got up and started to leave.
Lehan spoke directly to Viktor Bardzecki, “Viktor, a word please.”
Viktor hesitated then sat back down.
When the room was cleared, Maria walked out last and closed the door behind her, leaving Lehan and Bardzecki alone at the table.
Bardzecki could not bring himself to look at Lehan. He sat staring at the file in front of him.
Lehan stood and walked around the table until he was directly in front of Viktor. He placed his hands down on its polished top and stared intently at the man. His wire-rimmed glasses perched at the edge of his nose.
“Viktor, I have no doubt you are wondering why the file in front of you contains blank sheets of paper?”
Viktor looked up. He slipped back into Russian as he was so nervous. “Da,” he answered quietly.
Lehan sat down. “Viktor, my old friend, I needed to look straight into your eyes when I ask you what I am about to ask you. Do you take full responsibility for the disappearance of my best friend? Think before you answer for I will know the truth.”
“Da, da, I do, and I am sorry, Mr. Lehan, for my mistakes.”
“Viktor, tell me why you should not be leaving this island chained in a canvas bag and dropped in the deepest part of the sea while still alive?”
“It vould be right for you to do dis to me,” Viktor answered with fear in his eyes.
“You can make this right, Viktor. You would have to pay the price I set before you. Are you willing to tell me that you will without knowing what that price will be?”
“Da.”
“Good, then this is my price. Bogdan Gise, Arseniy Malygin, and Matvej Klopov, your security team that lost Andre on that Alaskan road.”
“Lehan, let that hang in the air,” and Viktor instinctively knew what was coming next.
“You, my friend, Viktor, will personally take a garotte and strangle each man until they breath no more. And you will film the act for proof and send the film to me.”
Viktor sat silent for a moment. These men had been with him for many years. They had saved his life many times, and now he must take theirs.
Viktor looked up at Lehan. “I vill do dis as you have asked.”
“Good, I am pleased that you are willing to demonstrate your loyalty to me. Now, for other business, I am hopeful our opioid distribution has been increased to meet the demands we have now.”
Viktor regained his English tongue. “Yes, Mr. Lehan, it is highest level since ve began.”
“And the Chinese fentanyl connection is unchanging?”
“Yes.”
“And the human trafficking is still solid?”
“Yes, ve have new source for girls out of Asia and Eastern Europe, younger of higher value.”
“So, Viktor, you understand the other reason I am letting you leave the island alive today? You are making me money, adding to my personal fortune with no Sarnev involvement. You have value. Still, you need to maintain that. And don’t forget I can still reach into Moscow with my long arm of my justice if you fail me.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Mr. George has your papers waiting in the lounge. Sign them and get on your flight back to your beloved Moscow. And, Viktor, I want to see those films soon, very soon.”
Chapter 6
Interstate 25 was nothing like the roads I had traveled the previous day and night. A major route that handled a huge amount of truck traffic kept me alert. I had one quick coffee stop at a convenience store outside Cheyenne at the start of my trip. It provided me with a quick packaged pastry for breakfast, bottled water, and beef jerky to get me into the outskirts of Denver.
I had a 365-mile journey ahead of me today that would take me about seven hours. I hoped to get to Mike’s ranch before 1500 hours. When I got on the road, I called him again but to no avail. He didn’t pick up his phone. I left a message telling him my ETA.
Highway 25 took me straight south to the New Mexico border, through the middle of Colorado, into the heart of the state and its most populated areas. Traffic was dense in the Denver area, and I was relieved to get into the rolling prairie land to its south, more scenic and a lot less traveled except for the big rigs.
When I crossed into New Mexico and into the small town of Roton, I turned off the Interstate onto Highway 64, into the high desert heading into the Cimarron Canyon.
Traffic dwindled to a trickle, and I was able to relax behind the wheel and enjoy the scenery surrounding me. I pulled over at a turnout and got out to stretch my legs. The fall breeze was cool, and you could smell the sagebrush in the air. I made another call to Mike. My cell had only one bar, so I didn’t know if it would connect.
Over the weak signal, I heard his phone begin to ring, still no answer, and in the static of the connection, I heard his answering machine announce its messages were full. I tried not to think the worst, but my concern was reaching alarm level.
The canyons terrain changed from high desert to forest as I climbed in elevation. I was in that area of New Mexico that saw snow, deep at times during the winter. I traveled west, and my route brought me to the small town of Eagles Nest, where I turned off onto Highway 38, which would take me into Questa.
At 1513 hours, I was finally in Questa, where 38 ended onto 522 North. I was twenty minutes out from Mike’s. I tried another call as I was parked off the intersection. Again, no answer. The good connection gave me a clear audible message this time, telling me his answering machine was full.
I got onto 522 North. I reached Mike’s gravel road that wound in several miles to his ranch. As I got close enough to have a visual, I saw activity out front in his yard. When I arrived through his gate, there were three county sheriff’s vehicles and an older Nissan sedan in front of the house. Their lights weren’t flashing, their motors weren’t running, and the way the drivers had parked their SUVs indicated they already knew what they would find when they had arrived. There were no EMT vehicles on site.
My heart sank. I felt my dread was about to become a reality.
I parked and got out of the Four Runner, looking all around the perimeter, not seeing anyone outside except a young Hispanic woman sitting on a porch swing by the front door. Mike’s cow dog Winslow sat at her feet, watching my every move as I approached.
I walked slowly her way, listening to the crunch of gravel under my boots. The sound was surreal like what I was about to encounter was a dream, and the sound was just a part of it. Winslow got up. I knew he recognized me. He moved to me, his tail barely wagging. I bent down and scratched his head.
“Winslow boy, I’m here” was all I could say.
As I got close to the woman on the swing, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked my way.
I
