Disclaimer: It's fanfic, meaning I don't own anything or make any money off of it. It's a labor of love. Please don't sue me.
This story is rated T. Apart from some language, there's nothing here that wouldn't pass muster on an episode of The Following. If you're old enough to watch the Following, you're old enough to read this. However, it is The Following, so bad things can happen. Expect possible violence, dark themes, angst, and a certain amount of general awfulness. No serial killers, FBI agents, or small furry animals were harmed in the making of this fanfic. And don't try anything you read here at home.
Another long stretch between updates. Consulting the Book Of Excuses, I was quite ill for a time, but am doing much better. If all goes well, the next update should be the concluding chapter.
Chapter 5 - Your One And Only Life
"Everything old is new again."
Sloane looked over at Max, sitting in the passenger seat, as they sat at a red light on 37th Street. "I don't understand."
"That," Max said, pointing at a squeegee man wiping the windshield of a Jetta waiting at the red light on the other side of the intersection. "The squeegee guys are back."
Sloane looked at the bearded, disheveled man smearing the contents of a spray bottle across the windshield of the Jetta. "Yeah, when the squeegee guys return to New York. Sort of like when the swallows return to Capistrano, I guess. The place really is going downhill."
"And to think I passed up sunny LA for this," Max said jokingly.
"I've been to LA. It's overrated."
"Are you from California?"
"No. Ipswich, Massachusetts actually, but I was out there a few times visiting friends. Northern California's nice. The Bay Area is great, if you can afford to live there. You can keep LA."
"I'd still like to see it. Here I am back where I started."
The light changed, and Sloane moved through the intersection and past the squeegee man. "I thought you wanted to be near Ryan."
"I do."
"But? I mean, you've been kind of down since you talked to him. Something to do with Macedonia?"
"Am I that obvious?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Ok, well...Mike's in Macedonia, hunting for Mark Gray, or Moby Dick, or whatever, and so Ryan tried to slip a Macedonian bank account in with those Mob money transfers, and hoped I wouldn't notice."
"So Mike's hunting for Moby Dick or he's being a dick?"
Max laughed out loud. "Ryan's right. You are brutal. I mean, he could have just asked me to run the trace. I wasn't going to wig or anything."
"So it's over with Mike?"
"I guess."
"Well, I mean it's over or it isn't. Do you talk? Email?"
"No."
"Then it's over. And that's why you wanted LA."
Max nodded.
"This interview isn't going to take long. The guy's gonna roll over on his hacker buddies trying to cut five years off a fifteen year sentence. We tidy up some paperwork, and by then it'll be quitting time. We'll go out to Karlino's for drinks. You can meet some people. You're not alone here, OK? You're one of us now. Chris is going to drop by."
"Chris?"
"This guy I'm seeing."
"He's in the Bureau?"
"He's an artist. You do realize that there's over eight million people in New York City, and half of them are guys. Of course by the time you subtract out the ones who are married, gay, clueless..."
"I'm not looking for anyone right now."
"Then just have some drinks. You need to get out. You don't need to move across the country to restart your life. You can do that right here, starting now."
Max paused for a moment, looking at a young man with shoulder length blonde hair wearing ragged jeans and a T shirt that revealed sleeve tats sitting on the sidewalk. He held up a piece of cardboard that said BROKEASS WHITE BOY LIVING IN THE STREET. "Be it ever so squalid," she said, "there"s no place like home. OK, you're right. I need to get out. Drinks tonight."
"Good. I'll bet Mike's not sitting around."
II
The way back to Skopje was a lot easier and faster since it was downhill. They paused by the side of the road to let an ancient farm truck loaded with what looked like bales of straw rattle past, followed shortly after by a bus. Mike looked down from the side of the ridge they were on at a row of greenhouses below. "So what do you think?" he asked Erin as the bus receded into the distance towards Skopje.
"About the money?" Erin asked. "The real question is where did he get it. Who's paying him?"
"It's family money," Mike said. "Lily must have had it."
"You don't know that. He only took thirty thousand out of that Swiss account."
"There were other accounts."
" How much was in them? The accounts you've found so far, I mean"
Mike didn't answer.
"How much?" she repeated.
"Twenty, thirty, forty thousand. I found one that had sixty thousand."
"Spread all over to avoid attracting attention, I'm sure. And then he shows up with a hundred grand."
"It was cash. Multiple deposits. It could have come from more than one account."
"I don't think so," Erin replied. "Lily worked with other people sometimes. That Huntsman guy, for example. Remember him? And there were others. We have no idea who these guys are."
"They work for Mark. He must have hired them."
"Or they hired him."
"To do what?"
"Maybe they're literary agents and he's got a book deal. Cooking with the Gray family." When Mike started to object, she interrupted. "I'm joking, OK. But a hundred thousand is no joke. That's a lot of money. I just want to know where it came from."
"So do I, but we can ask him when we get him. The money had to come from Lily. What could this guy do for anyone that's worth a hundred thousand?"
"I don't know. But I want to talk to Dusko."
"We need to work fast, and you need to call in your team. With that kind of money, he could fade out and disappear for a long time."
"We also need to be careful," Erin said, "and make sure we're not being played."
"Being played how? Are you scared?"
"Yes," she said. "And you should be too. Because fear can keep you alive."
III
Eliza held her Walther on the startled woman. 'Remember me?" she asked.
Marta nodded slowly. "Who are you?"
"Your worst nightmare. Or just maybe your only friend." She nodded at the suitcase on the couch. "Taking a trip?"
"Zamir was asking about you. He said you killed his men."
"I did. Now tell me what you and Mark Gray are doing with a scumbag like Zamir Tolka."
"His name is Luke," Marta protested.
"That was his brother. And don't lie to me. I get angry when people lie to me."
"I was trying to help him," Marta said. "I thought that I could get him money and a new identity. And that I could help him kill the man who hunts him. Mike Weston."
"How?"
