Wrecking Team_A Gripping Mystery Suspense Novel Page 7

  An eye on the second shadow, who was now up the stairs, who wasn’t firing, but held something long and angular in his hand.

  Zeb grabbed his second Glock, which had been tucked behind his waist and dived to the side after leaving the cover of the table.

  The shooter was falling, and that saved Zeb. Still, a round burned his shoulder and another whizzed past his cheek.

  His Glock spoke thrice, slamming into the attacker, putting him down.

  Zeb fired one last round at the first intruder’s forehead, dug into his pocket for a spare mag, changed it mid-leap as he dived over the fallen body, and rushed up the stairs.

  ‘LOCK YOUR DOOR!’ he shouted.

  A scream from Angie, but he heard the bolts sliding through.

  The second figure was nearing the landing. A short hallway that led to three bedrooms and a bathroom. Angie was in the largest room, to the left, which had its own bath.

  Need him alive.

  The masked head looked back at Zeb, who attempted a dive on the steps. He landed heavily, groaning as the carpeted edges dug into his ribs.

  But he got his left hand on the attacker’s leg. It slowed the assailant, who attempted to kick Zeb off.

  Zeb lost his hold, but the grab bought him time, and he lunged again and grabbed the intruder’s clothing, something thick and heavy, and pulled.

  The man grunted, whirled around and slammed the stock of his rifle toward Zeb’s face, but he turned just in time to take the blow on his shoulder.

  The force of it sent him crashing to the floor, and for one moment the intruder stood at full height, looking down from the landing. That was the opening Zeb needed. He brought his Glock up and sent three rounds through the body mass of the shooter, who collapsed and rolled down the stairs.

  Zeb slithered out of the way, fired again to be sure, and then leaned against a wall to catch his breath.

  He straightened when he heard a sound at the top. A bolt sliding.

  ‘Is it over?’ Angie’s trembling voice.

  ‘Yeah but stay inside until I call you.’

  ‘Oh my God, Ihaveneverbeensoscared —’ hyperventilating, adrenaline hitting her.

  ‘Stay inside. Stay quiet.’

  She sobbed, but the bolt slid back and her door stayed shut.

  Zeb got to his feet and cocked his head when he heard a siren in the distance.

  A neighbor must have called in.

  He checked the shooter in the living room. He seemed to be the more dangerous.

  Dead.

  He checked the man who had been climbing the stairs.

  Dead.

  He loaded both his Glocks as he stood in the darkness of the living room and peered out of the broken window.

  Houses were lit up and a couple of heads were peering out cautiously.

  No one on the street.

  He went through the hallway leading to the kitchen, Glock raised. The rear door was open, a large hole where the lock had been.

  Second shooter must have come through the park, cut that hole while the first one kept me busy or killed me.

  Angie’s room had a window that overlooked the rear. He ran up the stairs and knocked on her door.

  ‘Angie?’

  The bolt slid back, the door shot open and a shivering, shuddering woman grabbed him tight.

  ‘Isitover? Thosesounds. Icouldn’tbreathe. I wassoscared.’

  He held her until her shivering subsided and her sniffling stopped. She stepped back, embarrassed, and wiped her eyes with her fists.

  He brushed past her and went inside her room. Bed showing signs she had been sleeping. Her earbuds snaking out from beneath a pillow.

  He killed the light, caught her by the shoulder and nudged her to a side wall. ‘Never stand in front of a window. Until this blows over.’

  She didn’t protest.

  He stood to the side and looked out.

  Nothing that he could see. Just the night enveloping the rear yard and the park beyond.

  There could be an army there and I wouldn’t see it.

  The house was lit suddenly by flashing blue and red as cruisers rolled up.

  ‘Stay here,’ he told her and went down the stairs, threw his Glocks to the floor and raised his hands as flashlights hit him and cops aimed weapons at him.

  Someone sighed.

  ‘Beats me how you stay alive.’

  Pizaka stepped through the armed officers. ‘I know him,’ he told the cops. ‘He’s working with us.’

