked somewhat worse for wear in his torn and bloody linen suit, a bandage on his forehead and another on his hand, but otherwise appeared to be okay.

Vladimir! she said and rushed over to hug him. Are you all right? What did you tell the police?

He patted her on the back. I am physically fine, he said. But my heart is broken for the innocent blood spilled because someone wanted to kill me. The police were hardly interested in what an old man who didn’t see much except sand had to say…. Now, I just want to clean up a little, then go to the hospital to check on Petre; it was his brother, Sasha, who was killed, and Petre may never walk again, though I believe he is too strong to die. He turned to address his son.

Marlene will carry the address to whomever she believes should take care of this problem, and you will do nothing in Aspen, he said. These savages follow no rules, they have no honor-even criminals such as we do not behave like these animals. If we fight them, and men like Kane, on their