"Zamir is terrorist."
"No shit."
"He's being paid by someone very big. To start a war."
IV
Dusko walked slowly up the stairs to Zamir's flat on the Ulica Bogdan Kabulska. He'd gotten a text earlier in the day from a burner phone reminding him to check his email for a copy of the contracts. It was a signal from Zamir, summoning him to an emergency meeting. He had no idea what it was about, but it couldn't possibly be good.
The door opened on the first knock. A man with curly, disheveled brown hair and a short beard ushered him inside. Dusko didn't know his name, but recognized him. Zamir sometimes used him as a driver. Zamir might talk a good line about liberation, but Dusko suspected that this fellow had been a getaway driver for a robbery crew.
Zamir was sitting at the cheap particle board desk, looking at his phone, which was plugged into a outlet close by recharging. He turned the phone's screen off and rose. "Wait outside," he said to the driver.
"What's happened?" Dusko asked, when the man had gone.
"Complications," Zamir replied. "And a change of plans. First, two of my men have been killed."
"I thought Gray only killed one man."
"I should have said two more. This time it was a woman. Someone Gray and Marta met in that club. Marta claimed that they picked the woman up with the intention of killing her. I told two of my men to dispose of her since she was a potential witness. They took her to a quarry, but she got loose and killed both of them. Whoever she was, she never went to the police about it. Marta claims she was an American named Eliza. Is it possible that Marta is selling us out?"
"What do you mean?"Dusko asked.
"This woman was a professional. The only question is who she was working for. It can't be a coincidence that she was in the club with our two love birds. Perhaps she was looking for Mark Gray. Or perhaps she was looking for me."
"That's not possible," Dusko protested. "Marta wouldn't..."
"The Americans have put a rather large price on my head. She and Gray need money. Perhaps they are looking to collect."
"But the CIA sent someone to contact Mike Weston. She used the name Amanda Kirkland."
"This woman could be working for the British, or one of the other NATO countries," Zamir said. "She could also be a private contractor. A bounty hunter."
"If she's a bounty hunter, she could be looking for Gray. The Americans have a price on his head as well, and they know he's in Skopje. Maybe someone leaked. It has to be that. She got the information from the Americans. They leak all the time, and she's hoping to collect the reward."
"There's more," Zamir replied. "I've also learned that the Americans know about Mark Gray's account at the Strumica Komercijalni bank here in Macedonia. They're in contact with the Macedonian government, and they intend to seize the account if they can persuade the government here in Skopje to go along."
"How do you know this?"
Zamir gave a humorless smile. "As you point out, the Americans sometimes have trouble keeping a secret. My principals have sources of information, both here and in America. The FBI has been in contact with Skopje. They know about the money. FBI headquarters got a call from an agent named Ryan Hardy. He may have been contacted by Mike Weston."
"What are you going to do?" Dusko asked.
"If they seize the money, Mister Gray will be upset, but that's not a major concern at this point. In fact, having no money would make it harder for him to run, which makes him easier to eliminate. But this mystery woman...I don't like it. We have to move quickly. I want you to make contact with Mike Weston directly."
"How?"
"Weston isn't traveling under an alias," Zamir explained. "You can simply go to his hotel. Or call him on his phone, the number of which I can provide."
"And tell him what?"
"That Mark Gray is leaving Skopje, and he must act quickly. So we can lure him into an ambush."
"But if I do that," Dusko protested, "I'm practically announcing to the Americans that I betrayed Weston."
"And if you don't," Zamir replied, "I will take it as proof that you and Marta have betrayed me."
"Why do we have to make direct contact with Weston?"
"Because he is obsessed with finding the man who killed his father. If the Americans know about the bank account, they may suspect that something is up. But Weston is a man with a mission. He will throw caution to the winds for a chance at getting Gray."
"Please, Zamir. You have men. Put Weston under surveillance. Stalk him, wait for the opportune moment. We'll get a chance, and I won't be exposed. Give it a little more time"
"No. We have to move quickly. Before anything else can go wrong. You will do this. Because in the end, it is safer to betray the Americans, take your money, and disappear, than to betray me. Do you know anything, about this CIA agent Weston is working with?"
"No," Dusko said. "I know all their resident people on sight, and I've never seen her before. She's someone they've brought in. Someone important, I think. I sent you a picture. It was taken when she first met Weston at the museum. I had him followed. Could she be this Eliza person you spoke of?"
"No," Zamir said. "Eliza was a brunette. You didn't have Weston and American woman followed after they left the museum?"
"No," Dusko replied. "They were meeting me later, and I was afraid my man would be noticed."
"And yet you urge me to do what you were afraid to attempt," Zamir said disgustedly. "The Americans have a word for people like you. A shitweasel."
Zamir studied Dusko as if he were weighing whether the satisfaction of killing him would be worth the disposal job. " It's up to you," he said at last. "I suppose I misjudged you. If you're afraid to go through with it, then just say so. And refund the front money I paid you, and I mean every penney of it. I'll eliminate Gray and Marta. You can give the Americans whatever explanation you like for why you didn't come through. Maybe Mike Weston will let the matter drop, or maybe it will take a while for your arm to get straightened out again. Or maybe this CIA woman will decide it would be best if you ended up at the bottom of Matka Canyon."
"All right," Dusko said. " I've burned my bridges. I'll do it Do you want me to lure him to the safe house?"
"I'm starting to wonder," Zamir said, "how you've stayed alive and in business this long. I want him brought there. I'll give you some men. Capture somewhere else, in case he tells someone where he's gone. Besides, Gray is as volatile as benzene. He can have his fun with Weston, but I don't want him getting excited at the wrong time."
V
Eliza sat in a ratty club chair upholstered with black vinyl patched with electrician's tape. Eliza stared intently at Marta, who sat across the room on the couch, keeping her covered with the Walther in case Marta got ideas. "So this all started because Zamir realized that Weston would do literally anything to get his hands on Mark Gray."