  Zeb lowered his hands and squinted when the lights came on suddenly. Turned on by Chang, who stood silently, chewing his lower lip, hands on hips, as he surveyed the wreckage that was the living room.

  ‘Angie?’ he asked.

  ‘Safe. Upstairs.’

  ‘How many?’

  Zeb pointed at the two bodies. ‘Just them.’ He stood back for more cops to enter. ‘One came through the front. That one, at the bottom of the stairs, came through the rear.’

  Chang grunted and walked through the house. Pizaka stood still, his shades flashing in the light, observing, saying nothing.

  ‘Sir,’ a cop called out, drawing Chang back.

  ‘This one,’ the officer leaned over the second shooter, whose mask had slipped off as he slid down the steps. ‘I recognize him.’

  Chang sucked his breath sharply when he bent over the dead man. ‘Just when I thought this couldn’t get any worse.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Pizaka asked sharply.

  ‘That’s Terrence Kloops.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘The millionaire?’ Zeb asked, stunned.

  ‘Yeah. He came to one of our fundraisers last month. I spoke to him for a few minutes.’

  ‘Chang, are you sure?’ Pizaka joined his partner.

  ‘He’s correct, sir,’ answered the officer who had drawn their attention. ‘I recognize him too.’

  ‘Why the hell is a man like that involved in all of this?’

  Nobody had an answer to Pizaka’s question.

  Two hours later, the crowd remained the same size, but with different people. A forensic team had arrived, as had Meghan and Beth. Hiram Konstantin, Angie’s assistant, and someone who introduced himself as their lawyer were present, too.

  Angie was huddled with her father; the twins were with Zeb, sipping from paper cups of coffee.

  ‘This isn’t what we were expecting when we got your call, Zeb,’ Beth said, her eyes twinkling. ‘Kloops makes headlines every day.’

  ‘He’ll have another one tomorrow. Not that he’ll be around to enjoy it.’

  Kloops had made his money in real estate speculation. He had been a flamboyant figure who courted the limelight by dating glamorous models and Hollywood stars.

  In his business life, he was rumored to play fast and loose with the law, but nothing had been proven. There were dark mutterings of threats, blackmail, physical assault on both business associates and the women he dated; however, no one had filed a police complaint or gone public, at least in the U.S.

  He was suspected of having mob links, and there were claims that he’d had a falling-out with a Mafia boss who had funded him initially. None of that could be proven, and the millionaire himself refused to answer any such questions.

  Two South American countries had arrest warrants for him, for allegedly killing prostitutes in sexual acts. Neither country had an extradition treaty with the U.S. South Africa had shut down his business interests in that country because of bribery and corruption claims.

  ‘What can I say?’ he used to respond, flashing a megawatt smile whenever confronted by reporters. ‘I am a soft target just because I am rich and visible. I am innocent of all charges.’

  ‘You knew him?’ Zeb asked Konstantin when the billionaire came towards them. The father’s face was grey, bags under his eyes; his hair, normally perfectly groomed, was now tousled.

  ‘I met him a few times.’ Konstantin didn’t look at the body. ‘He approached me with a plan, redevelopment of
a waterfront complex in Florida. A big project. Offices, houses, water parks. I turned him down.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His reputation.’

  ‘Those accusations were true?’ Chang asked, the cops listening in with interest.

  ‘No idea. However, no one in my circle did business with him. We didn’t need the baggage.’

  ‘We’ll need details of those meetings.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did your daughter meet him?’

  ‘No. I asked her. Why would he do this?’ Konstantin asked, his voice shaking.

  ‘We’ll find out, sir,’ Meghan promised him.

  I hope, she thought bleakly. The previous attacks didn’t get us anywhere.

  ‘There’s no we anymore,’ the father stated. ‘Kloops is dead. No doubt he was behind the previous attacks. I won’t be needing you anymore. I’m sure the cops will investigate and find out his motivation.’

  Meghan stared at him, aware that Beth was turning red in the face at Konstantin’s abruptness. Pizaka looked at the floor. Chang found something fascinating in the ceiling. Zeb was his usual expressionless self.

  ‘What?’ the billionaire rumbled in the ensuing silence.

