Leads
The call came in late in the day. Brass had told Nick he had a lead at a shady electronics dealer on the Nevada/Arizona border. Nick hurried to the location.
The dealer was nervous, but interested more in the reward Kannell Corp recently offered publicly. He was a scrawny man, with dark, thinning hair. He fidgeted constantly, but his eyes were wide with the hope for fortune.
"Tell CSI Stokes what you just told me," Brass prompted. The dealer turned to Nick, and eagerly started over.
"Two guys came in earlier, wanting a boat-load of electronics," he said, a greedy smile spreading over his face. Nick wasn't impressed by this brief account, and he glanced to Brass to say as much.
"They're the guys from the news," the dealer continued. "A British guy and a Russian."
Nick's heart somersaulted within him. "What did they get?"
The dealer proceeded to list off several items, all long and wordy.
"Was there anyone else with them?" Nick asked. His heart fell when the scrawny man shook his head. "Where did they go?"
Again the dealer shrugged. "They took a left out of the parking lot."
Left. Well, it narrowed it down a bit.
But not much.
"What were they driving, and where were they parked?" Nick asked next.
Brass took down the detailed description as Nick went to the parking lot outside the dealer's shop. There were distinct tire marks where the dealer said the SUV had parked, but that wasn't really a break-through. Even so, Nick photographed the treads and took samples of the debris around them.
Hours later, Greg came to the Texan with results of the debris.
"Your dirt," he prefaced. "It has traces of titanium dioxide, found in industrial areas."
"Industrial areas?" Nick repeated. Greg nodded.
"Yeah. I already ran a check on it. Industries for the most part have banned it. Long-term exposures lead to fibrosis, scarring in the lungs," Greg said.
"So is this fresh titanium dioxide or . . ."
"Old stuff, probably from an old factory or industry that used the stuff," the lab tech said. Nick nodded.
"So where are some areas like that?"
Jill typed away, trying to find search strings to break down the hard drive. The data was accessible, but she didn't know how to plug it in with the accounts.
She sighed and wiped away a strand of hair from her face. Behind her, she could hear Lane pacing. Ethan was in front of her, standing like a soldier and not reacting to anything.
Kostya was on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. Lane had bandaged the Russian's leg, but that didn't mean Kostya wasn't mad. With good reason.
"Work faster, Jill," Lane hissed behind her. She tensed and started typing away again.
"Leave her alone," Kostya said in his rough accent and language. Lane flickered a glance at him.
"I was afraid of this," he said, though he didn't sound afraid of anything. "I could see it happening. You were going soft. Now look at you."
"It's not about being soft. You screwed up," Kostya said. "This job was over the moment we couldn't get the data. But you had to take hostages."
Lane huffed at that. "You should thank me. Otherwise, you might not have a date after this."
Kostya glared at him, but not because of what he said. Lane had said 'after this.' The Russian knew better.
"What's after this? We both know you'll clean up. You'll kill her." Kostya shifted his glare to Ethan, then back at Lane. "Are you going to kill me too? What about Ethan?"
Lane sighed, and for once, Kostya saw a brief moment of doubt from Ethan.
"This isn't about casualties. It's about the money. I'll leave the girl for you, Kostya." Suddenly the Brit grinned. "Consider her my gift to you."
"Was the bullet a gift too?" Kostya said, bitterly. Lane glared at him.
"Ethan," he called, switching to English. "Gag him."
From her work station, Jill glanced between the men, not understanding what was said, but feeling the tension all too easily. She stopped for a moment to watch as Ethan gagged Kostya with a piece of cloth. The Russian protested, but it came out muffled. Ethan didn't seem bothered by what he was doing, once again reverting to the brick wall persona.
Suddenly Lane hit Kostya with the butt of his gun. The hit landed across his temple, and Kostya slumped over, stunned.
"Work!" he yelled at Jill. She gasped as Lane kicked the Russian in his wounded leg. Kostya screamed into the gag. His eyes shut and his whole face and neck were taut with pain.
Jill started to fiddle with the computer, anything to look like she was working. In truth, though, she didn't know what to do next.
She had what she thought was the measures to access the company server, but something was blocking her. She frowned at the screen and tried another string of code.
Suddenly a warning popped up on her screen, flashing and beeping at her.
It was from the company security.
Lane heard the noise and was at her side immediately. "What is it?" he demanded.