"That's right," Marta replied. "I met Mark, and as I got to know him, I realized how he'd been wronged. And I wanted to help. I worked for Dusko long before I met Mark, and when I went to him, it was because I thought he could help Mark stay ahead of the people hunting him. Mark had some money, and Dusko knew document forgers. People who could sell you a new identity. I told him that Mark could pay, and I wanted him to help so that we could be together."
"Did you tell Mark ahead of time before you raised the subject with Dusko?"
Marta hesitated just long enough to answer the question without answering.
"So you just assumed that good old Dusko would help out instead of trying to collect the reward money by ratting Mark to the FBI."
"I didn't know any other way Mark and I could be together," Marta said miserably.
"So Dusko took this to Zamir before you ever even discussed what you were planning with Mark."
Marta nodded silently.
"Out of morbid curiosity, how much were you paid up front for getting Mark into this?"
'I got twenty thousand dollars at first. Twenty more after Dusko met with Zamir and Zamir approved the plan."
"So forty K for you, a hundred for Mark, and of course Dusko had to wet his beak. Who's paying for all this?"
"Only Zamir knows that."
"So Mike Weston goes into the bag and then what?"
"He will die in a torture video, after confessing to being involved in a plan to kidnap Gray and others from Macedonia, a country which has no extradition treaty with the United States."
"Others?"
"Yes. It's a false flag operation. * Zamir's men will be disguised as Islamist terrorists. They'll have masks, black flags and other props. They're going to pin this on the Muslimss. The claim will be that the US was planning to kidnap suspected jihadists from Macedonia without a warrant, or even filing formal charges. And Zamir's men will conduct other strikes that will be blamed on Muslim terrorists. The plan is to incite religious and ethnic killing. It probably won't take much. And America will come in for blame as well. They'll have been caught at illegal kidnaps and renditions. They'll come in for blame when the killing starts. And Americans will become targets as well. Mike Weston's obsession will lead him into a trap, and his death will help light the fuse on the bomb that Zamir is planting."
Eliza thought over what she'd just been told. The plan was insane, but maybe just insane enough to work. The FBI tries to grab Mark Gray in a nonextradition country and gets caught at it. A nonextradition country with a sizable Muslim population. That serves to support the claim that the Americans are in town, doing renditions. So do some false flag attacks, blame them on Muslims, and claim the Americans are grabbing Muslims off the streets. Muslims who haven't done a damn thing. Maybe even snatch or hit few of those very same Muslims yourself.
She'd always doubted the wisdom of renditions, but that hadn't kept her from accepting money from the CIA for her company, ZR, to do a few of them. The customer is always right, after all.
"How will they take Mike Weston?"
"Dusko will give them the location of a safe house, if he hasn't already. Mark will be moved about some, so that he can be seen, and Weston can confirm his presence. In the meantime, Weston will be targeted himself. He isn't disguised, and he's traveling under his own name. They'll pick a time and a place, and take him."
"And after," Eliza said, " you and Mark will go away to some warm and friendly place with all the money you've made, and live happily ever after, because they're just going to let you walk away when all this is done. I hate to be the one to break it to you, but wishful thinking is not a plan. Whoever's behind this isn't planning to leave any witnesses."
"I know," Marta nodded miserably. "But they've got us."
"No. They don't. You say Zamir is planning to start a war. Well, he already has started a war. With me."
"Who are you?" Marta asked. "Who do you work for?"
"Dr Arthur Strauss sent me. To bring Mark home, so that he and the Doctor can have their vengeance. On Mike Weston, on Ryan Hardy, and on Ryan Hardy's niece."
"Arthur Strauss is in jail."
"Yes, he is. And yet here I am, helping to carry out his plan. And that should tell you everything you need to know about his reach and his power. His students and his Followers have shown what they can do. Doctor Strauss has not been convicted, and he never will be. Because with Mark's help, and yours, he can walk out of that courtroom a free man, and strike down his enemies, and make examples of Ryan Hardy and everyone he cares about. I know you, Marta. I was you, once. I came all this way because Doctor Strauss' emissary came to me, and told me that he needed my help, and I answered his call. We will set him free. Help us, and you and Mark can be free of all of this. Help us, and you can be what you were meant to be. A predator, and not a pawn. I know it's hard to trust, and I know it seems like a lot to ask. They offered you money. I'm offering the chance to be the person you want to be."
She unscrewed the silencer from the end of her Walther and put it in her pocket. She put the pistol back in its shoulder holster, and stood.
"It's your decision, and I'll respect it. If the answer is no, then I understand. I'll leave you alone. You can even tell them about me. I'm not afraid of them. I don't need to be, and I don't want you putting yourself at risk for me unless you really want to. I won't lie to you. This won't be safe or easy. But if I didn't think it could be done, I wouldn't be here."
Marta practically leaped off the couch, ran to Eliza, and threw her arms around her. "It's OK," Eliza said, as she held the sobbing woman in her arms. "It's gonna be OK. Now tell me everything you can about this safe house, and Zamir and his men."
VI
They turned in their bikes in at the hotel. Rachit, who was still working, asked about their trip. Erin described, in glowing terms, the the scenic beauty of Matka Canyon. Rachit was pretty talkative, since he was about to leave for the day and turn things over Mrs Breznika, who ran the hotel along with her husband. While Rachit and Erin talked about bike trips, Mike turned the bikes in to Mrs. Breznika. He found himself trying to guess her age. Her husband had been manning the desk when he had checked in. At first he thought she was a lot younger than her husband, but looking at her, he realized that she was probably in her early forties. But with her high cheekbones, dark eyes, and long black hair tied back in a braid, she was more beautiful than most women manage to be in their twenties.
"You wanted some food," Mike said, as they walked away from the desk.
"Yeah, but let's go to your room for a second first."
"Sure."
With the door closed behind them, Erin stood for a moment, composing her thoughts.