  ‘It isn’t over, sir.’ Pizaka removed his shades. ‘We don’t know Kloops was the mastermind. Until we know that —’

  Konstantin sighed heavily, his face drawn. ‘This will go on for some time?’

  ‘If you mean Angie should be —’

  ‘You said she would be safe,’ the father rounded angrily on Zeb. ‘I shouldn’t have listened to all of you.’

  ‘She’s not harmed in any way, sir,’ Zeb stiffened.

  ‘Yeah?’ Konstantin laughed mirthlessly, ‘This,’ he gestured at the mayhem in the house, ‘is what you call safe?’

  ‘Dad!’

  Everyone looked at Angie, her eyes flashing, hair rippling as she strode over to them.

  ‘Meghan is right. Zeb, too. He would have died before these two men got to me.’

  ‘That doesn’t make me feel better,’ her father argued.

  ‘It is more than what Kerry, Carlos or Quincy would have done. I was with them. I was just a day with Zeb. I can see the difference.’

  Whoa! Is this the same spoiled heiress who didn’t want to go along with us? Meghan’s eyes narrowed, wondering if the daughter was playing some kind of game.

  ‘You sure, honey?’ Konstantin was eyeing her doubtfully, apparently having the same thought Meghan had. ‘I can hire another firm. Have an army around you.’

  ‘I don’t need an army. I trust Beth and Meghan … and Zeb.’

  ‘Maybe you should listen to your father,’ Zeb told her, moving out of the way of white-coated technicians. ‘If these attacks continue, and we should assume they will, these people need to get lucky just once.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘Honey —’

  ‘It’s my life, Dad.’

  ‘I don’t talk,’ Zeb reminded her.

  ‘I know,’ Angie’s lips quirked.

  ‘We’ll still be hiding out in such houses until we get to the bottom of these attempts.’

  ‘I guessed that.’

  ‘What’s changed your mind?’ Meghan gave her a searching look. ‘You weren’t exactly thrilled when your father appointed us.’

  ‘Those three dudes —’ Angie began. ‘Kerry, Carlos, Quincy,’ she clarified when she saw the frowns on the sisters’ faces. ‘— They weren’t my first protection detail. I had a few others. There’s something Zeb did that the others didn’t.’

  ‘Enlighten us,’ Beth demanded.

  ‘Well, it’s something he didn’t do.’

  ‘Get to it, Angie,’ the younger sister couldn’t help sighing.

  ‘Zeb didn’t stare at my ass.’

  Beth rolled her eyes, while Pizaka gasped and Chang snorted.

  ‘Sir, it’s your decision,’ she told Hiram Konstantin.

  ‘It’s mine,’ Angie asserted. ‘The three of you stay.’ And with that, Hiram Konstantin folded.

  ‘You figured out how?’ Beth asked Zeb.

  ‘How, what?’ Angie asked, confused.

  ‘How did these shooters know you were here?’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Beats me,’ Zeb admitted. ‘I’ve been thinking of that for a while.’

  Meghan raised a warning finger and pointed towards the kitchen. Beth caught on immediately and herded father and daughter to that room, as Pizaka, Chang and Zeb followed.

  ‘Why are we here?’ Konstantin asked.

  Meghan looked out at the bunch of cops and technicians in the living room. Hidalgo had told them Nikolai had snitches in the NYPD. Konstantin doesn’t need to know that.

  ‘Quieter here,’ Zeb replied. ‘Angie’s phone is with me. Dead. It can’t be traced. Nothing on her clothing. I checked.’

  ‘They could have followed you?’ the father asked.

  ‘No, sir. We took … elaborate precautions.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ Angie snorted, remembering the complex route Zeb had taken before arriving at the safe house.

  ‘Your vehicle’s distinctive,’ the billionaire persisted, referring to Zeb’s SUV.

  ‘We weren’t followed. That vehicle wasn’t tracked,’ Zeb said flatly. He wasn’t going into how he was sure.

  ‘So, how?’ Meghan asked.

  ‘I don’t …’ Zeb trailed off, his eyes widening as they landed on Angie.