Jill just stared, trying to figure it out herself.
"Crap," she muttered. "They've blocked my access. And they're tracing the connection."
Lane swore, then moved back to Kostya, the gun at the Russian's head again. "Get in! I want access, Jill, so get it!"
"I can't," Jill shouted back. "They've changed the codes. Didn't you think of that?! It's been days—of course they're going to change the information!"
Lane cocked the gun and replaced it at Kostya's head. The Russian was a bit hazy from the hit to his head, but even so, he looked worried.
"Lane, please!" Jill yelled. "I can't do it! But they're tracing us, right now. They'll find you."
This worried him. "Do something about it," he ordered. Jill nodded and quickly disconnected the line to Kannell Corp. The warning box disappeared, and Jill was left looking at static data.
She didn't hear him move, but Lane was back at her side now.
"You better not be lying," he hissed in her ear. Jill shrugged the feel of him off.
"I'm not," she said between clenched teeth. "Lane, I really do not know what to do." She sounded out each word slowly, trying to get through to him.
"Figure it out," he said, moving back to Kostya. He kicked the Russian in the leg, eliciting another yell through the gag. "Or Kostya suffers." As if to prove his point, he grabbed the Russian by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. Kostya groaned and his eyes flashed a clear hatred to the Brit. Lane didn't seem to care. He held Kostya up, just barely, making Kostya carry some of his weight on his bad leg. Suddenly Lane released him, and punched him hard in the stomach before the Russian could fall to the floor.
Kostya coughed through the gag and rolled slightly, trying to ease the pain.
Lane nodded to Ethan. "Secure them." Ethan nodded back, and moved to Jill. The cuffs were now used on Kostya, so he used rope to tie her to a foundational support in the room. He grabbed Kostya by the back of his shirt and dragged him close to Jill. He tied a new length of rope around Kostya's feet and secured it to the same support.
And then he left, obviously unconcerned about the hostages.
Kostya lay on his side, next to Jill, who leaned against the support with her hands tied behind it. He thought about moving, but right now, he feared the pain. Immediately he berated himself for that. He'd been a soldier! He was better than succumbing to pain. Then again, he hadn't been shot in a while, and the blood loss, though stopped now, still made Kostya a bit light-headed.
Or maybe that was the hit to the head. He shut his eyes, and tried to steady his breathing.
"Are you okay?"
Jill's timid voice warmed him, maybe because of the concern that laced it. Kostya nodded and opened his eyes.
She was beautiful. Even with dried blood on her face and her hair disheveled, her shirt torn and the obvious fear in her eyes, Jill was beautiful to him. Her eyes were soft as she looked over him, and just the feel of her eyes on his body made Kostya temporarily forget the situation.
"It looks like your leg stopped bleeding," she commented. Kostya nodded. He rubbed his face against his shoulder, trying to move the gag. Jill watched him as he kept at it, until the cloth slid beneath his chin.
"Are you all right?" he asked immediately. Jill nodded, but Kostya didn't believe her. She never should have been through this. And especially with what Lane did to her—beating her, and using anything against her. She didn't deserve it. Kostya could have stopped it, and he didn't. That knowledge weighed heavily in his mind.
The warning signs were there. He should have known Lane would do this. Though he and Lane had been through a lot in the past years, nothing solidified trust, especially among thieves and murderers. That's what he was after all. Kostya frowned at that, but moved on. Lane always cared about the bottom line. Here, it was about the money. And after months of planning and researching, and a week of waiting, they still didn't have money.
Desperation, it seemed, motivated him to do stupid things. In this case, it was betraying Kostya.
"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly. It was a funny question, but Kostya didn't make light of it.
He shook his head. "I'm just thinking," he said a bit choppily. "I'm sorry." He didn't feel like expounding on what, but Jill knew anyway. He clearly was accountable in all this, and now his fate was tied to Jill's.
"Kostya," she said softly. From the floor he looked up at her. "I don't know how to break into the server." She sighed.
"You are sure?" Kostya asked. She nodded miserably. "They changed the access?"
"Yeah," she answered. "Security is tight, and without any inside information, I can't do a thing." Her eyes welled up with tears, but she quickly blinked them back. "I . . . I don't know what to do."
The helplessness she exuded wrenched Kostya's growing heart. He wanted to protect her, to change their lives. If only he had stepped in earlier . . . Maybe if he'd helped her escape, instead of ignoring what he felt and wanted to do. . . .