"I want to help you," she said. "I know this is important to you, and I want to get this guy. The information about the bank account is useful, and I appreciate the fact that you took the lead in getting it. But I need to know that I can trust you."
"You can. I'm sorry about...what I did. I know it was wrong. I"ve never been so close to getting Mark. And if I can get him, I can go home."
"You can go home now," she said. "There's nothing stopping you."
"No. Not with Mark still out there. Are you going to call in your team on that safe house?"
"Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Because," she said, "the original tip about Gray came from Marta Pandev , but she never said anything about him working with anyone. So there's three possibilities. She didn't know about those guys, or they showed up after her last contact with Dusko, or this is some kind of a setup."
" I've been hunting him for months. I'm this close, and if you would just make the call..."
"Mike," she interrupted. "He's hunting you. Don't ever forget that. The Grays, Joe Caroll, Strauss, all the people you hunted. They hunted you back. That hasn't changed. Mark's not alone, we know that now. And even if he was...he's still a hunter and a killer. He's hunting you right now. The fact that you got most of the Gray family doesn't change anything. The fact that Strauss and Joe Caroll are in jail doesn't change anything. He's still hunting you. All the time. And if you ever forget that, if you ever let down your guard, then suddenly he'll be there. And you won't even see it coming."
"I have a feeling you know a lot about hunting," Mike said, smiling.
"Damn right. You know, among lions, it's the females who do most of the hunting."
"So what do the males do?"
"They spray to mark their territory. Also they fight hyenas, and they help make little lions."
"Are there any hyenas in Skopje?" Mike asked.
"If I see one, I'll let you know. Come on, I'm hungry. Later, I'll try to set up a meet with Dusko."
"I want to be there," Mike said.
"You will be. I'll leave a mark for him at a place we've agreed. I'll text you. 'Drinks at Distrikt 14. One hour.' That means you should meet me at the statue of Alexander The Great downtown in two hours. We'll go on to meet Dusko from there."
VII
After lunch in a café near Mike's hotel, Erin stopped and left the mark she had promised, a piece of tape on a lamppost, and returned to the safe house on the Ulica Dusko Popov. She went to the safe where she'd kept the gun she'd issued to Mike. She opened it and took out a tablet computer. It was a prominent name brand that you could buy in a store or online, but it had been modified to have certain special functions courtesy of the Agency's Technical Services Division.
She sat down on the living room couch and turned on the computer. When the screen came up she launched a hidden program that showed a login screen. She put in the required username and password and a keypad appeared. She began composing a message. When she was done, she hit Send. Her message would be encrypted and transmitted in a short burst of less than a second, making detection and direction finding of her location by an enemy impossible. She logged off, shut down the computer, and returned it to the safe.
She went to take a shower. Afterwards, she slipped into a robe, went back to the safe, and removed the tablet. She booted it up, launched the hidden program, and logged back in. She checked for new messages, and found one informing her that her request had been approved, and was being acted on. She smiled, returned the tablet to the hidden safe, and went to find something to wear.
VIII
"So the number of men at the safe house varies?" Eliza asked.
"Yes. There's normally at least two minders, but sometimes there are a lot more. I don't know how many men Zamir has all told." Marta replied.
"How much time do you think we have before they take Mike Weston?"
"It will be very soon I think. I believe they were expecting to move on him in a week or so, but Zamir is paranoid now that you have killed his men. He'll want to move quickly.".
"You don't have a key to the safe house?"
"No."
"And they don't let you have a cell phone while you're there?"
"No. They'll take my phone so that it can't be used to track my location, and I can't call for help."
"So it has to be tonight, then. Where does Mark sleep?"
"Upstairs. The room is in the back of the house."
"OK. If Mark is in the house, then leave the light on in your bedroom, and the curtain open. Prop that," she said, pointing at Marta's Kindle "in the bedroom window, so that I know, when I come through the door, that Mark is there. Don't tell Mark that we're coming. Not until we actually hit the place."
"And after? What about passports?"
"'I've got that covered," Eliza said. "Mark will have a French passport waiting for him. It'll just be a matter of adding a photograph. I can arrange one for you. I'm not sure yet what the nationality will be, but we have people we can go to when we need papers on short notice. I've got our escape route planned. We'll drive across the border to a country where I have contacts. You don't need to know which one yet. From there we go by plane to the States. Now you understand that there's no baggage because there's no time. You're leaving everything behind and starting a new life. Understand?"
"I understand. And thank you."
"You better grab that bag and go," Eliza said. "Don't keep them waiting. You leave first, and that way, if they're watching this place, they'll see you, and follow you. I'll let myself out after you've gone."
IX
There wasn't much to do except wait for Erin to text, and Mike was at loose ends. He'd eaten, and he sat alone in his hotel room, pacing the afternoon away, checking his phone repeatedly, and going over the morning's events.
By now, Erin had guessed that he had no intention of bringing Mark back alive. So she might decide to call in her team on the safe house and try to take Mark without him. She could be on whatever the hell piece of spy tech she used to communicate with her bosses telling them that he should be yanked out of the field. She could be sending a message to the Bureau that she wouldn't work with him anymore now that he had shown he was willing to disregard orders. He cursed himself for pulling that break in. What had he expected to find?
Maybe something about the men he'd seen with Mark. Followers? Mark had apparently attracted Marta Pandev to him before whatever happened to her happened. Maybe he had attracted other followers as well. Even if Marta could be trusted, even if she was still alive, the fact was that if Joe could have a cult around him, if Lily Gray could operate her own serial killer family, how far could it go? The Bureau had always been used to thinking of serial killers as lone wolves. But there had been a cult. There had been a family. What else could there be? Some sort of organization?
Knock off the paranoia. Gray's a fugitive with money. Take away the money and he's a fugitive who's broke with no way to keep running.