  ‘Hey!’ she protested when he snatched the ever-present handbag hanging off her shoulder.

  He dumped its contents on the floor and crouched. Lipstick, breath fresheners, makeup kit, a pen, a diary, a wallet. He riffled through the last item and went through all the cards it was carrying.

  No tracking device in the bag.

  He fingered its soft leather sides. Smooth. Nothing uneven.

  He felt its bottom. It was thick and stiff. Some kind of board around which the leather had been stitched.

  His knife appeared and, to Angie’s accompanying yell, he slashed the bag’s bottom and yanked out the flooring board.

  Turned it over, and there it was.

  He held it up for the others to see. A shiny disc neatly embedded in the board.

  ‘What’s that?’ Konstantin breathed, fascinated.

  ‘A GPS tracker. That’s how they knew where she was at any time. The bag was the only item I didn’t search. My mistake.’

  ‘How did it get there?’

  ‘I never go anywhere without my bag,’ Angie said. ‘I don’t know how that device —’

  ‘This isn’t your bag.’ Meghan cut her off. ‘This is a duplicate. Someone switched your bag with it. I bet you leave yours unattended for periods of time. At restaurants. With friends, who might get distracted … many such times. Beth and I, we used to do the same.’

  Until we joined the Agency.

  ‘Switched? You know how much the original cost?’ Angie demanded.

  ‘We were just beginning to like you,’ Meghan told her coldly, at which the daughter flushed.

  ‘Is that how they knew where I was?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yeah. Besides, they had you followed for a while and knew your routine.’

  ‘Won’t they know I am here?’ she asked fearfully.

  ‘They,’ Meghan pointed to the living room, ‘are dead.’

  ‘You said some mastermind could be behind this,’ Angie replied heatedly.

  ‘Yes. But whoever that is will not attack now. Not when this place is bristling with cops.’

  A loud sound silenced them. Zeb smashing the device with a hammer he had found in the kitchen.

  ‘You need anything else from us?’ he asked Pizaka and Chang.

  ‘No.’ Pizaka put on his shades and straightened his tie. There were media trucks outside, reporters and camera people. It was time for his show to begin.

  ‘In that case,’ Zeb caught Angie’s elbow and led her through the rear exit and out of the house.

  Beth
and Meghan regrouped in their office later in the day, after a brief nap.

  There were no more updates from Chang on the night’s events. The second shooter was not in the system, and no one had come forward to identify him.

  He had nothing for them on the parking lot and Times Square attacks.

  Beth set Werner to look into Terrence Kloops while Meghan made them coffee. As the aroma of Jamaican Blue Mountain filled the room, the sisters went to a concealed safe in a wall and brought out an array of tools. A miniature cell tower that looked like a roof-mounted TV antenna. Grips, gloves, wire cutters, surveillance devices, gear that would delight a cat burglar.

  ‘Pizaka will have a stroke if he knows what we’re planning,’ Beth smirked as she loaded the tools in a backpack.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Meghan replied distractedly.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’

  ‘Hidalgo said something about a network.’

  ‘I remember. He said no one had come across anyone more dangerous than Nikolai.’

  ‘Perhaps we should talk to this network.’

  ‘I like how you think, sis.’

  ‘You’ll like this idea as well, then,’ Meghan said with a smirk. ‘Fancy calling Andropov?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Interpol came back. The men in the parking lot. They were Russian criminals. They came into the country a week before the attack.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Grigor Andropov ran a secretive outfit in Moscow that was similar to the Agency. Zeb and he were good friends, and on meeting the sisters, Andropov had become yet another member of their fan club.

  He was an inch taller than Zeb, in his late fifties, but he looked a decade younger. He was lean, had short, dark hair that had started to grey, and his green eyes were smiling when the sisters brought him up on a video call.

  ‘Zeb is working you hard, no? Come to Moscow. I’ll work for you.’

  ‘It’s too cold there, Grigor. Besides, Zeb works for us,’ Beth chuckled. ‘He just doesn’t know it.’

  In reality, while Zeb was the lead operative of the Agency, there was no hierarchy. The team worked as a single unit, a family.