It didn't matter, because that wasn't the reality. He was betrayed and tied up.
But he was still Kostya. He wasn't helpless, even bound. His mind jumped on that. The cuffs were tight around his wrists, but not impossible to get out of. Kostya would have to dislocate his thumb and untie his feet. He still had his knife on him—Ethan hadn't bothered to search him, once his gun was gone. He could get free pretty quickly.
That didn't make things easy though. He still had to get past Ethan and Lane, and he doubted he and Jill would be left alone for long. He looked around the room. There were windows, but they were about fifteen feet off the ground. Some crates were left in the warehouse, just wood slats but it could help . . . .
His dark eyes flickered to the doorway, which led to another open space in the warehouse. Lane and Ethan were probably plotting the next move, or something. Kostya himself didn't know what the next move could be. They were at yet another dead end. But something told Kostya not to expect Lane to give up. Ever.
"What are you thinking?" Jill asked.
Kostya didn't answer. It was a matter of timing, if they were to escape. And now might be the only chance.
He grabbed his left thumb with his right hand and pulled on it until he felt the painful pop. He groaned, but tried to hide it. Jill glanced at him, a little worried. Kostya bit his lip hard as he pushed the cuff over his left hand.
He sighed as he succeeded and brought his hands in front of him. Jill just stared.
He shot her a clever grin and went for his knife.
He had himself freed a minute later, and moved to Jill. His knife sliced away her restraints, and she stood eagerly.
"How did you—" she started. Kostya put a finger over his mouth and just shook his head. She got the message.
He bit lip again as he tried to stand. The pain seared through his leg, but he ordered himself not to groan. Jill quickly came to his side and supported him under his left arm. The feel of her warm body so close to his distracted him, but just for a moment.
He nodded to a stack of crates, and carefully they hobbled to it.
"I think she was telling the truth," Ethan said, rechecking his gun. Lane slumped as he sat on a box crate. He held his head in his hands as he leaned on his knees.
"Well, it'd be better for us if she were lying," Lane said bitterly.
"What do you want to do?" the younger Brit asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Lane sighed. "We were supposed to have this done no later than 48 hours ago. Now we're behind, and possibly screwed."
Ethan raised an eyebrow at the older man's desperation. "I wasn't aware of a deadline."
Both knew the time-sensitive nature of information, but that wasn't what Ethan meant. Lane straightened up and shot a look to the younger man.
"You know what's at stake, for the next job," he said. "We get this, we get the next one. And you know the next one's worth it."
"And Kostya?" Ethan asked. Lane shrugged, trying to play off the seriousness of what transpired between them.
"He's a fool to have fallen for her in the first place. But it worked, didn't it?" He ran a hand through his longer hair before standing. He walked to the other room, with Ethan trailing behind him.
As soon as his eyes zeroed in on the cut ropes, Lane swore. Something moved out of the corner of his vision. Lane swiveled to it, only to see Kostya half-out the window.
"Kostya!" he yelled, removing his gun. He fired a warning shot that shattered the glass next to him.
The Russian ducked back inside, his dark brown eyes staring down Lane.
"Where's the girl?" Lane demanded. Kostya merely smiled. "Ethan! Find her, now!"
The young British man took off, leaving Kostya and Lane in an unequal face-off.
Jill heard the shot, but one look back at Kostya told her he hadn't been hit again. She saw him nod at her, encouraging her to escape, and then he disappeared from her view. She started running, but as she looked around, she saw there wasn't much around.
The desert heat was dying off and night was coming. The sun only left a few rays to show her the options. There was a cluster of warehouses down a dusty road, but she'd be exposed if she ran that way.
She'd be exposed, though, no matter where she ran. Jill took off down the road. Behind her, she heard quick footsteps grating against the gravel and dust. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Ethan, moving fast towards her.
Jill put into practice years of high school track, and ran hard. She wasn't free yet, but she could at least hide.
Suddenly a shot rang out, echoing off the slight rises of the sand over the plains. Jill ducked a bit, but didn't stop. They wouldn't kill her, not when they still needed her.
She hoped that was the case still.
She passed the first building and ducked down a little alleyway behind it. The next building would provide a little cover, she hoped, as she planned to run on the other side of it. Zig-zagging hindered crocodiles; why not British kidnappers as well?
a/n: please review! It could be my Christmas present!