So what could he do? Could he go back to the safe house, break in alone, and do the job himself? He could kill Mark, and tell the Bureau that he'd been shot resisting. If they asked him why he didn't tell Erin, he could say that he was afraid that Erin wasn't going to make the call in time. Could he get away with it? Ryan probably could, he thought sourly. In career terms the man had nine lives minus the seven or eight he'd used up already. OK, so that was an option but it was the option of last resort.
Looking back, he was ashamed of even asking Erin if she was afraid.. She wasn't likely to be afraid of Mark or much of anything else. But she wasn't in the FBI. She was spy. She said she knew a lot about hunting, but there was another side to that coin. She was also used to being hunted. If she got caught, she was looking at prison or worse. So naturally she'd be careful. And she wasn't Ryan or Max. If one of them had been with him at the safe house, they'd have ambushed Mark when he came back.
The thought of Max practically hurt. He'd missed her every day he'd been gone, and he'd hated himself for hurting her. If she were here, she would have given him seven different kinds of hell for risking the break in. But she would have gone along, if only to watch his back. And if she were here, he wouldn't be alone all the time. So why not call her? Because he'd hurt her? No, it wasn't just that. It was, he realized, because deep inside, he didn't think he deserved her.
His phone rang. He looked down, suddenly aware that he'd been holding it in his hand as he thought of Max. Had he been about to call her? He stared dumbly at the phone, seeing a completely unfamiliar number. Erin?
"Hello?" he said cautiously.
"Mr Weston," a familiar voice said. "It's Dusko Ivanovich. Do you remember me?"
"Yes. I remember. How did you get this number?"
"I have my sources. I'm calling you because there has been a change of plans. Our mutual friend is leaving town on short notice. I know you were looking forward to meeting him, but apparently he has urgent business far away."
"I'm very sorry to hear it," Mike replied. "When is he leaving?"
"Tonight, I'm afraid. I'm sorry to say that your business partner is simply taking too long, and that our chance to close the deal is slipping away. Should that happen, I won't get the payment I was counting on. I was wondering if there was any chance of us getting together on short notice. I should very much like to salvage this deal."
"I'd like that too. Where and when?"
"There is a bar on the Ulica Smernenski. It's called Svercuvani."
"Spell it."
Dusko spelled the word while Mike wrote it down. "The word means bootleg," he explained.
"Well that figures," Mike said, thinking about Erin's remark that they were all criminals. "I'm on the way."
He hung up and got his Glock off the tiny nightstand. He stopped for a moment, and thought about what Erin had said. Could it be a setup? Maybe. But he knew Mark was here, and Dusko had to want the reward money. He stuffed the Glock in its holster into his waistband, pulled his shirt down to cover it, and headed out the door.
X
When one of Zamir's men opened the door to let Marta into the safe house with her small suitcase of clothes and toiletries in hand, the first thing she noticed was the smell of spices. She knew Mark was cooking again, because Zamir's guys tended to live on some combination of takeout and junk food. She went upstairs to put her suitcase and belongings away and heard Mark's voice coming from the bathroom.
"You would have been proud of me. They ruined dinner, so I ruined their whole night. I went out today with a couple of different guys, and we ran some errands. Mostly they wanted me moving around because the rat needs to see the cheese. But we also went to the market and I got some stew beef and chiles, and so it's beef vindaloo tonight. And you know something? They didn't bother me not one single time. I mean, they stayed out of the kitchen. Gave it a wide berth.
"But I have to tell you that for everything that's happened, I wouldn't trade the experience for anything. Travel is broadening. I mean, you get to see the world, meet all kinds of different people. Once in a while, you have to kill some them, but that's just how it is, you know? And that's good too. Because you can look back and say that you killed all over the world. It's a good feeling. You learn that people speak different languages, have different customs, different religious beliefs. But you know something? It doesn't matter. Because we all bleed the same color. Blood's red, everywhere you go."
She tapped lightly on the bathroom door. "I'm back."
The door opened a moment later, and she found herself facing Mark, a towel arapped around his hips and his face half covered with shaving cream. His hair was damp and slicked back. The bathroom was steamy inside, and spot in the fogged up mirror had been wiped clean enough to show a hazy reflection. A folded up straight razor sat on the bathroom counter. "Hey," he said cheerfully. "Come on in. You're letting the warm air out."
She stepped inside. "Who were you talking to?" she asked.
"I was just telling Luke about my day. We're having beef vindaloo tonight. And those assholes left me alone while I was cooking this time. It'll be done in another hour."
She looked around uncertainly. Luke couldn't possibly be here, but there was nothing to be gained by pointing that out. She watched as he unfolded the razor, and began stropping it on the leather strap hanging from the wall. She stared as he did, partly out of awe at his skill with the razor, and partly because the sight of him in a towel was mad hot.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Never seen a man shave before?"
"Not with one of those, no."
'It's easy. So you're just gonna watch me shave?"
"Actually," she grinned, "I'm just waiting to see if your lips drop off in the sink. And I like looking at handsome men."
He ran the razor over his face in short, precise strokes. "Maybe I'll shave your legs with it sometime."
"If you get through this without a trip to the emergency room, I'll think about it." As the lather gradually disappeared, revealing his face beneath, she thought about what Eliza had said. No secrets. Not from him. And we're alone, for a moment.
She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. "I like you clean shaven. You have a perfect face.. I'm sorry you've had to hide it." She leaned in closer, not quite touching him, much as she wanted to. "We're alone, so I can tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"The woman from the club. She survived, and came to see me. She works for Arthur Strauss."
Mark's hand stopped in mid stroke. He placed the razor back on the counter carefully, and faced her. "Dr Arthur Strauss?"
"Somehow he has found you, and sent people to bring you back to America. To help him get his revenge. On Ryan Hardy. On Weston. On Max. They are coming for us very soon. And when they come, I think they'll need your help."
Mark turned to face the mirror. "Did you hear that?" he asked his reflection. "We're going home. And we're going to kill them all."
He took a towel and wiped the remaining lather from his face. The lather, and maybe, Marta thought, tears of joy.
XI
Eliza used the bed in Juliana's hotel room as a conference table. An open laptop sat on it, along with a diagram of the area around the safe house where Mark was staying.
"Ok, Eliza said, "Juliana, you'll stay in the car with Stinnes. When we get the love birds into the car, you'll introduce yourself as the personal representative of Dr Strauss. I work for you, I'm just one of your mooks. It's bad enough that they saw my face, but they don't need to know I'm in charge. Now the plan is that when we leave, the group breaks up. Stinnes and Kaminsky will take them over the Bulgarian border by car. I'll call and have papers arranged for Marta. When they have their papers, they'll be given some money and plane tickets. They come back alone, separate from Stinnes and Kaminsky. You'll meet them when they land in the States. It'll be in Boston. I'll go over the instructions you'll give them. We'll arrange the flight to coincide with a time when you can meet them. These two," she gestured at Stinnes and Kaminsky, "come back on a different flight. I don't want Customs seeing them with Gray and Pandev. Now we have to take two cars. I'll go with Kaminsky, and you two will hang back until after we get in position.
"You'll pack your stuff and put it in the trunks. We aren't coming back here. We'll meet at that place where I bought the second batch of weapons from Dragon. I've cleared it with him. We'll count noses there, and if anyone is hurt, we'll do some quick first aid, hopefully enough to last until we make it over the border. I can arrange medical care there if it comes to that." She saw Juliana looking at her with a combination of shock and alarm. "What?" she asked sharply.
"Medical care?" Juliana asked.
"I plan for everything," Eliza said. "Just remember that you can tell how scared you have a right to be by looking at me. If I look scared, then you have a right to be."
"Does anything scare you?" Juliana asked.
"I didn't say I was never afraid," Eliza replied. "Just play your part. We'll do the hard stuff. And after, you'll have...Arthur, and I'll have what I want. Doctor Strauss will have his revenge, and so will Mark. Just make it through this, and it's gravy. Win win all around. For everyone except Ryan Hardy and his crew."
XII
Mike took a cab to a spot a couple of blocks from Svercuvani and walked the rest of the way. He wanted to approach on foot, cautiously, and see if anyone or anything looked like a setup. He'd considered calling Erin for backup, but before he did, he wanted to size Dusko up for himself. The street was narrow, with brick sidewalks, and buildings of five or six stories on either side. The ground floors were small shops, but the upper stories were mostly apartments. Ahead on the left was a red awning sheltering a few small outside tables. At one of the tables, three men were sitting and drinking. That must be the bar, although there was no sign outside. Above it was a sign in English on a second story window that said Beauty Parlor. A balcony above that was being used by someone to hang laundry.
The red awning was at the right hand corner of the building. Next to it, Mike noted, was an alley that sloped sharply downhill to a basement delivery entrance. He'd keep that in mind as a possible escape route in case this turned out to be some sort of trap. The three men at the outside table were having an animated conversation and didn't seem to be paying him any attention. One of them was wearing an orange safety vest. He might have been a construction worker froma site down the street enjoying a drink after work. No one seemed to be watching the entrance. A few cars were parked along the side of the street, but none seemed to be occupied. Several bikes were parked nearby. More bikes than cars, actually. No sign of surveillance so far. He stepped into the bar.
Dusko was sitting in a booth near the back, a mostly empty glass of beer in front of him, along with an open magazine. He was wearing a charcoal suit jacket and pants, and a light blue shirt with no tie. He might have just come from an office cubicle somewhere and stopped for a drink after work.
Dusko looked up from his magazine, glanced at Mike, and returned to his reading. Mike sat down across from him, and Dusko looked up again. "The Economist," he explained, tapping the magazine with the index finger of his right hand. "I was just reading an article about the need for companies to be nimble. So many opportunities for deals are lost because decisions cannot be made in time."
"I've made my decision," Mike said. "This deal is going down. Tell me what happened."
"Gray's been tipped off. Apparently your government has been in contact with the government here in Skopje about a bank account belonging to Mark Gray at the Strumica Komercijalni. Someone apparently told Gray. You must understand, Mr Weston, that we have problems here with corruption. Gray may have a source at the bank. Or even the government. He has money, and people can be bought. When he learned about the plans to seize the account, he began making preparations for departure."
"Who told you this?"
"Marta Pandev. She's alive."
"Why isn't she here?"
"Why do you think? Gray suspects everyone."
"But she's still alive."
"Yes, but she can't get away long enough to be here in person. She contacted me during a brief trip out."
"Gray's working with some guys. I saw them. Who are they? And what was going on that safe house?"
"As I told you," Dusko replied, "Gray has developed contacts in Skopje's criminal underworld. And he's recruiting what you would call followers."
"Is Marta one of them?
"I honestly don't know."
"But you're passing along information she gives you."
"Mr Weston, I need the money. If Gray escapes, your government will pay me nothing. They've paid me little enough as it is, and I'm risking my life. Mark Gray is worth a lot of money to me, and I don't think Ms Kirkland will act in time. This is just another job to her. I think it's more than that to you. And to me as well. I've had business losses. I need the money. And that's why you can trust me."
"Is he still at that safe house?"
"No. Once he learned the FBI was on to the bank account he moved, since he didn't know what else they might be on to. But he's still in Skopje. I've got an address. There's a place off the Ulica 814. It's called Metalski Boro Nakov. It used to be a valve manufacturing plant. Gray is there. I can help you get him. But you must give me your word that you'll go to the FBI and see that I'm paid the reward money they offered. If I'm going to put my one and only life on the line to catch this animal, then there has to be money in it."
"You'll get half," Mike said. "If Marta's alive, then she's getting half. Because she's taking a huge risk. It's not just your one and only life. It's hers too."
"I will compensate her when the reward is paid," Dusko replied. "She works for me."
"This is nonnegotiable," Mike said. "Half. Take it or leave it."
Dusko stared at Mike for a moment, considering his options. "All right, Mr Weston. Half. My car is down the street."
Dusko left some money on the table and they walked out, passing the men at the outside table and heading down the street to a silver Peugeot 508. Dusko got behind the wheel, and opened the glove compartment, removing a blued SIG P230. He stuck it, Mexican style, into the waistband of his pants, started the motor, and headed down the narrow empty street.
XIII
Zamir sat in the passenger seat while Ratko, his driver, took them to the safe house. Zamir watched the darkened countryside around them pass by while Ratko listened to music on a phone plugged into the aux port. Something or other in the hard rock line that Zamir didn't recognize. Normally he didn't mind Ratko's taste in music, but this wasn't exactly a normal evening. "Turn that off," he said.
Ratko hit the off button on the dash. "Sorry," he said.
"I'll be happier when Dusko actually brings Weston in."
'He will. Don't worry, the guys you sent are good. All Dusko has to do is get Weston there."
"I wish we could have done this without involving Gray, but this was the easiest way to catch the Americans out in something. Dangle the object of Weston's obsession in front of him."
"Most certainly," Ratko said. "But I wonder. Weston happened very conveniently for us. How could they have known ahead of time that the FBI would send Weston? Or did they? Or did they arrange for him to be sent?"
"I don't know," Zamir replied. "And if I did I'm sure I couldn't tell you. And It would not occur to me to ask, because such questions are dangerous."
Ratko turned into the driveway of the safe house and pulled up in front of the garage, He pressed a button on a remote clipped to the sun visor and the door began to open. He pulled inside and killed the engine. Zamir got out and turned toward the open garage door facing the house, and stopped, staring.
Ratko began walking towards a glowing red button on the wall that operated the garage door. As he was about to press it, Zamir held up his hand. "Wait."
"What's wrong?" Ratko asked. Zamir made no reply, and stood staring at the house. He walked forward, stepping just outside the garage, looking at the back of the house.
"What is it?" Ratko asked. Zamir held up his hand for silence, and then motioned Ratko over. "Look at that," he said. You see the upstairs window?" The curtain's open, and the light's on."
"So?"
"So most women close the curtain for privacy. And there's something there. A digital antenna? Or a laptop perhaps?"
He continued to stare for a moment, and then turned and walked back into the garage. "In here," he said to Ratko. "And close the door."
Ratko moved to obey while Zamir fished out his phone. He placed a call one of the men in the house. "I'm back.," he said. "I'll be in the house in a few minutes. Did Marta go out today?"
"Yes."
"Did she take her car?"
"Sure, but she brought it back. It's in the garage."
"So I see. She's there now?"
"Sure. They both are. What's going on?"
"Probably nothing. Just wait until I get in, and don't mention that I called."
"What's this all about?" Ratko asked.
"It's that bedroom window. Like a signal. Marta met Mark Gray in a club the night Gray killed Petar. There was a woman.. Marta said they picked her up, and that Gray planned to kill her. The woman was a professional. But if it wasn't a coincidence, how did she know where to find them?"
Ratko shook his head dumbly.
"I am a fool," Zamir said at last. "You used to steal cars did you not?"
"Among other things."
"So you can hot wire them."
"Of course."
"Hot wire hers. Don't start it, just turn the ignition on. I want to listen to the radio."
Ratko got some tools out of the trunk of the car he had been driving and went to work. Within minutes he had the car doors open and the ignition on. Zamir got into the driver's seat, turned on the radio, and began searching through the AM radio stations. "What are you doing?" Ratko asked.
"Quiet," Zamir said angrily. He turned the knob slowly, advancing through the AM frequencies until he found a setting that returned mostly static, with only the occasional faint sound of some distant station that was far out of range. He sat and listened intently. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
"Hear what?"
"A ticking sound."
A few seconds passed, and comprehension dawned on Ratko's face as he too heard the sound. A faint regular ticking, clearly audible against the background static.
"A signal," Zamir said. "This car has been fitted with a tracker bug."
XIV
Marta sat at the dining room table, watching Mark open a chilled bottle of wine. The beef vindaloo, sitting in a heavy covered pot on top of the stove smelled delicious. Mark had never cooked for her before, and she was beginning to understand that she'd been missing out. The rice was yellow from the spices he'd added. She thought she recognized the scent of ground coriander. The salad was fresh, with an oil based dressing. She wondered if he'd made the dressing himself.
Mark was chipper, and had actually put on a suit and tie. Marta wished she'd brought something a little dressier from her flat, but she'd packed hurriedly. She wore loose white pants, a bohemian top with a scooped neck and floral pattern, and flat heeled sandals. Mark was talking about how the other men had stayed the hell out of the kitchen and couldn't have any. It was hard to tell if he was prouder of his cooking or having intimidated Zamir's thugs into giving him a wide berth while he was cooking. He was, she realized, excited about going home.
Mark spooned beef vindaloo on top of a helping of rice, and put it in front of Marta along with the side salad and a small triangle of pita bread. She took a sip of her wine, a beautiful cabernet sauvignon.
Mark prepared a plate for himself and sat down across the table from her. He lifted his wine glass. "To the future," he said. "Because we have one."
"I doubt that very much, Mr Gray." Zamir strode into the room with Ratko and three other men behind him. "This is the second time you have disappointed me. It will be the last."
Ratko moved to stand behind Marta, while two other hoods drew pistols, and stood covering Mark. "What is this?" Mark demanded.
"You've betrayed me, both of you. Zamir replied. "I had come to tell you that Mike Weston will be delivered here shortly. Instead I have to ask you, Marta who you've been in contact with, and who has been tracking your car. And I assure you that you're going to tell me."
XV
Every city in the world has to have the bad part that it's best to stay out of, and Mike realized that Dusko was driving him into that part of Skopje. The street was narrow, and lined with what looked like hedges. On closer examination, Mike realized, it was weeds and vegetation growing up around a chain link fence that never got cut back. There were small crackerbox sized houses, many in poor condition. One looked like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. Ahead were what looked like Quonset huts on either side of the road and parallel to it, covered with a combination of rust and graffiti. Dusko pulled over and stopped.
"It's up ahead," he explained. This is mostly disused"
"Mostly?"
"There can be the homeless. The drunk. There can be local gangs. Squatters move in here sometimes. That's likely why he picked it. No paper trail while he arranges documents for his escape route. He's in one of these metal buildings ahead. It's the one on the right. He's set up a safe house inside. It's temporary. Until he leaves."
"Anyone with him?" Mike asked. "Besides Marta. I saw guys earlier. And you said something about followers."
"There could be a couple of men. Look, if you want him, if you want to help Marta, if you want to get him before he escapes, that's where he is. They've a living area fixed up inside. The windows are blacked out."
Mike looked at the metal buildings ahead. The street was poorly lit. he could hear a dog barking in the distance. He thought about what Erin had said, that Mark was hunting him. All the more reason then, to end this here. "How many entrances?"
"Two," Dusko replied. "One at each end."
"Take the door on the near side. Cover it. Don't let him come out. I'll kick in the door on the far side. Come in when you hear me."
"Right." Dusko started to walk towards the building, but Mike took hold of his sleeve and stopped him. "What?" Dusko asked.
'Be careful with that piece. If Marta were to take a stray round you might have trouble collecting that money. Understand?"
Dusko looked at him for moment with venom in his eyes. "I understand," he said.
"Good. Let's go."
Mike started down the street, Dusko peeling off and heading to his right. Mike stayed close to the fence on the left side of the road. The street was poorly lit, and he wated to keep some distance from the building until he got to the far side entrance. Someone might be looking out, and Mark knew him on sight. He wished he'd brought a hoodie or something help disguise his appearance.
He should have stopped to plan this better. As he passed the end of the building, he thought about Erin. She'd say that he shouldn't go through that door alone. Someone should have his back in case of an ambush. And she'd be right. He'd feel better if were here, and yet...
The bastard killed my father. I'll be the one who kills him.
He rounded the corner of the building. He cautiously crossed the road, drew his Glock, and walked past the door. He peered around the far corner of the building and looked along it;s curving side towards the far end. No one was there. He didn't see Dusko. Of course he didn't, because he was covering the other door. Get a grip, Weston. Go through that door, and this is over.
The door was wood, with the word SEXY spray painted on it in white, along with some Cyrillic graffiti in red. Mike kicked the door hard just to the left fo the S in sexy, and found himself in a pitch black room. The little bit of light that came throught he door revealed some empty shelves on the far wall along couple of sawhorses and a wheelbarrow. There was a door on the far wall, but before he could reach it a blow to the back of his head sent him pitching forward and his face hit the floor hard. The room, which had been dark, was lit by the colored stars that swam before his eyes. But the stars didn't illuminate anything, they just made it impossible to see anything else.
XVI
Mike felt himself being hauled up by two sets of hands holding onto his arms from behind. He tried to struggle, but whoever they were, but he was too weak and dazed. Or maybe they were as strong as gorillas. Or maybe they were gorillas. His felt his wrists being held together behind his back. Zip ties.
He could vaguely see someone in the gloom, standing in front of him. His vision was starting to clear a bit, and tried to focus on the face before him to see if it really was a gorilla. Nope, not a gorilla. It was Dusko.
"Something you should have remembered, Mr Weston. You may be an FBI agent, but you're only above the law in America. You can break whatever rules you like in America. You can even execute people without a trial in America. Because you're the FBI. Here, however... Do you have any idea how much the rest of the world resents Americans placing themselves above the law? I'm sure Mark Gray is an evil man, and I have no doubt that he wronged you. But you are not above the law."
"I don't exactly get the feeling," Mike said, "that you're about to read me my rights and give me my phone call."
"I'm not. Actually, I'm about to hand you over to Mark Gray. Do you believe in God, Mr Weston? You'll be praying to him very soon. You'll be praying to him for death."
Musical Interlude - Destroy by The Dreaming
======================== Chapter Notes =============================
*False Flags and Renditions
I've said before that I don't do political messages in my fanfics, ever, and I've also said that no one should try to infer anything about my personal political beliefs based on anything I put in a fanfic. The events of this fic are an attempt to fill in a gap in the canon, and not an attempt for me to get up on a soap box and do politics. Because the story takes place overseas, it was useful to bring in some real world issues,, but they are used for storytelling, and not political purposes.
False flag operations are operations that are disguised so as to point the blame for the operation at some innocent third party. They're real, and they happen. But it is a sad fact that in the world we live in, almost any act of terrorism or any especially shocking crime will accompanied by assorted internet trolls and whack jobs explaining how it was really a false flag, and laying out some bogus conspiracy theory. False flags are occasional but real. False claims of false flags are a constant.
Remember two things. When you hear hooves, you should probably think horses and not zebras. And remember the words of Dr Carl Sagan. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof.
Rendition is the practice of capturing a suspected terrorist or criminal, and instead of trying them, moving them secretly to another country with more lax regulations regarding the humane treatment of prisoners. This allows them to be subjected to a much harsher interrogation than would be the case if the country who captured them kept them itself.
Regarding kidnaps and renditions, it is a fact that America has sometimes grabbed suspects (Usually for terrorism) without a lot of regard for due process. There are reasons why America has done this, and some of them are good ones, but the matter is controversial, and the practice has produced both real resentment and the occasional diplomatic incident.
Tracker Bugs and AM Radio:
A tracker bug is nothing but a radio transmitter sending out a signal that can be located by someone receiving it. Not all trackers produce AM radio interference, but all trackers must send out a signal, and there's always a chance of the wrong person picking it up.
25
